#but it breaks my heart to see him so vulnerable and needy

[movie-robotnik-positivity]

He's actually so pathetic and desperate for affection, I'm gonna cry.

[wadewnstonwilson]

need you close;

summary: when your busy schedule leaves logan feeling neglected, he craves your attention in his own way—by showing up with small, thoughtful gestures and lingering touches that hint at his pent-up need. despite his rugged exterior, logan’s vulnerability shines through as he tries to remind you he’s still there, waiting.

word count: 1k

a/n: okay so this was originally a headcanon idea but this was my most popular headcanon so I definitely wanted to post it as a one shot! always feel free to leave an ask if you guys want anymore logan themed headcanons or fics!

Logan wasn’t used to being ignored. Or at least, not by you. It had been weeks since you’d been swamped with work, and while you appreciated his support, you couldn’t help but feel the strain on your relationship. He’d never say it, not out loud at least, but Logan was needy, and he craved your attention like nothing else.

The soft scratch of a pen met your ears, but you didn’t even look up from your laptop. Logan stood by the counter, lazily scribbling something on a piece of paper. He’d been in and out of your office all day, never staying long but always making his presence known. His scent—musky, earthy, all Logan—lingered long after he’d leave. It used to comfort you, but now it only reminded you of the time you couldn’t give him.

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. “Logan, I’m really busy.”

Without missing a beat, he crossed the room and placed a steaming cup of your favorite coffee on the desk. His fingers lingered, brushing against yours as he slid the cup toward you. You glanced up and caught the faintest smirk on his lips.

“Thought you could use a pick-me-up,” he grumbled, leaning in closer. His warm breath fanned over your cheek, and you could feel the tension melt from your muscles, despite how desperately you needed to focus. “Been workin’ too hard.”

“Thanks,” you muttered, trying to sound casual, but your voice betrayed you. The way his hands rested on your shoulders—rough yet tender—sent shivers down your spine. He started massaging the knots in your shoulders, his fingers kneading the tension from your overworked muscles. You hadn’t realized how much you missed this—missed him—until now.

“You need a break, darlin’,” Logan muttered, his voice low and rough, sending a familiar heat through your body. “Can’t have you burnin’ out on me.”

You chuckled, but the sound was weak. “I’ll take a break soon, I promise.”

Logan let out a soft grunt, clearly unsatisfied with your answer. But instead of arguing, he pulled back, leaving a small note on the corner of your desk before disappearing from the room. You picked it up, your heart softening at the sight of his messy handwriting: Missin’ you. Don’t forget to take a break.

For a moment, you considered following him. You could see the hurt in his eyes, the frustration simmering just beneath the surface. But you had deadlines to meet, work piling up faster than you could keep up with. You’d make it up to him later—at least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

The next few days were more of the same. Logan was always around, but never directly demanding your attention. He’d leave notes scattered around your workspace—short, sweet messages like Thinkin’ ‘bout you or We’re overdue for some time together. He brought you food, sometimes your favorite meal, other times just a snack to keep you going. He’d make excuses to touch you, his hands lingering on your back or brushing against your arm as he walked by.

But you noticed the shift. His touches were growing more possessive, more intense, as if he was trying to remind you that he was still here, waiting for you to give him the attention he so desperately needed.

One evening, you returned home from a long day at work, exhausted and drained. You dropped your bag by the door and collapsed on the couch, barely managing to kick off your shoes. Within seconds, Logan was beside you, pulling you into his lap without a word.

“Logan, I’m—”

“Shh.” His arms wrapped around you, and you could feel the weight of his need in the way he held you, so tight you thought he might never let go. “You’re always busy, darlin’. Let me take care of you.”

The frustration in his voice was clear, but so was the affection. He wasn’t angry—he was hurt. Hurt that you hadn’t been giving him the time he needed. You felt a pang of guilt as you melted into his embrace, feeling the heat of his body against yours.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your head resting against his chest. His heart thudded steadily beneath your ear, a comforting sound that you hadn’t realized you’d missed. “I’ve been so caught up in work, I didn’t mean to—”

“Stop apologizin’,” Logan interrupted, his voice softer than before. He buried his face in your hair, inhaling deeply. “Just... don’t do it again, alright? I miss you.”

You nodded, your heart aching at the vulnerability in his voice. Logan wasn’t the type to openly express his emotions, but the way he held you now—tight, protective, needy—said more than words ever could.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering against your hair. “I’ve been patient,” he muttered, his voice rumbling through his chest. “But I need you. Not just here, but with me. You get what I’m sayin’?”

“I do,” you replied softly, shifting to look up at him. His eyes met yours, and you could see the raw emotion swirling in them—jealousy, frustration, but above all, love. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around much.”

Logan grunted, but this time there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Guess I can forgive you, but only ‘cause I know how hard you’ve been workin’. Just don’t make a habit of it.”

You laughed, feeling the tension in your chest ease. “I’ll try not to.”

He leaned down, brushing his lips against yours in a soft, lingering kiss that made your heart race. You could feel the heat of his need, the way he poured every bit of his pent-up affection into the kiss. It was almost overwhelming, but in the best way possible.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your lips. “I’m not gonna stop remindin’ you I’m here,” he said, his voice low and rough. “You’re mine, darlin’. Don’t forget that.”

You smiled, your fingers tracing the edge of his jaw. “I won’t forget.”

For the first time in weeks, you allowed yourself to relax completely in his arms, savoring the warmth of his touch and the strength of his embrace. Logan wasn’t one to be needy often, but when he was, it only made you fall harder for him.

And maybe, just maybe, it was exactly what you needed too.

[metranart]

Imagine Gojo, Geto and Nanami anointing you as their “little darling”, forced to share you because they refuse to NOT have you in their life. You didn’t expect this kind of attention, it was ridiculous the way they took the time to make you feel… loved.

It wasn’t just the occasional pampering or the intense lovemaking sessions that they took SO seriously. It was EVERYTHING! It was visceral and addictively cathartic the way, they worshipped you.

Sometimes they got competitive, Gojo pulling you away into a hidden space, only to turn you around, throwing his jacket to then pull you on top and line your pussy up perfectly with his needy cock before plunging forward with a solid gasp that followed a thousand moans and groans, he didn’t mind being loud, he prefers it that way. Let them know, he thinks, jealous vibes tainting his greedy thrusts.

“Am I not your favorite, baby? I know I am, you don’t have to pretend nor be quiet about it just to be nice to them… they’re not here, tell me how much you like me… I want you so bad… Do you want me?” Gojo is always the most talkative, sweetening your ear every second, all in hopes to get you so distracted that when he cums inside you don’t suspect that the rubbery sound from before was from candy wrapper and not a condom. He’s sneaky like that he has to be, when the competition for you is so damn fierce.

Unlike Geto who is smoother in his approach, whose large hands greedily grab your hips as he pulls you back down onto his cock with every thrust, and it feels so undeniably perfect that you can’t even hold yourself up, arms like jelly, strength failing as you’re face down on the sheets, ass in the air to be fucked like a proper bitch.

“Satoru can be so careless, you have marks all over your body, my love.” This man kisses and caresses you with such fervent devotion that your heart skips more than a couple of beats, “-tell me if you need a break, I won’t pull out, I CAN’T-” he sounds apologetic and so damn needy that you melt a little more for him, you love when he’s shamelessly possessive, “but I’ll slow down. Boy Scout word.” That playful, understanding smile always gracing his lips, eyes too soft and warm only when he sees you. “It doesn’t bother me if I’m not your favorite, it just bothers me that you don’t know that you’re mine.” Geto is like balm, that quiet adoration is more addictive than cocaine... Geto is smart, he knows Satoru too well to know what he’s on to, but…. It is of no use to brand your body from the inside, if he does not first have your heart beating just for him. Geto is so damn, smooth.

But it's Nanami who surprised you the most, he was the calm one, the serious and stoic sheep in the flock, yet, in private and ONLY with you, heat and hormones cloud his mind, you cloud his mind and his better judgment as you moan shamelessly, wanting more and more as he fucks you good and hard before there's a hand sneaking under your belly, a thick finger begging to rub circles on your clit.

"Nanami-!! Oh GOD!" He knows how to get you vulnerable and needy, he wants to tattoo those sensation in your brain, for you to associate them with him, just him. Moans escape you, heat building as his hand plays with your sensitive nub relentlessly, sliding it, rolling it, even pinching it to elicit more lewd cries of pleasure.

"Sorry for being so damn needy, baby, but I don’t know how to hold back-… if I’m honest- I don’t want to find out how- …" He always is honest, too blunt and honest, full of a secret mischief and roughness, his original plan was to make you beg for him not the other way around, he was weak, you made him weak and he loooooooved it! 

"You want nothing more than to cum…. for me to make you cum, I can tell that goal isn't far away... fuck!" His hips quicken the pace, as he holds you down, pinned against the surface he’s thrust you into. “Your legs are starting to buckle and shake with each of my thrusts." This blond is relentless and dominant, he’ll let his body do the convincing for him. "Do you love when I hold you down, fuck!... you do, huh?” This side of Nanami is secret, dark, and so ‘eyes rolled to the back of your skull’ satisfying, that has secretly become one of your favorites.

The anthem in this polyamorous relationship is the bed creaking incessantly in time with those powerful thrusts, the headboard crashing into the wall, headboard that’s been replaced more than once in one month. Funny, how they swear and live for your wellbeing but when get closer to their climax, dull nails dig into the softness of your skin, strong grips become more determined, and your clit is worshipped into overstimulation, a painful pleasure you are still getting used to.

“Cum for me,” Sukuna growls, his request sassy as he lowers to a deeper, more possessive tone that makes something in your belly crave. His composure breaks as your climax begins to build, refusing to let go until you’ve peaked first. “Cum on my cock and show those petty sorcerers that you are only MINE!"

You wake up startled from that dream, and the first thing you check is that you are indeed wrapped in that tangle of limbs that is Gojo, Geto and Nanami. Your heart is beating a mile a minute, what the hell was that!? The strong, irregular throbbing inside your chest must have woken him up since his head lay in the valley of your breasts, and Gojo peeks up to see you with those sleepy and worried eyes. 

"Did you have a nightmare, sweetie?"

Did you?

➡️🔞 FULL NSFW ART of this drabble

➡️ 👀 NSFW Sneak Peek

[gojonanami]

GOT YOU - SATORU GOJO

☆ summary: satoru finally found you -- and he's not going to let you go this time. (in other words, feral dub gojo had me by the throat). ☆ cw: 18+ only, dead dove, do not eat, smut, yandere!gojo, non/con (at the start), dub/con, mentions of noncon masturbation w/ clothes/in bed, manipulation, gaslighting, light choking, degradation (slut, whore), fingering (f!receiving), panty sniffing, oral (f!receiving), breeding kink, cumplay (slightly), multiple orgasms. ☆ wc: 3,132

“Got you,” a familiar voice hums in your ear, and the floor was yanked from under you - mentally and physically, because now you were pinned to the floor, looking up at the same blue eyes you had prayed you would never see again, “miss me sweetheart?” 

And he knew the answer from the wide eyes and trembling lips, but that only made him all the more eager. He leans down, pressing his lips to your soft cheek, “come on, baby, not even a hello? I’d even settle for a kiss or a smile,” he pouts, feeling your hands squirm under his grasp, as he straddled you, “trying to wave hello? Thought we were closer than that,” he hums, “don’t I deserve a warmer welcome, after all the effort I took to find you? To wait here all day for you,” 

You swallow the bile rising in your throat, harsh and bitter, as bitter as the words you wished to scream at him - but you know that would get you nowhere, “how about you let me go, and I’ll give you the welcome you deserve?” And the quaver in your voice isn’t what gives you away, he knows you all too well, and you know he won’t let you go that easy. 

“Aw baby, I'd love to believe you,” he sighs dramatically, “but after I lost you for two years, I can’t risk you slipping away again,” he noses your neck, inhaling deeply, “I had to have such patience over the last few weeks, had to make sure you hadn’t picked up on my presence, and you didn’t,” he grins, as he traces a finger down your jaw, “you know how hard it was? I spent so many mornings in your bed after you went to work, slept in it, still warm from your body, and I could smell you,” his lips curled into a smile that would have been so gorgeous, if it weren’t terrifying, “made me so needy for you baby, I had to relieve myself,” he admits with a sigh, “luckily, your hamper was full of clothes with your scent, and in your bed, it made it even easier,” 

And your stomach twisted at the thought of him touching himself in your bed — and oh god, with what clothes? 

His thumb brushes against the length of your cheek, “why did you run from me, baby?” and you’re silent — he knows why you ran. 

Satoru Gojo was perfect when he was your best friend — the perfect shoulder to cry on when one of your crushes didn’t work out, when a job prospect didn’t pan out, or a friend had hurt your feelings. What you didn’t know was he was the reason none of these crushes ever had worked out, why a job prospect that took you too far from him didn’t hire you, and why these friends who hurt your feelings and took up too much of your time had left shortly after. But to you, he was your savior, his compassion limitless, his patience infinite — and so you fell for him, just as he knew you would. It was a drunken kiss one night when he knew you were vulnerable, when he knew that your feelings for him were so close to the surface, you couldn’t help but kiss him. And kissing lead to a confession, and then the two of you were together. 

It was perfect — for a while. 

Soon, you couldn’t deal with his jealousy — over coworkers, friends, even your family, and with his controlling tendencies — he wanted you to spend every waking moment with him, he even wanted you to quit your job, to let him take care of you, and you couldn’t handle his constant suspicion — the constant questions of where you were (even when you had told him) and the accusations that came along with them. 

So you tried to break it off — tried. The first few times, Satoru sweet talked his way back into your heart — and your bed — with false promises and sweet kisses. But that soon wore old when his promises remained broken and his kisses left you with a bitter taste in your mouth. And when you tried to leave for good once — your bags packed — he had grabbed you, held you down, and stared at you with the same paralyzing look he gave you now, lips twisted into a smile you had never seen before, as he whispered the same two words he said when he greeted you now, “Got you,” and then he added, “and I’m never letting you go.” 

“Are you going to answer?” the present Satoru snaps you back to reality with a gentle hand around your throat, his thumb running over the hollow, before he kisses it, “or should I make you?” 

“Satoru, please, stop—” 

“That’s what you always say, baby,” he rolls his eyes, as if he was exasperated, “and then you always end up under me, begging for more,” and he squeezes your throat lightly, “nothing but a little slut, aren’t you?” and you gasp, as he loosens his grip again, “have you whored yourself out to any of those men at work?” and he’s grazing his teeth against your jawline, “if I leave a mark, that should keep them away, right? They’ll know you have a loving boyfriend — one who’s not afraid to claim what’s his,” and he’s smiling again, “now, tell me, have you slept with anyone else?” 

And you don’t want to answer — the answer’s no, you hadn’t, but you didn’t know whether that would make it worse or better. But his hand around your throat tells you, you don’t have a choice. 

“No, I haven’t,” you confess — and his smug grin only serves to irritate you, as he sighs far too contently, parting your legs as he moves to settle between them, “please don't—” 

“I have to check, don’t I, princess?” he murmurs, and his hand is drifting up your tight skirt, “such a slutty skirt for someone who hasn’t been sleeping around. Did you wear it just for me?” and he’s raising a brow, as his fingers roll your skirt higher, fabric straining as he did, “well, I don’t want you wearing it for anyone else, so—“ and the fabric tears apart, your legs jumping as he does, and his lips press to your knee, “there’s my perfect baby,” 

Your hands are free as his hands busy themselves with spreading your leg, inhaling your scent, as his fingers trail up your inner thighs. Your hands are trying to push him away, kicking your legs helplessly, but he’s got them under his grasp. Fingers pressing into the soft flesh a little too hard, and you know he’s going to leave bruises at some point or another.  

“C’mon baby, don’t be like that,” he hums when he finds a wet spot on your underwear, “look, you’re already ruining your underwear, and I’ve barely even started  — you’ve been wanting this too,” and your hand finds his face, trying and failing to push him away, but he only licks the space between your fingers, “now be a good girl for me or I’ll make you,” the last words a growl, “and you don’t want me to do that,” but he feels you grow more damp with your slick as his fingers press against your clit through your underwear, “or maybe you do.” 

“Satoru, please don’t do this,” you’re begging, but his crystalline gaze only grows more cold, as his lips curl as he sees hot, fat tears well in your eyes, “just let me go, I won’t run. I just don’t-“ 

“C’mon now, what’s wrong? How could I ever let you go?” He coos, as he watches the first tear roll down your cheek, as he leans down and tastes it, “I need you, baby, and now that I got you,” his two fingers sneak into the elastic of your underwear, snapping it against your skin, “I’ll never let you leave my sight again,” 

You flinch from his touch, squirming underneath him, “Please, I-I’ll do anything, just don’t—“ and his thumb pressed against your lips, as his lidded eyes and smirk only draw nearer. 

“Don’t be like that, sweetheart, don’t you remember? You asked for this — you made me promise to never leave you,” twisting the words you had muttered to him that drunken night, whispered after your first kiss with him and now he purred them as he bent down, breath warming your lips, as he tilted your chin up, “and I always keep my promises,” 

“Now tell me,” he smiles that same smile that had caught your heart, “tell me you want this,” he’s nibbling at your neck, and you’re melting into his touch — and he knows you’re so close to submission, “tell me, baby,” 

And you can’t stop the words from leaving your mouth, your body burning from his touch, “I want you,” 

His lips curl into a wide grin, teeth flashing. 

He kisses you, lips sliding against yours, and your lips shut even as his tongue tried to slip inside. And he bites your bottom lip, drawing a delicious gasp from your lips, and his tongue plunges in, as you moan, boneless and helpless. 

And his hands slide down your sides, teasing the hem of your shirt, “Fuck, baby, I’m addicted to you — you taste so good,” and he’s tugging your shirt over your head, as his lips attach themselves to your jaw. You whimper as his teeth draw marks along your jaw, before trailing a path down your neck, kissing the hollow of your throat, before leaning down to the swell of your breasts right above your bra. 

His fingers press against your soaked panties, the fabric doing little to prevent the full force of his touch, thick and mean fingers rubbing harsh circles against your clit, “Too fast,” you whine, back arching against the rough carpet of your living room, “too much,” your mouth falling cutely open and eyelashes fluttering, as your slick leaks through the thin material making his fingers grow sticky. 

“But your pretty cunt doesn’t agree, sweetheart,” he reaches around and unclasps your bra and tosses it aside, his teeth grazing your nipple before sucking, a grunt leaving your throat, heat blooming a trail down between your legs, “it wants me to fill you — fill you like you deserve,” and he’s pulling your panties down your thighs and then pulls them to his nose, “so fucking sweet,” and he’s pocketing them for later use — your cum not going to be the only thing staining it later. 

And he’s slipping down your body, kissing down your breasts, mouthing each nipple, before placing wet kisses between the valley of your chest, and down your stomach, pausing to slip his tongue into your bellybutton to make you gasp, as he hums against your skin. 

“Been dreaming of tasting this sweet pussy,” he sighs dreamily, as he settles between your thighs, his large hands spreading you open for him, fingers spreading your dripping folds, making you clench around nothing, before, not one, but two fingers slip inside with ease, making you choke on air, as he steadily begins to fuck you open, “you sure you haven’t whored yourself out baby, or do you just want my cock that badly?” and he tuts, “nah, can’t be. You’re too tight, so fucking gorgeous,” 

And you swallow thickly, hating the way his words make your resolve buckle — want seeping through the cracks, leaving only need behind — why were you weak for him like this? He knew you too well — knew where to touch, knew what to say to make you lose all sense, and he knew he could. 

And he would do it too. 

Soon enough, he’s pulling his digits from you, only the tips pressed inside as he spreads you, his mouth leaning do to press a sloppy kiss to your weeping cunt, “this pretty thing was made f’me, wasn’t it, princess?” and his hot tongue dragging your release up and down your pussy, before his fingers sink again for a hot minute, deeper than they had until they find that spot that has you seeing stars, making you moan louder, “Ah, this is where you’re weak, right, pretty baby?” And his mouth latches to your clit, sucking as his fingers bully your walls, “fuck, you’re so wet f’me, practically leaking all over your carpet, now what will your guests think?” he hums, a grin on his lips, “maybe after I fuck you, I’ll make you lick it all up f’me, clean up your mess,” 

And his words drive you over the edge, making you cum all over his fingers, your slick slipping onto his palm, as he pulls his fingers from you as you moan wantonly, his tongue darting out to lick and clean his fingers clean, pressing his digits into his mouth, “Still the sweetest thing I’ve tasted, baby,” and he’s parting you again with the tips of his fingers, before his tongue slips in. 

And his tongue parts your cunt, beginning to fuck you in earnest now, as his jaw aches as he does, hot and warm muscle reaching depths you didn’t know were possible. He’s licking, prodding, and sucking, and your soft grunts and moans only made him even harder, straining in his pants, “g’nna make me cum in my pants baby from your taste and sounds alone,” and you’re already so close, too close — your first orgasm making you so sensitive, but right as you give that telltale clench,  he’s pulling away a moment, to watch your chest rise and fall with half lidded eyes glazed over with lust, pretty, pretty cunt quivering from the lack of sensation, and a long whine leaving your lips. 

“Want you to cum on my cock this time, baby, not in my mouth,” he says, lips and chin glossy with your slick, “we have time for that later,” and now you’re growing desparate as he just watches you, cleaning up your release from his mouth, tongue darting out to lick what he could, before using the back of his hand to wipe away what he couldn’t. 

And the plea leaves your mouth before you realize it, “Please,” you swallow thickly, your words weak and broken, “Satoru, please,” 

“Please, what?” he teases, as he pulls his shirt cover his head, your eyes raking over his abs and lingering on the v-line as his sweatpants rode low, doing very little to hide the large bulge that your eyes were glued to, “want me to split you open with my cock?” and he wanted nothing more, as he slips his pants and boxers off with ease, his dick nearly slapping against his stomach as he did, a pearly white bead of pre-cum resting on the flushed red tip, his hand grasping it, as he pumped it slowly to spread his release, “gonna have to use your words baby, don’t care if they’ve been fucked out of that little brain of yours,” 

You pout so beautifully, bottom lip quivering, all of your resistance and fear eroded away by lust and need, “I want you, need you to fuck me, please, Toru,” you squirm, thighs parting for him, “need you inside me, please,” 

It doesn’t take more than a second before the tip of his dick is pressed to your folds, “Look at you now, baby — you were begging me to leave, and now you’re begging for this cock,” and you’re moaning as he feeds your insides his dick, inch by inch, “fuck, practically swallowing me up — want to be fucked that bad baby?” And finally he’s inside you, fully seated in your sweet cunt, “or maybe, you want me to fuck a baby into you? Want me to breed this pretty pussy, sweetheart? Make me a daddy?”

And he’s starts to fuck you, hips snapping against yours — and he was unrelenting in his pace, cock breaching and bullying your insides, brushing against your sweet spot again and again. Your teeth bared down on your bottom lip, trying to hold back your noises, but he can’t have that, can he? 

His thumb pulls at your bottom lip, “Wanna hear every pretty sound, sweetheart, wanna hear you scream my name as I fuck you,” and he begins to fuck you even harder, hips slapping against you, the lewd sounds of your pussy squelching from his cock, your sweet moans of his names, and lust glazed over gaze was almost too much for him. 

But it only made him more desperate to fuck you harder, until all you could feel was him between your legs for the next month, as he grabbed your legs and placed them over his shoulders, making himself sink even deeper, deeper, deeper. 

And it was too much, too much for you, as you came around his cock for the first time in two years, and god, it was the most beautiful thing Satoru had seen. Your mouth parted in ecstasy as your release slicked up his cock, as he fucked your cum back into you, as your princess cunt clamped down on him hard, again and again.

You were moaning his name again and again, the only word you knew now, mouth parted open as he fucked you through your orgasm, “Yeah, baby, cum on my cock, pretty pussy was made just for that. Gonna make you cum again and again, until you can’t live without my cock between your legs. You’d like that, huh? Make you walk around with my cum inside you, even when I get you pregnant, I’ll fuck you again and again, until you’re leaking with me.” 

And you’re just moaning, nodding and broken, lost to the pleasure, as he grits his teeth, cock twitching at the sight before him, watching his dick slip in and out of you, a white ring of your release around the base of his cock. 

It wasn’t much longer, until he notched his cock as deep as he could, holding himself as he gave only shallow thrusts, his hot release pumping into you, continuing to fuck it deeper, “gotta make sure it sticks, don’t we, sweetheart” he murmurs with a smile, as he captures your lips in a kiss, cock still stuffed inside of you, “can’t let you get away from me now. It’d be much harder with a baby, won’t it?” 

And he’s easing himself out, groaning as he watches your mixed releases beginning to trickle out as the tip of his cock slaps against your weeping cunt. He pools the cum on his fingers, pushing it back in, making you flinch and moan, utterly blissed out, eyes fluttering as you gazed up at him. 

He only smiles the same way he always did, “Don’t worry sweetheart, I got you.” 

☆ a/n: i usually don't write things like this (i.e. non/con), but the dub feral gojo lines lived rent free in my head, until i wrote this (they still do, it's fine) I also don't post fics this often, but I am writing a lot of fics.

☆ tag list: @d1rtv, @crazynocturnalkiki, @ichikanu, @dazailover1900, @sinnerstardoll, @bisexualpanicwentoutforasmoke, @dumbabie, @aureatekintsugi, @mooly-artistic, @miss-nightray

[jakesangel]

come here, come closer ꣑୧ - in which situations jake would say that

꣑୧ flirty jake

this will surely happen early in the relationship, his shyness demeanor fading away as yours remains. if you still sit 'far away' from him on the couch, or is shy to start skinship. he'd take matters in his hands.

'baby, why are you so far away ?' jake breaks the silence as you two were watching a movie in his empty dorm. tho he is whispering, it caught you off guard, almost making you flinch. your head is still facing the tv and because you arent answering him, his hand touch your thigh, still sitting inches a part from you. ' you okay ?' he asked again. you're facing him giving him a shy smile, his puppy eyes too much for you to even stutter a word. he smiles at your reaction, his smirk a good warning of what he is about to do. he pretends to let you go, and you look back to the screen thinking it's all good, but to your surprise. his hand grabs under your thigh, and pull you closer to him. 'come here, come closer baby' he still whisper. you collide against his chest making you gasp a little , to jake's happiness as his smirk gets wider. he pretends to yawn, one of his arm over your shoulder, bringing you impossibly closer 'we're better like that. isn't it baby ?'

꣑୧ reassuring jake

still early in relationship, when you're the first one who's vulnerable in front of the other, too afraid to show your tears to your soft boyfriend.

'[...] i just cant do it anymore' you say as you vented your non-ending week to jake. it's the first time you cry in front of him, making you further more vulnerable and on nerve. you don't know how jake is going to react. tho he said he wants to support and can be a great ear, feeling his eye on you as you cry your heart out is too nerve wrecking for you. you hide your face under your hands, sobbing as you 'truly' can't do it anymore. and you were right. jake standing in front of your crying self, sadness overpowering his face. he doesn't know what to do, unsure of what you need right now. to be heard ? advice ? but what he is sure of, is that you need him and his comfort. he walks closer to you before staring to wrap his arms around your shaking figure ' come here, come closer' he says as he brings your face further into his chest.

꣑୧ needy jake

this surely happens throughout the whole relationship, after the first months pass and his shyness is completely gone, not embarrassed to show his neediness and eagerness he holds for you.

'come on baby, spend some time with me please ?' jake has been impossibly clingy today. he came to your place unnoticed because 'i miss my girlfriend' and kept on following you around the apartment as you had chores to do. and even tho you told jake you were busy 'seeing you is enough for me'. and obviously it wasn't. 'just lemme fold that, yunie', you tell him as you keep on folding your clothes to your wardrobe. 'how long is it going to take ?', he whines as he poops down on your bed. but as his head hits your soft mattress he got the best idea, and before you can even look back at the pile of clothes to answer him, he pulls you back, your back hitting his chest. 'play with me, baby', he whisper looking down on you. you try to look at cold as possible, but as you're looking up to him, he can only see your adorable round eyes to him, making him wanting you further more. so he walks off, a hand in yours, leading you to the bed. he sits down, and waits for you to do the same. but you stand there, hands on your hips, in between his legs, eyebrows furrowed symboling your duty to finish your weekly cleaning. he will not take no for an answer, 'come here, come closer' he says, as plops you on his lap. ' i'll help you do then later. just okay with me right, please ?'

princess' love letter : thank you anon for the inspo >.< i hope it fulfill ur fantasy > < also for the other anon who talked about my layout being not that readable, is it better that way ?ᩚ please lemme kno ᵎ ♡ྀི

perm tag list ( open ) : @berryyuni @stwrjvke @neos127 @goldenretrieverjakezgirlbaby @heeheeswifey @sjylouvre @txnwvc @oopshee @mioons @en-ner-jay @en-chantedtomeetyou @heeseungmyman @jlheon @ghostiiess @river-demon-slayer @djikeu @firstclassjaylee @pshwrldd

[spurbleu]

lassitude ✩︎‧︎⁎︎

[ken sato x afab reader]

S. the first time you are vulnerable with Ken Sato, you are half asleep. and for the first time, he is willing.

warnings: none, split pov

a/n: sorry for my lengthy absence, it got extremely busy for me lmao. i dont really like this- but i feel like i cant do much to make it better so here it is

word count: 1.7k

࿓༚︎︎‧⁎︎✳︎⁎︎‧︎༚︎࿓︎

The mumble of the morning stirred you from the pockets of your mattress. It was barely noticeable- the shift of the comforter- cool early air pooling between the hairs on your arm. The faint creak of the floorboards, (never good at keeping secrets) the spruce mumbling an Irish goodbye.

It would be a lie to say you didn’t see it coming. The sight of him.

Skin relearning to stretch over shoulder blades, peeking through your lashes in familiar foresight. The way his hands searched for his clothes through the birth of daylight- its first breaths placid against the bedsheets.

It all felt too beautiful- the apathy. Buried in lithe, lifeless blankets rather than the rhythm of his pulse, the plush of his embrace. The sudden emptiness of morning’s coffin, quilt seams ripped by the assumption that a goodbye wasn’t necessary.

Ironic- for how lonely the man seemed to be, he looked lethargic in the act of leaving. Near comfortable as he dressed, relief from the reclusive slump of his posture breaching a harsh breath that left the gaps of his teeth.

You were more awake now- enough to question why you cared.

He made it easy- cleaned up half the mess, took the other half out the door. And when it was time to ruin it again, he did it with kindness- gentleness in his absence. There was nothing you should’ve resented- he was doing you a favor. But you found yourself hating it more.

You knew it wasn’t a superiority complex- you were near equals as you slept next to each other. It wasn’t that he didn’t like you, because you knew within the next 12 hours, he’d be back again, pale in the face of his own affair.

Confounding. The principle that if he knew he was going to come back, why leave at all?

It struck you then- the putrid smell of your own confusion. The anger you held in the bed of your heart, fueled by the weak and needy creature of your own vulnerability. Its chubby hands wringing the veins that curled around your ribs. It spoke for you.

“Ken.”

It was weaker than you thought it would be- no louder than a whisper. At first, I didn’t even sound like his name- only a pathetic mumble that spelled out his silhouette. It became a bit more tangible, louder, when he turned to face you.

“Good morning.”

He slung his bag over the dip of his shoulder, dressed in the clothes from last night. They were wrinkled now, creased in the same shape as your bed, your floor, your home. It was hauntingly poetic- how he seemed to carry you with him in the quietest of ways.

A crease formed under the base of his lips- a smile. Still dry in early hours- complimenting the tanned sections of his jaw- spring kisses breaking the occasional sallow of his face. It was small, but under the shadow of his tousled hair, it looked near blinding.

(But that was Ken for you, wasn’t it? Blinding. Bright in the ways that make the air in your nose cold- fresh. Humane.)

“…Do you…need something?”

Fuck.

You should’ve followed the script. Typewriter font, black indifference, pretending to be asleep when he crept out the door. Feigning casual when reading the ‘text later’ note he’d leave on the counter of your kitchen, next to a day old, crushed protein bar (although, it would always be your favorite flavor).

But instead, you sat curled into the headboard of your bed, sheets protecting your fluttering gut as sleep fogged the more cohesive thoughts. It peeled back, though, the sensitive ones.

You wanted him to stay.

Although it felt like the first time you had admitted it to yourself, you found the blemish of your confession everywhere.

The pucker of your carpet beneath his socks. The indent on the left of your mattress- matching the round of his shoulder. The cool breath that escaped your lungs- collapsing against the rim of your heart.

And in the brevity of nerve, the one that spoke his name with so little foundation before, you answered him.

“Stay.”

࿓༚︎︎‧⁎︎✳︎⁎︎‧︎༚︎࿓︎

It’s the tilt in your voice that curves under his adam’s apple in a slow gulp- dry. The softer tones blooming under your tongue, coloring your bottom lip in a nude pink- stainless and genuine. Your lash line drooping into a word that looked foreign to the valley of your cheekbones.

Please.

He mirrored you. The slow breath that hollowed ribs, the sharper edges of his shoulders bending to the will of your own. Even his smile began to falter into the same wary, desperate line that creased the corners of your cheeks.

The effortless effect you had on him.

He knew it was happening, somewhere in the canyon of his bone. Mind disconnected from the marrow, as the better parts of him seemed to reflect every vice of yours. Although it was maddening, conscious clawing at the cushion of his skull, he had learned to embrace it.

Held it as he cradled you- bow of your spine splitting his chest in two- revealing the plusher parts of him, affection safely shadowed by the midnight and your snore. (He’d never admit it to you, but he sleeps better in your bed than he does his own. Although Mina suggests it’s about the company rather than the mattress).

Similar to your aftertaste, he was familiar with your vulnerability- a lot worse at hiding it than you might think.

The haphazard stack of protein bar wrappers in the trash (ashamed to say he counted, once. You’ve eaten every single one he’s given you). The grip on his sweatshirt when you pull him through your door- flushed fingertips eager on the cool metal of its zipper. Even while you sleep your body betrays, burrowing yourself into him as if somehow, you’ll leave a mark (equally ashamed, but just a bit more hopeful, he wants you to).

Selfishly, he loved it. How much you made him feel wanted- needed, even. How the cage of your chest opened for him, his nails the shape of a key as he dug into the softer parts of you. Grime dyeing cuticles red, and he’s convinced that if he asked to crawl within you, you’d let him.

Reluctantly, if so. Looking away, pink on your cheeks, spurred by the flash of his teeth. Unwilling to admit he had asked you before you could have offered.

A begrudging devotion.

He swallowed it, syrup sweet against the cast of his teeth.

“You want me to…stay?”

He let his bag drop to the floor, relishing that as he took a step closer, knees to the bed, the center of your throat bobbed. Contrast to your bold request, a shyness in the creases under your eyes and mouth. It reeked of yearning, and made an illness bloom on Ken’s tonsils.

You nodded slowly as he came to lay next to you. If he listened more closely and focused less on the cross of your arms, he would have heard your heart pulsing a morse that sounded dangerously, sweetly, like his name.

“Yes.”

“Why?” Classical, predictable, the way his smirk warmed the edges of his lips.

“Because you never do…” anxious- eyes searching excuses for the lack of a real answer- “…and the protein bars are getting old.”

A genuine laugh furrowed the flesh beneath his collar bone, morning voice still breaking from the aridity of unuse. “What if I left an apple this time?”

You leaned into his chest, pulling the covers to your shoulder. God, did you look good like this. Tucked into him, a little wanting, a little kind. “You’re so boring. If you’re going to leave, at least give me something good.”

Ken placed a hand to his wounded heart. “Boring? Since when is your favorite flavor of healthy boring?”

You sank back onto the mattress, and he followed you, now facing you with his hands folded under his cheek, squishing his dopey smile. Although he didn’t know it- he looked beyond childish- silly in all respects. But that’s what you liked about him, wasn’t it?

“Since the last 200 times.” You exaggerated, imitating him as you leaned on your own hands.

He searched you- not dissimilar to the way he accesses another player. The gate of their shoulder, the click of their jaw- or that slight competitive crinkle that tugged the corners of their lashes- angered by his run before he even hit the ball.

Being in the sport for so long, he had become accustomed to observing others- even from afar. Off the field, he’d find himself looking between the normalcy of strangers under the dark tint of his sunglasses. Envious- to live in blissful ignorance at their own open, bleeding hand.

He supposed that’s why he liked you. Equally as guilty of your own susceptibility- heart on your wrist. But goodness- even this close to you, he couldn’t read the glass over your eyes. As if you were those paintings behind velvet ropes- details clear from a distance, but fogged when you stand too close. Imperfections visible- but never telling.

(did Michelangelo find the Sistine Chapel just as beautiful from the floor as he did from his ladder?)

He hummed, a hand coming to trace the spring freckles that appeared on the plain of your cheek. His heart purred as he watched it bloom, every circle he drew spurring ripples of pink. He was so charmed- to see exactly what he did to you- so closely.

“Alright,” his hand drifted to the strands of hair that covered your ears, tucking it to see just a little more of your blush, “no more protein bars.”

You sighed against his face- and for a moment he was reminded how he had been there- on your lips. The stench of his own fervor- honey sweet between the cracks of its clay.

“Thank god- I was really getting sick of them.”

In his arms, you both dipped into a lullaby of silence, the sunrise cradling the fragile parts of your embrace. Those pockets of insecurity- the questions of why you asked for him to stay, and why he did. The looming assumption that this made you more than what you had been before- made you something, made it different.

You could have spent hours there, steeping in the change- elementary kids too scared to admit they ‘like-liked’ each other. Instead, you both fell asleep again.

࿓༚︎︎‧⁎︎✳︎⁎︎‧︎༚︎࿓︎

When you awoke- you were alone.

Once you slipped out of bed, it was well past 11. Your light feet and sweltering head brought you to the kitchen counter- where you found a plate of eggs, toast, coffee, and a note.

----

Home Soon.

-Ken

ps. hope this is better than the protein bars.

[actuallysaiyan]

You Could Have Have Anyone You Want, Why Would You Want To Be With Me?

warnings: Post-Shibuya, mentions of scars, smut, insecurities, JJK Spoilers, unprotected sex/creampie finish word count: 1.4k pairings: Post-Shibuya!Nanami Kento x Fem!Reader summary: your husband feels so insecure since surviving the Shibuya Incident, he doesn't understand why you'd stay with him...so you remind him of just how much you truly love him.

Your heart is breaking every time you look at your husband. Ever since the Shibuya Incident, he’s been a shell of a man. You know it’s really affected him and made him feel so useless and vulnerable. He feels like a burden on you.

But it doesn’t take long for you to begin missing physical intimacy with him. He’s healed up well thanks to Shoko’s technique, but there are still some scars and he’s got a weak leg and he can’t see perfectly well out of his left eye. He doesn’t think he looks good at all, despite the fact that he still looks so picturesque and gorgeous as he always has.

One night as he’s winding down after a day at the office, you find yourself feeling even more needy than usual. You want to crawl onto his lap and press soft kisses all over his face and chest. There’s a part of you that is so scared to initiate anything. Still, you want to show him you still love him just as much as before.

So after a warm shower and lots of skincare, you throw on one of Kento’s t-shirts and you go snuggle up next to him on the couch. The minute he sees you, his eyes widen. There’s a dusting of pink on his cheeks that gives him that perfect boyish charm you’ve come to fall for.

“Hi, sweetheart.” You coo softly, your hand coming up to caress his cheek.

He slides away, “Are you comfortable?”

You sigh softly, turning away so he doesn’t see just how upset you are. He feels something stirring inside of him, but he thinks there’s just no way you’d ever want to be intimate with him ever again. His heart aches at the thought of you growing bored of him and finding someone new.

“Yes, I’m comfortable.” You scoot closer, your hand gently brushing down his arm.

His heart skips a beat as he realizes what you’re trying to do. He can’t help but think this has got to be out of pity. How could you possibly think he’s attractive? He takes your hands in his and then gently places them on your lap.

“Please, I don’t…I don’t think I can handle the thought of you touching me out of pity.”

Your mouth hangs open as your jaw drops. How could he possibly think that was the reason you were touching him? It’s been months since you’ve been able to place your hands adoringly on his skin. It’s been months since he’s been deep inside of you, head on your chest and panting for more of you even if he’s as deep as can be.

“Why would you dare say something like that?” You snap, your words coming out harsher than you’d like.

Kento hesitates, “B-because…there’s just no way you could still find me attractive.”

His hands gesture towards his damaged eye, the littering of scars on that side of his body and his lame leg. Tears well up in your eyes as you settle on your knees on the couch. You can’t help yourself as you begin to cry.

“Kento Nanami, I have been in love with you since the day I met you. Just because you were injured gravely doesn’t stop me from loving you and thinking you're attractive.” You take a deep breath, “It has been months since we’ve had sex and I just…I just miss my husband so much.”

It’s Kento’s turn to begin to cry. You’ve hardly ever seen him cry. Maybe a few times since you’ve known him, and this was different from the times you’ve seen before. He’s so vulnerable right now, and you can tell he’s scared to lose you.

“I–I didn’t know what to think. My darling, I worried that maybe you’d grow tired of a damaged old man like me,”

You don’t even know what to say, so instead you wrap your arms around him softly and you begin pressing kisses all over his face like you wanted to. His cheeks grow hotter, and more tears stream down his face. He’s so happy to feel this love and affection again.

“I just feel like a monster every time I look in the mirror,”

This comment breaks your heart even more. You cup his face in your hands and you press your lips to his. It’s soft, loving and so tender. When you pull away, you press your forehead to his. In a soft tone, you whisper the sweetest words of love and praise for this man before you.

“You aren’t a monster. You are a hero, my love. And I am so happy I have you here with me. I am so grateful I get to live another day with you every time we wake up together in bed.”

He gasps softly at your words. He’s blushing even more now than ever. Then you gently take his hand and bring it under the hem of the shirt you’re wearing. He grunts softly when his fingertips brush against your soft pubic hair. He doesn’t need more guidance than this; he knows what to do next.

“You still think I don’t find you sexy? Cause I really do.” You coo softly, leaning in to kiss him as his fingers tease your swollen nub.

Kento continues his ministrations, his own cock beginning to harden in his pants. It doesn’t take long before he’s sliding off the sweatpants he’s wearing to show you the hardened member that’s just begging to be sucked, kissed and stroked. You notice there’s a portion of his cock that’s thicker than the rest; it’s scar tissue. 

“I think my pretty husband needs some love, don’t you?” You tease him, getting ready to kneel before him. But he surprises you by grabbing you by the waist and pulling you onto his lap.

“Can’t wait, need you now,”

He lifts up your shirt and helps you out of it, tossing it to the corner of the room. He holds you up; the testament of his strength is still very apparent to you. Then with one quick thrust up into you, he’s balls deep inside. You’re both panting and moaning as your walls flutter around him.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking big,” you whine as you nuzzle your face in the crook of his neck. You take no time to begin pressing kisses to the scarred skin there.

He chuckles, “Yeah? Feel good?”

You nod dumbly as he begins bouncing you on his cock, “Feels so fucking good.”

The feeling of your lips on his scarred skin makes him shudder. The sensations of your tight little cunt gripping on his dick make him grunt and growl; the feeling of possessiveness comes crashing over him,

“You’re all mine,” He grunts in your ear before nipping at the lobe. “Mine, all mine.”

You cling to him, your little hands holding onto him as he fucks himself up into you. Every thrust of his cock sends you closer and closer to the Earth-shattering orgasm you’re so desperate to feel.

He pulls you in for a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. He knows his own orgasm is imminent, so he needs to work fast if he wants you to come undone along with him. His hand comes up to your mouth, and he shoves two of his fingers in.

“Wet those fingers, baby. Do it for me,”

You don’t even hesitate to begin sucking on his fingers. You moan around them, your tongue gliding over the long digits. Then he pulls them from your mouth, only to press them against your swollen nub that’s been begging for attention. Faster and faster he rocks his hips, his other hand steadying you by your hip. You’re moving in tandem as you work towards the same goal.

“Fuck I love you,” Kento pants. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry for the shit I said…”

You kiss him lovingly, “I love you too. I forgive you.”

The coil in your stomach is tightening more and more, and soon it snaps. Stars dance in your vision as you cry out his name desperately. The pleasure builds more and more as your orgasm courses through your body. You can barely hold yourself up as it becomes a blinding heat in your body. Kento’s struggling to hold on, your gummy walls are just milking him for everything he’s got.

“Gonna…oh fuck! I’m gonna cum!” He growls, holding you down against him as he bucks his hips wildly.

Ropes of hot, thick cum begin to coat your insides and fill your waiting womb as Kento succumbs to the pleasure of his own release. He’s growling and grunting; words that are both possessive and sweet tumble from his soft lips. Then he slows himself, still holding you down against his body.

“My precious love,” he whispers softly. You slowly open your eyes. “I’m sorry I ever doubted your love. I’ll never think of it that way again. I’ll never take it for granted.”

[ttodorokiii]

"shouto cries when jealous, hurts himself" ooo can we have a oneshot of this 😳 reader is really naive + sweet and will do literally anything to make him feel better

warnings: yándèrè, sèlf h-rm, mánípúlátíòn.

•••

Shouto watches from the corner of the room, his eyes flickering between you and the person you’re talking to. The conversation is light, your laughter soft and sweet, but it eats at him.

A sharp jealousy tugs at his heart strings and he feels like his head will burst. He feels like he wants to kill that person you are talking to.

His heart pounds, and the feelings overwhelm him. His hands tremble, fists clenching at his sides. It’s too much—too much to watch.

He can’t bear the sight of you looking at someone else, of you laughing with them. His breath hitches as he stands up, his body stiffening as he turns toward the door.

“Shouto?” you ask, your voice sweet but full of concern as you notice him moving away.

But it’s too late.

The tears are already welling in his eyes, burning in the corners of his vision. He doesn’t want to cry, doesn’t want to show you how weak he is. But he can’t hold it back. His chest aches with a fierce, possessive pain, and the emotions burst out in shaky sobs.

“Shouto…” You approach him carefully, not understanding what’s happening but instinctively knowing he’s in pain. You reach out for him, but he flinches away, the rejection sharp in your chest.

“I… I don’t know what’s wrong,” he whispers, his voice strained and raw. “I just… I don’t want to lose you.”

You blink, the words hitting you harder than you expected. “You’re not going to lose me,” you say, taking his wrist gently in your hand, but he pulls away again, his face twisting in discomfort.

Then you see it—the mark on his wrist. Faint but still there, a bruise from where he must have hurt himself, the telltale sign of his inner turmoil. Your heart clenches, your mind racing.

“Shouto,” you whisper, your voice shaking. “You hurt yourself?”

His breath hitches, and before you can respond, he collapses into your arms, the sobs breaking free.

He’s so desperate so needy and so unstable but he needs you to make him feel alive and he needs to know that you’re here or he will do something that he will regret.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, his voice small, cracked. “I didn’t want to feel like this… I didn’t want to hurt you, but I couldn’t stop.”

You stroke his back, your own chest tight with emotion. You don’t fully understand, but you can see the desperation in his eyes, the overwhelming need to keep you close. You’re not just his…

He needs you to be his. Only his.

“Shh, it’s okay,” you murmur, pressing soft kisses to his hair. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, Shouto. I’ll always be here.”

His body shudders in your arms, and his grip tightens around you as if you might vanish if he lets go. His voice trembles when he speaks again, a faint pleading in his tone.

“Promise… promise you’ll never leave me. Promise I’m yours, only yours.”

You blink at the intensity in his voice, the raw need in it. You’ve never seen him like this—.

vulnerable, broken, desperate. And it’s then that you realize, just how much control he has over his emotions. How much he needs you.

“Because just remember that I have a knife in my pocket all the time and if you ever try to leave me, I’ll kill my fucking self.”

“I promise,” you say softly, holding him even closer, feeling the steady pulse of his heartbeat against your chest. “I’ll never leave you, Shouto. You’re mine, too.”

A small, broken sob escapes his lips as he pulls back, his eyes red and wet, but there’s a flicker of relief in them.

He’s finally calmed, but the possessiveness in his gaze never fully fades. He needs you. And you know, deep down, that there’s nothing you can do to change that.

“I won’t let anyone else have you,” he mutters, his grip on you tightening once more.

And you can only nod, knowing you’ve promised to stay, but also understanding that, with Shouto, promises are never just words.

[satoruhour]

Satoru wanting to bang his gorgeous girlfriend but he also gets off on delayed gratification and making her beg so he keeps refusing to fuck her even though she begs for it. When he finally gives in, it’s a wild time!

a/n: this was a ride thank u anon 🫣🫣🫣

warnings: fem!reader, orgasm denial / delayed gratification, pet names, use of ‘slut’, light bondage, begging, fingering, clit stimulation, unprotected sex, creampie / breeding kink, implied multiple rounds, implied overstimulation, n*sfw under the cut

a giggle escapes from satoru’s lips when he sees your sweaty chest heave up and down, wrists tied together loosely with some rope to hold you in place. but even that doesn’t prevent you from thrashing around on the bed, face contorting into a desperate plea for him to stop teasing.

“needy lil thing, aren’t you?” gojo hovers over you with his lanky body, perfect physique paired with a pretty face that you always find yourself giving into his ways ever so often. on your desk there’s an essay begging to be finished, and yet with one touch from him, you’re melting into him.

“abandoned your little assignment just for me.”

you’re whining incoherently, making no move to admit to your hormones despite not being gagged. satoru hums in reply, a hand trailing down to your neglected cunt which he’s already edged you twice; he sits on his heels to admire his work.

“i need you to tell me what you want, baby.” you huff out softly, not daring to speak. you settle just for pulling him with your legs instead and he knows what you want, he just likes to make you work for it. gojo smiles upon seeing your frustrated face morph into pleasure when he traces a finger along your folds.

he whistles, “so wettt . . too bad i’m not too sure what my slut wants.”

“’toru— y-you ass!” you scoff out with a choked moan when he teases his finger around your clenching hole. you’ve soaked past the sheets now and all you can do is mumble to yourself in hopes that he’d hear.

“wantyoutofuckme . .”

satoru is insufferable, humming exaggeratedly with a hand to his ear and a shit-eating grin. “what was that?”

you sigh, eyes breaking contact with his because of the sheer embarrassment and he tuts a little in disappointment. despite it, he’s giving it to you bit by bit; one finger in you, and a second, curling it so well that your back arches and you hear the creak of the headboard behind you; your mouth falls open in a silent moan.

“you’ve gotta stop being concerned with people hearing us, sweets.”

you scoff, “yeah, easy for you to say. you’re part of the dormitory counc—!” your own whimper cuts you off when he slaps your pussy, loving the way your juices accentuate the wetness. his fingers move slowly, quelling the dissatisfaction minimally.

“hear this? this pussy is just begging to be fucked . .” gojo pouts, getting real close to your cunt and the hot breath has you squirming before he lifts his hand and punctuates each word with a slap to your clit —

“but.” slap! “she’s.” slap! “not.” slap! “begging.” slap! “right!” slap!

— and it has you moaning out loud each time, tears filling your eyes at the pleasure you’ve been chasing so much and yet isn’t granted to you. you try again, cheeks burning with vulnerability.

“p—please . . satoru . .” again, he teases you, taking his already hard cock and slapping it against your folds. the slick noises make you flustered, but your boyfriend isn’t having any of it — he sees how you bound hands reach out and leans forward to kiss you, grabbing your chin with his hand and forcing you to look at him and he tries to resist fucking you senseless.

“please what? beg.” he knows you’re liking it from how your pussy flutters against his shaft and the neediness of your hips moving into his, and possibly the literal hearts in your pupils. he runs his thumb over your lips, dipping inside and dragging your jaw out that it muddles your words and renders it fairly incomprehensible.

“p . .please, satoru! pleaseplease fuck me—” you press your tongue against his thumb, sucking a little. gojo closes his eyes and swallows momentarily, willing himself not to stare at the drool, “wan’ you deep in me, wan’ your cum spillin’ outta m—!”

“s-shit . .” and satoru swears when he rams into you without warning, and you tense against the bonds at the sensation. his mouth falls open at the first thrust, the constant denied orgasms making your cunt just so slick and sloppy that it’s gross how much of your arousal spurts and sprays everywhere.

“f—full . . s’full!” you babble, fingers barely catching some white strands of his hair because you need something to hold on to, so your lover messily undoes his knots and you’re quick to pull him down for a sloppy, saliva-filled kiss as gojo’s hips stutter and fumble in you, because for as much as he liked to tease you, nothing compared to being in you. “satoru, satoru, satoruuu—!”

“fuckin’ slut, can’t keep her mouth shut o-once— haah . . once she has a dick in her, can she?” gojo taunts you with a laugh, pulling away from the kiss to push your legs to your chest and angles his hips, “how’s this?”

you’re whining loudly into the bedroom, hands scrambling to grab something when his cock reaches the deepest parts of you, cockhead kissing your cervix lightly. with each drag of his length along your gummy walls, it only urges satoru to his high as with you, abruptly drawn out of you when gojo presses his fingers into your clit and you’re clenching so so tightly.

“tha’s it . . cum all over this cock— give it all t’me, sweetheart,” he grunts out, engrossed in the lewdness of it all as his hands only push your plush thighs more and more into your tits and soon enough you’re cumming with the messy circles he leaves on your bundle of nerves.

“y—yes! r-right there, right there!” your brain has turned to mush the moment you reach your climax, body trembling so much from the intensity of it that you don’t realise satoru’s cumming deep in your cunt right after, breeding you until it spills out. you let out a surprised squeal when he flips you over and drags your ass up.

“we ain’t done just yet, darling,” a fitting gift for his baby who’s waited for so long; he smears the cum all around your core, grinding his pulsing, sensitive tip against your entrance and you whine into the sheets. “needa reward you for doing so well.”

request something here

[forsworned]

USE YOUR HEART ft. NEEDY!SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY

Warning(s): Sexual Content, Grinding, AFAB!Reader, Mentions of Narcotics

Synopsis: Simon is high off of morphine and it reveals his true feelings for reader...

Author's note: Idk because @dmitriene told me to do it and i <3 her

"I don't wanna be alone."

His voice breaks as he reaches out to you. His usual stoic demeanor had completely diminished in your presence. For the first time, Simon was needy. You gaze down at his hand gently gripping your hand, "I need you." He says. Pleas even. Dark, stormy, and now conflicted eyes are peering up at you and he tugs you toward him. You didn't know how to react. Seeing Simon so injured and broken makes you feel some type of way. Somewhat wrong, but somehow...powerful?

"You need me?" You finally spoke up. His Adam's apple bobs up and down.

"Yes.” He croaks out.

The morphine that has been coursing in his system finally kicks in and you were experiencing the lowering inhibitions of Simon Riley, not Ghost.

The Simon Riley laying out on the infirmary bed before you at this moment was vulnerable, desperate, and reliant on your presence and aid--insistent even.

But naturally, you're hesitant. A situation like this is compromising and delicate. Given the nature of the circumstances and his stature, he is obviously still at an advantage, but it feels wrong to pounce at the opportunity. You don't want to feel like a predator skulking about as he studies you with reliant, onyx hues.

You look at the time on your watch.

12:38 AM

It was quite late, but the tugging of his hand over yours disrupts your train of thought.

"C'mere. I want you by my side." He susurrates and you're in a bit of a trance at the resonance of his soothing, sleepy tone. It's not its usual gruff and gravelly, but instead a lulling rasp that pulls you in.

"It's late, Lieutenant." You gently chide as you attempt to pry his fingers off your wrist, but he takes his free hand over your own and pulls you flush against him. Goddamn, he was strong. Even in his dazed and confused state, he is built like a fuckin' boulder.

But he's not listening to you as he fiddles with your fingers, tracing over the skin and where it creases and finely wrinkles. Over the nail bed, and the unfiled ridges, down to the chip that you earned from earlier when you reached for your gun in your holster too quickly. He's thumbing over the half-moon on your thumb and then the scar on the meat of your palm before he brings it to his masked lips as if to kiss it over the fabric.

A small, shuddering breath escapes you, and your eyes are glazing over before you swallow thickly. He cups your hand over his jaw and inhales sharply as he closes his eyes.

"Don't care." He replies, curling his bicep around your waist and secures you so have nowhere to go.

Your heart thuds at the contact and your cheeks are teeming with warmth. And suddenly it feels like the heat in there is turning to the max because you're sweating like a dog under his keen gaze and snug hold on you.

"Want you to stay." And it's as if he's speaking purely from the heart when he looks at you like that. You want nothing more but to crumble into his arms and cave into whatever feelings are lurking within you, but there's an urge to maintain your professionalism. And Simon senses that. He wants you to let go.

Why? He didn't know. Be it the drugs, the near-death experience, or the fact that you look utterly gorgeous under the strong moonlight or all of the above; he wants you with all his being.

His bandage-wrapped fingers loop around the bottom of his mask and he's lifting it up to expose just his lips as it scrunches up under his nose. Even if you have seen the sight a multitude of times over the years of knowing your Lieutenant, it is always as awestriking as it was the first time you saw it. His pretty rosy lips kiss at your wrist and you're stunned.

"Stay." He croaks out.

"And then what?"

You can't help yourself from asking such a silly question. You just need to feel needed by him because there is just something about the clinginess in his body language that pulls you in for more. If Simon is being honest right now, he's on cloud motherfucking nine. He's so high that everything feels like tunnel vision right now and you're the only damn thing he can focus on, not that he would want to focus on anything else.

So when he's telling you to stay, he damn well means it. But he also wants more. He's telling himself not to be too hasty, at least the logical part of him, though he is following his heart's desires. And his heart is conveying to him that he yearns for your closeness, for all your regard, and selfishly enough, your own heart.

At this point, all reasoning is being tossed out the window when he fixates on your trembling, shimmering eyes and your quivering glossed lips that are slightly chapped. But he's thinking to himself, one kiss. One kiss would fix that for you.

Simon is no longer struggling to sit up when he's tensing you closer to him feeling the sweat wetting the small of your back. His brows slightly raise and you feel your cheeks flush at his little observation, but he's not halting his motion to close the short distance between you two. He's bringing his hand over the nape of your neck, carding his scarred fingers through the tendrils of your hair and a soft sigh leaves your lips.

And the way you visibly relax draws out a small smile onto his lips as your foreheads collide. You don't even dare to open your eyes. You swallow thickly as you feel your breath become shallow and sharp. It fans against his lips and he's feels even more enticed to just kiss you.

"Dammit, [name]..." He finally breathes out. And you're eyes are on him and he can feel a thrill creep up his chine when he sees the flash of longing overcome your half lidded gaze.

And now you're yearning to bridge the distance, creeping closer to him, nudging your nose against his, and faintly brushing your lips over the stubble on his philtrum. You notice how his chest huffs out, stuttering as it leaves his lungs.

Long blonde lashes tickle at your own as your lips graze and you're heart is thumping out of your chest. You feel yourself holding back from your own hankerings but the moment that Simon brings his thumb to skim over your bottom lip, you feel the tension snap like a rubberband and you're crashing your lips against his. To hell with ethical conduct and decorum, you want nothing more than to satiate your thirst for him.

And with every kiss, you feel like your hunger is being appeased. The ferocity that grows in the depths of your groin is clawing out as you clamber on top of him and you're tuning out the noisy heartbeat monitor that's becoming rapid. And it cuts out, thanks to the swift movement of Simon pulling out the cord so he can nestle his hands under your shirt and slip his tongue between your open-mouth kisses.

He's losing himself in you and he doesn't care because the feeling of your nails digging into his abdomen is more than pleasant. As if the morphine wasn't dizzying enough, he was starting to feel like he was reaching some sort of seventh heaven. Especially when he hears the soft whimper that leaves your lips when he thumbs atop your hardened bud and gently tweaks it between his fingers.

The tent that's starting to feel like it's pitching between his legs is getting ground upon and he shudders at how fucking good it feels.

"Fuck." He murmurs as he lifts your shirt up to expose your breast to him and he's latching his lips to your sensitive nipple. It's a soft probing of his tongue against the erogenous zone and you're instantly arching your back and he grasps at your hips to abrade your clothed sex against him. And it feels so fucking good.

So, naturally, you're not stopping. And Simon can't help but become absorbed in your pleasure. Your milky moans are like music to his ears as he switches over to your other nipple. The friction builds in your lower belly as you get into a good rhythm and it becomes increasingly euphoric with every roll of your hips. And fuck, it's not even much but the way you are so touch-starved makes it all the better.

"Simon, I—hah—gonna—" You moan out, throwing your head back in ecstasy as his tongue swirls around your bud. He's already addicted to the way you're saying his name between your whimpers.

"Cum." He commands, as he clutches your hips to help achieve your oncoming orgasm. His sexy, raspy voice is enough to send you over the edge and a terrific gasp escapes you as you bury your face into the crook of his neck. Your breath is gone and you feel like your voice melts into a deep, hot sweetness that soothes your electrifying nerves.

There is a brief pause of silence as you catch your breath and the embarrassment skulks in and you don't want to withdraw from him. You only focus on his heartbeat which slows and his breath that levels. Your throat tightens as you shift awkwardly and his hand on your hip feels a little limp. You take another moment to memorize how he smelled to help you calm your nerves.

The aroma of his natural musk enmeshed with the faint scent of cypress digs into your brain as you try your hardest to engrave his essence before it slips away. With one more breath of courage, you withdraw from him to face the music but it seems he's fast asleep. His thumb is still hooked into the belt loop of your jeans, and you can't help but giggle at him.

A small sigh leaves your lips as you calm down from your climax and your shaky fingers, lower his mask back down so it's stretching over his neck. Maybe if you slip away right now he'll think that it was just a nice little wet dream...

But you feel his hand cling to you as you try make your sweet escape.

"Thought I told ya to stay." He mumbles under his breath while he wraps his arms around your waist, securing you and making certain you're not leaving his side anytime soon.

There's a feeling of assurance that fluxes over your edginess and you can finally breathe again. Simon's body feels weightless as he lays in this infirmary bed with your toasty form atop his. It feels heavenly to have your figure pressed against him and he hums in contentment. He's replaying the sound of your moans and the way your body writhed under his touch. And you're starting to feel the rigidity of his dirty thoughts against the zipper of your jeans.

"You sure?" You murmur back, feeling the warmth sidle back into your cheeks.

His grin grows under his mask and you can feel it against your forehead. Sleep overtakes him, but he gives you one last squeeze.

"'m sure."

[achilles-rage]

20 from the smut prompt list with buck pls :)

yay soft sex!! i feel like i don't write enough of that<333 (and picturing that with buck is😵‍💫😵‍💫)

number 20 from this post: "gentle comforting sex"

you knew something was wrong when buck came home from work. his usual smile was nowhere to be seen, and he looked deflated; shoulders dropped and head hung in a silent plead for comfort.

you led him right to the table and placed a dinner plate in front of him; knowing when he gets like this, he never remembers to eat. when you're both finished dinner, you lead him upstairs to bed. it's already late, and you figure he could use some sleep, if not some cuddles.

you help him out of his clothes and into some sweatpants, and then after you change into an oversized shirt, you crawl into bed beside him.

"do you want to talk about it?" you ask him softly, letting him rest his head on your chest and wrap an arm around your plush middle. you reach up and run your fingers through his hair, hoping that some tender touches will do the trick.

"not really." he murmurs, nuzzling his face against your chest, and you nod slowly with a quiet hum.

"what do you want me to do, my love?" you ask, voice just above a whisper. you kiss his forehead as you wait for him to respond, and then he lifts his head, chin resting on your chest as he looks up at you.

"lay with me?" he whispers. you smile sadly, tilting your head to the side as you move your hand from his hair to his cheek, thumb caressing his skin.

"baby, i'm already laying with you." you tell him, and he finally smiles, just slightly, and just for a split second.

he shakes his head as he moves off of you and rolls onto his back, looking over at you expectantly once his head is comfortably on his pillow.

"lay with me." he says again, and you finally understand what he means.

you get up and straddle his lap, then lay your head down on his chest, letting your weight rest on him as his hands come up to your thick thighs.

you know he finds comfort in laying like this; feeling your weight on him and your warm breath hitting his chest. so, you stay put, letting his hands move over your thighs, and your hips, and up your sides, trying to calm himself down.

"kiss me. please." you hear him whisper after a while, voice full of vulnerability.

you lift your head to look at him, then smile as you bring your lips down to his, cupping his cheeks as you kiss him tenderly.

he responds immediately, deepening the kiss and pushing his tongue past your lips and into your mouth as his grip tightens on your hips.

"need you." he whispers against your lips, kissing you fervently, like you're the only thing that can help him right now.

"what do you need, baby?" you whisper, pulling back to look down at him. you see the neediness in his eyes right away, and your own soften. seeing him like this breaks your heart.

"need you." he says again, pulling your hips down hard against his, letting you feel his hard length pushing against your clothed centre.

"you sure, sweetheart?" you ask him, letting him pull you down, but not moving your hips yet.

"please. i need to feel you." he practically begs, firm grip starting to move your hips in a gentle rocking motion against him.

you nod as you begin to move with his hands, letting out a breathy exhale as you feel him pressing against your clit.

"baby, please." he says again, growing impatient. he needs to feel you now. he can't wait any longer, and you couldn't say no even if you wanted to.

you lift your hips off of him and pull his hard cock from his sweats, pumping him a few times before you push your panties to the side and sink onto him.

he lets out a soft hiss at the feeling of you stretching around him, taking his entire length as he grips your hips tightly.

you lean down to kiss him deeply as you begin to move your hips, swallowing every moan that escapes his lips. you can feel the way his entire body relaxes as you roll your hips against his, and it urges you on, desperate to see his usual, happy self again.

his chest feels tight as he helps you move against him; his body craves your touch, needs the reassurance that you're here with him, and you always will be.

"i love you." you murmur against his lips, feeling the familiar feeling in the pit of your belly as you feel him twitch inside of you.

"i love you- so much." he rasps, moving one hand down to your clit, rubbing lazy circles with his fingers. your sweet boy, you think, even when he needs the comfort, he's still worried about your pleasure.

"don't stop, baby." you pull back from his lips, looking down at him as you move a little quicker.

"i won't, baby, i promise." you tell him, relishing in his shaky moans and low grunts.

"god, i need you." he mumbles, looking up at you as if you're the only thing in the world. he's mesmerized as you move, and he helps with your actions, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips while the other focuses on your clit.

"you have me, honey. you always have me." you purr, leaning down to kiss down his neck to his chest, lips pressing hot kisses to every freckle and scar.

"need you, ahh- need you-" he rasps, his sentence being cut short as he cums, his entire body trembling with the intensity of his release.

you follow suit, whimpering softly against his skin as you feel him fill you up to the brim. you slow your hips to a stop, keeping him tucked inside you as you both come down from your highs.

he keeps a firm hold on you as you continue to kiss the expanse of his chest, as if you'll slip away from him if his grip lets up at all, and when you feel his breathing go back to normal, you lift off of him slowly.

"are you okay, my love?" you ask gently, looking down at him struggling to keep his eyes open.

"better." he tells you earnestly, opening his eyes just long enough to look into yours.

"good." you reply, smiling to yourself as his eyes close again and he drifts off to sleep.

[spider-stark]

SPLIT LIP

HARRY OSBORN X READER

Summary - Harry gets into a fight and emotions start to unfold.

Warnings - 18+, angst, lil fluff, smut, blood, unprotected sex

// masterlist // send me your thoughts //

HE KEPT his head low as he weaved through the bustling crowd, ignoring the low gasps that slipped from the lips of those who somehow managed to catch a glimpse of his face. 

None of them knew what happened, not yet at least, but he figured it wouldn’t be long before it spread around. There had been at least a dozen people out on the balcony when it all started, and given his social status it wasn’t exactly presumptuous to assume that most of them had likely recorded the encounter. 

It wouldn’t surprise him in the slightest if he woke up tomorrow with a bunch of angry voicemails from his publicist, likely accompanied by screenshots of people making fun of him on Instagram for getting his ass handed to him by some random no name guy. 

But it hadn’t been some random no name. 

Not to Harry, at least. 

He hadn’t been aware that he was holding his breath until he finally reached the private salvation of his bedroom, his needy lungs leaving him gasping for air as he crossed the threshold, roughly swinging the door shut behind him. 

It shouldn’t have surprised him when it refused to close, and it certainly shouldn’t have surprised him when he turned to see your hand pressed flat against the pine, holding it open. 

But it did. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Osborn?” 

Harry figured the use of his last name wasn’t a good sign and it left a particularly sour taste in his mouth (though perhaps that was just the blood he was tasting). He hadn’t realized how accustomed he had become to the cute little pet names you used for him until now, or just how much the absence of them would affect him. 

Of course he didn’t let that show though. Instead, he grumbled out a rough, “Stop following me,” before continuing to trudge towards the private bathroom. 

But you had grown familiar with his evasive behavior, gotten used to his lack of vulnerability, and you rarely ever let him achieve the goal that stood behind his aloof persona; to drive you away. 

So you marched right behind him, mimicking his past action by pushing the door shut as you moved. This time it met no resistance, immediately clicking shut. 

There was no one else coming to check on him. 

“Do you have any clue how stupid that was?” 

You felt like you could barely breathe as your heart rammed against your ribcage, the sound of blood rushing loudly thrumming in your ears and making it difficult to focus. Your reaction wasn’t fueled by anger, though, rather an innate fear that consumed you as soon as Peter’s fist first collided with Harry’s face.

“Apologies, darling, but I’m already gonna get an earful from the board tomorrow about how this will affect my image as CEO, alright?” He pressed his palms against the cool marble countertop and spat into the sink. You watched as the blood-tinged spit crept towards the drain as he added on, “So, please, spare me the lecture.” 

The polite phrase was laced with contempt, effectively removing any trace of its inborn goodwill. But that wasn’t what had caught your attention. 

A dry chuckle ripped through you, and if he had bothered to lift his head up then he would’ve seen your eyes rolling into the back of your head. “Do you really think I give a shit about your image?” 

Your jaw remained slack as disbelief washed over you, leaving your head shaking. Harry Osborn was one of the most intelligent men you’d ever met, yet it never failed to amaze you just how dense he could be. 

Harry’s shoulders sank a little, failing to go unnoticed by you. His lip curled, a pang of nausea coming over him. He couldn’t tell if it was caused by his injuries or from the unfamiliarity of sharing even a shred of his emotions, his voice breaking slightly as he said, “What else is there?” 

“Your face?!” You cried out without hesitation. It didn’t bother you that Harry still assumed you had any regard for his status, you expected that much. But it did bother you that he didn’t think there was anything else about himself worth caring about. 

Still, even your well-intentioned statement sent another wave of panic rippling throughout him, his fingers gripping the marble even harder now. 

You hadn’t meant it in a shallow sort of way, even he knew that much, but it frightened him anyway. Harry already felt like he was losing his grip on everything that made him important—that made him worthy of love. 

He was losing his grip on all of it; his money, his status, his career. But now he found himself staring down at the scaly patch of skin accompanying his now-bruising knuckles, beginning to realize that as his disease progressed he would be losing something else too. 

What would be left of him? It was an ignorant thought, one that he knew had been fueled by his fight with Peter, but he couldn’t help but wonder anyways. What would be left for you to love when once he could no longer rely on his riches, his rank, or his allure? He knew that you weren’t shallow enough to actually care about those things, yet it still made him feel sick to his stomach. 

That’s all he had ever been to anyone. A symbol, a prize, an image. He had never really felt like a person before, at least not one that people cared about. After all, no one had ever treated him like one—not his friends at boarding school, not the women who chased him, not even his own father. 

Sometimes he worried that maybe there had been a reason for it. Maybe they had taken the time to peer beneath the surface, only to discover that they didn’t like what they saw. Maybe, just maybe, there truly wasn’t anything good about him aside from what he could offer others. 

You almost seemed to read his mind, your demeanor softening as you watched him lean further into the counter, his mind reeling as he absently stared at the drops of blood dripping from his nose spattering into the sink. 

“You know what Peter said isn’t true, right?" You took a half-step towards him, slowly closing the few feet that stood between you. You kept your voice low and soft, careful not to sound patronizing. 

Harry only scoffed, moving his hand from the counter to his face. He didn’t want you to see it, whatever traces of the fist fight had been left. He hadn’t even seen it himself yet, refusing to look into the mirror. 

“I’m serious, Harr.” You cooed, now close enough to place a hand against his back. He stiffened at the touch—comfort still something that was entirely foreign to him, but the pet name still soothed some of the ache in his chest. “He was just pissed, okay? So he took a few cheap shots cause he knew they’d hurt you. But that doesn’t make them true.” 

They were the truth though, weren’t they? 

Peter wasn’t the first one to call him out. There had been a long line of women and men alike that had spewed the same insults at him, making note of his arrogant persona and the silver spoon that hung from his lips. 

But he had been the first one that had been close enough to Harry to know what insecurities to prey on in order to cut him deep. He knew about Harry’s fear of failure, the loneliness that ate at him, the crippling self-loathing that never went away. 

More than that, he knew just how terrified Harry was of you seeing him the way he saw himself. And Peter knew that in an entirely selfish and fucked up way, Harry was scared absolutely shitless that you would realize that you deserved so much better than him—that you deserved someone like Peter. 

“Harry-” Your hand drifted from his back to his shoulder, gently grabbing it and intending to turn him towards you, to force him to look at you. 

But he refused to move. His entire attitude turned on a dime, posture straightening, though his head remained low and turned opposite of you, interrupting you with a tone sharp enough that could cut glass. “This isn’t working out.” 

Your eyes widened as his words registered with you, but you didn’t move aside from that, willing your body not to react. He didn’t really mean it, although that didn’t make it any easier to hear. You knew that he was spiraling, and any attempt to disagree with him would just add fuel to an already growing fire. 

So you didn’t disagree with him. Instead you crossed your arms firmly over your chest and gave a curt nod, smacking your lips as you said, “Okay.” 

Harry wasn’t sure if he had expected that response from you, but he did expect you to leave. He couldn’t quite imagine the hurt that would come with watching you walk out the door, though he knew it would likely be insurmountable. There was also a hint of satisfaction, though, as he recognized that you too would leave him. 

Everyone left eventually, he figured, and so maybe it was best to just get it out of the way now. Maybe it was best that he stopped wasting your time, that he didn’t force you to sit around and squander your life away on a dying man. 

But you didn’t leave, shocking him as you dropped to your knees beside him, beginning to rummage through a cabinet for the first aid kit you knew was hiding somewhere within it. 

When you once again rose to your feet, first aid kit in hand, you grabbed a clean cloth from the linen closet before once again coming to stand directly beside him. You didn’t have to try and forcibly move him this time, finding no need in urging him to look at you for the first time since this conversation had started. 

He did it on his own, forgetting about his desire to shield the evidence of the fight from you as he was overwhelmed with a mixture of both confusion and relief. 

You weren’t leaving, you hadn’t turned to walk out the door, you weren’t going to do something stupid like chase after Peter—though Harry wondered if it was really all that stupid, as he doubted that Peter would ever act in such a self-sabotaging way. You were just standing there, running warm water onto the cloth with a bit of soap. 

Why didn’t you leave? 

You frowned as you turned the tap off, turning to look at him and cocking your head to the side. “Guess he’s not puny Parker anymore,” you hummed sarcastically, hoping to use humor to avoid having a more dramatic reaction. 

The nickname certainly didn’t fit anymore, as Peter had clearly developed a hell of a right hook sometime after puberty. Blood still oozed from Harry’s nose, and a bit from his busted lip as well, but it was thicker now than before, finally starting to slow down. 

Lightly pressing the cloth to his upper lip you began to slowly clean him up, careful not to apply too much pressure. He was gonna bruise, that much was obvious, and you knew that he had been right before. The board would give him hell for this. 

“So what was it?” You asked as plainly as possible. 

Harry squinted at you. “What are you talking about?” 

“You threw the first punch.” You clarified. He flinched when you started to dab around his split lip, and so you tried to make your touch lighter. “So what was it that pushed you over the edge?” 

He hesitated, sucking in a breath before mumbling something incoherent. Frowning, you lightly nudged against his leg with your foot. “Gotta be a little louder than that.” You teased him. 

For a moment you could’ve sworn you saw his mouth twitch into a slight smile, his eyes rolling slightly. It made you smile, too. 

“You know how Peter is,” Harry eventually spoke after another long pause, finally sounding a bit more like himself in spite of the animosity he held towards Pete. “he’s never known when to shut his mouth.” 

It was more than he had spoken this whole time, but he still knew from the expectant way you were staring at him that it hadn’t quite been enough to satisfy you. He was holding back and you both knew it. 

He sighed. “He was talking about you. Apparently Parker’s incapable of letting go of what could’ve been.” 

You couldn’t help but grin at the way he sneered, although you knew it was probably wrong to indulge in him making fun of your friend. To be fair, Peter deserved it sometimes, tonight being a prime example of that. 

There might’ve been a time in which you would’ve jumped at the opportunity to be with Peter, but that ship had long since sailed, whether Peter liked it or not. If anything, you were thankful that things hadn’t worked out between the two of you, because now you couldn’t imagine a world in which you were with anyone other than Harry. 

“Pete’s always been a bit delusional.” You tried to suppress your laugh, still focused on cleaning Harry up. Somewhat satisfied with the amount of blood you’d cleaned from his pale skin, you sat the cloth down on the counter and reached for the first aid kid. 

Another brief moment of silence settled over you both as Harry battled with himself again, debating letting another moment of vulnerability slip out. You didn’t dare say anything, allowing him time to process his thoughts as you grabbed a stack of gauze from the kit. 

His tongue carefully traced over his bottom lip, his face screwing up as the subtle movement agitated the wound on it, the taste of copper overwhelming his senses. “Is he?” 

Those two little words were all he was willing to share, but they told you more than enough, guiding you towards the type of comfort he needed right now. 

You nodded, folding a piece of gauze over onto itself, your gaze fixating on the shiny spot of red dripping from his lip. You pressed the gauze against it, applying some pressure. “I think so.” You told him. “I couldn’t imagine being with someone like Peter.” 

Harry’s brows snapped together at the claim, clearly unwilling to believe it. “Oh, you mean someone kind and caring and who literally has an IQ of two-fucking-fifty?” 

It was your turn to react, donning a much more lighthearted expression than his as you struggled to contain your amusement at the sight of his cerulean eyes growing so wide. “Do you want to date Peter, Har?” 

He practically growled at your joke, and admittedly the sound affected you far more than it should’ve. Your cheeks developed a slight red-tinge, trying to regain your focus on his wounds as you moved to replace the gauze you were holding. 

“No,” he spoke roughly, “I’m just trying to say that he’s exactly the type of guy you should want to be with.” 

Your nose wrinkled, making it clear that you disagreed with his statement. You halted your previous movements, leaving the gauze where it laid on the counter and offering your hand to him. He only stared at it. “Come sit down with me.” you urged, moving it a little closer to his. When he didn’t move again, you tacked on a desperate, “Please.” 

Harry had never been good at denying you when you used that voice with him, his heart and brain simultaneously turning to mush whenever you’d flash your best puppy dog eyes. 

So he obliged, careful to give you his left hand instead of his right. The one that hadn’t been affected by his disease just yet. 

You led him out of the bathroom and back to his bedroom, stopping only when you reached the king sized bed that laid in the middle of the room, making him sit down on it beside you before you were willing to pick your conversation back up. 

“Do you really think Peter is the type of guy I should be with?” 

It pained you to even consider that Harry truly thought such a thing. For it to be a thought fueled by insecurity would be one thing, but for it to be a God’s honest belief of his would be something else entirely. 

He didn’t answer you, only focusing his attention on your hand as it remained wrapped around his. You knew the answer, though, even if you wished you didn’t. 

“Okay,” you breathed out, “then let’s talk about a world where I’m with Peter instead of you, okay?” 

Harry scowled. “I’d rather not.” 

“Too bad.” You shot back, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “You’re right,” you admitted despite knowing the statement would make him squirm uncomfortably beside you, “Peter is all of those things you mentioned.” 

“Great.” Harry grumbled through his teeth, cursing when you then elbowed him in the side for interrupting you. 

“But Peter has faults too, Harr. Big ones.” You breathed out a weak laugh. Slowly you tried to piece together your thoughts, carefully choosing your words so they couldn’t be misconstrued by his trauma-ridden mind. 

“I don’t like the way Peter makes me feel.” Your tone was cautious, sounding out each syllable with great care. 

Harry didn’t bother to look up at you, fixating on the sight of your fingers interlaced with his, but you knew he was listening. He always listened to you. 

“Don’t get me wrong, he’s my friend and I care about him. But… he treats me like I’m fragile. Like I’m something he needs to save.” You shifted slightly, suddenly feeling a little exposed. But you didn’t let yourself stop, not yet. “I never feel like a person with Peter. Not really, at least.” Harry’s breath caught in his throat. He knew what that was like, though he’s never shared it with you before. “He doesn’t actually see me.” 

The admission hung in the air between you for a moment before Harry replied, his voice wavering as he said, “Do I?” You furrowed your brows at him and so he clarified, “Do I make you feel… I don’t know, seen or whatever…” 

It was odd to hear Harry speak in such a casual manner, to see the ways in which he tried to come across as dismissive while still working on bearing his emotions to you. You put a great deal of effort into not smiling at it, not wanting your innocent amusement to create any additional insecurity for him. 

“Always.” You answered swiftly, lovingly brushing your thumb against the back of his hand. “That’s why I’m with you, Harry.” 

His eyes grew glossy, his head immediately dipping down as the tears threatened to spillover. Emotions had always felt like a weakness to him. 

But you had grown tired of letting him hide himself away from you tonight. You pried your hand from his, crawling over so you were no longer sitting beside him, your knees pressed into the mattress as your legs settled on either side of him as you sat in his lap. 

Tender hands reached to cup his cheeks, collecting the tears that had gathered on them as you gently forced him to look at you once again. At first he tried to fight it, but he soon realized there was no use. He let himself succumb to the comforting nature of your touch, instinctively nuzzling into your hand. 

“I’m with you because I love you, Harr.” You hadn’t said those words before, and you refused to look away as you repeated yourself, “I love you. Not your money or Oscorp or anything other than you, okay?” He blinked, more tears escaping as he did, but he didn’t respond. So you repeated yourself again, needing to hear his confirmation, to know that he understood. “You know that, don’t you?” 

He truly wanted to believe you, to have absolutely no doubts. But the dark thoughts crept in, filling every corner of his mind. The words of his friends, of past lovers, of his father. 

His lip trembled. “But there’s nothing to love.’ 

You cringed as you felt the weight of that word—love. You’d dreamt of hearing him say it, and you knew that he felt it for you, but you had never imagined it sounding like that. 

He said it like it was contaminated, like it was something to fear. 

It broke your heart and stunned you at the same time, your mouth left agape as you fell speechless. You weren’t certain of what to say, of what to do to soothe him. You’d always known that Harry had been broken by his past, but this was perhaps the first time that you’d realized how extensive the damage truly was. 

His name escaped your mouth, the only thought crossing your mind as you threw your arms around his neck and collapsed against him, nearly sending him tumbling back onto the mattress at the sudden weight. But he braced himself, his own hands moving to your back as he leaned forwards, instinctively balancing out your actions and keeping you both upright. 

“There’s so much, Harr.” Your lips were pressed against his ear as you whispered, so desperate for him to hear you. The ache in your own chest grew stronger at the thought of him ever doubting your feelings for him, even for a second. “There are so many things to love about you!” 

His body was unmoving against yours as you squeezed him even tighter, turning the tables and fighting against your own emotions now. You held in a sob, wanting your words to be as clear as possible, “You deserve love, Harry Osborn.” 

And, for the first time, something inside of him snapped into place. He hadn’t forced you to be here. He hadn’t even asked you to waste your life on a dying man. If anything, he had pushed you away. He had practically begged you to leave on more than one occasion. 

But you never did. 

You wanted to be here. Not because of what you might gain from him or for what he could offer, but simply because you cared for him. You wanted to take care of him, to clean his wounds and call him out on his bullshit. 

He bit his cheek hard enough to draw blood and you gasped as he suddenly mimicked your actions, his arms tightening around you as he buried his face against your neck.  

“I love you, y/n.” 

The word didn’t sound as harsh this time, as if he had begun to untangle the fear that had others have woven around it. It was light. Genuine. 

“I’m bad at showing it—trust me, I know—but I really, really do.” 

He let his walls down, forcing himself to swallow his pride right alongside his anxiety. He knew that he didn’t need to put on an act with you, that he didn’t need to cherry pick his words to ensure they wouldn’t be twisted in some malicious way. 

With you, he didn’t need to be an Osborn, cruel and calculated. 

He could just be Harry. 

“I don’t understand it,” he admitted,”but it’s just–I don’t know, I just look at you and I love you so much. I see you and I know that there is nothing that I wouldn’t do for you, absolutely nothing. And you’re just so…” a particularly hard laugh vibrated against your skin, “crazy. Crazy to ever give a shit about someone like me.” 

You laughed too. “And you’re an idiot,” you leaned back slightly, sliding a palm in between your bodies to try and push him back a touch, wanting to look at him, “for ever thinking that I’d give a shit about anyone else.’ 

And as soon as the sentence had left your lips, your eyes drifted to his and seeing the way they gleamed with a glorious mix of both love and lust, it was over. 

Your lips collided with his, so fast that it was impossible to tell which of you had started to lean in first. There wasn’t much about it that was gentle, though, despite the innocent admissions that had led to this moment. 

With your palms still pressed to his chest you shoved him back against the mattress, feeling it dip beneath your combined weight. Your lips never parted as you laid against him, the two of you locked into an endless hungry kiss that melded into another and another. 

One of his hands slides from your waist to your stomach, fingertips delicately tracing your skin, and you felt as if you were on fire everywhere he touched. A soft moan slipped from your mouth and into his, only serving to encourage him further as he started to toy with the button on your jeans. 

Your head was spinning by the time he finally pulled away from you, already leaving a wet trail of kisses against your jawline as you gasped for a breath. There was a faint taste of blood in your mouth, a sign that you’d agitated the wound on his lip, but neither of you cared. 

It was all you could do to focus on his movements, edging towards your neck, his teeth lightly grazing against your pulse and eliciting a lewd whine. You felt him smirk against your skin at the sound, a firm hand pressing into your waist as he jutted his hips against yours, the friction making him groan before he nipped at your skin again. 

“I love you,” he breathed out against your collar bone, his tongue delicately tracing against the sensitive spot, “so much.” 

Your own breathing was uneven, entirely uncontrolled as you’d already turned into a writhing mess of moans, your only coherent thoughts fueled by your desire to feel him. 

You pulled away from his assault on your throat, and you nearly melted when he looked up at you; darkened eyes pooling with desire, his lips gleaming with a mix of both of your saliva and a bit of blood. 

As your gaze drifted south you realized that one thing was clear: he needed to be wearing far less clothing. 

There was no hesitation in tugging at the hem of his shirt, urging him to help you remove it. Harry had already unbuttoned your pants, unzipped them, too, and so you quickly shimmied out of them and tossed your own shirt to the side as he worked on his own pants. 

You moved to sit on top of him again but he stopped you, changing positions and forcing you to lay back against the mattress, hovering over you. He looked down at your body, admiring it, his index finger tracing along the curve of your waist, your back arching slightly as he moved towards your thigh. 

“Needy,” he chastised with a low chuckle, but didn’t hesitate as he began to shift himself lower on the bed, clearly intending on first using his mouth to get you off. You stopped him, though, your fingers digging into his shoulders. 

He paused, following your gaze as it settled just below his waist. You licked your lips, voice low as you barely managed to get out, “Please.” 

Foreplay felt unnecessary right now, maybe even a touch cruel. You didn’t wanna waste time on it, desperate to have him closer. 

Luckily, Harry was never one to deny you what you wanted, already guiding himself towards your entrance, his swollen tip pressing against you before—

There was a fucking knock on the door. 

Your head jolted up from the mattress, both of your necks snapping in the direction of the sound, Harry’s dick still in his hand as you both froze. 

“Hey Harry,” you nearly groaned, letting your head fall back against the mattress as you heard Peter’s muffled voice through the door. “I just figured we should talk, alright? I wanted to check on you. And apologize, ya know?” 

You looked at Harry, his gaze meeting yours. It took every ounce of willpower you had to keep your hips still, your body desperately wanting to grind against him. “Tell him to leave!” You hissed, trying to stay quiet. 

Peter knocked again. “Harry?” 

You expected Harry to say something dismissive towards Peter, watching as his mouth fell open to speak. But no sound ever came, his blue eyes suddenly twinkling with something strikingly similar to ill intent. 

Then, before you’d had time to even unravel his plan he had already roughly sheathed himself fully inside of you, fingernails digging into your hips as a guttural moan fell from your lips, loud enough that Peter surely heard it. 

He leaned in close, his breath tickling your ear as he said–“I think he’ll get the message.”

a/n - something quick and lazy that i wrote at school cause why not. not even sure i like it that much but the harry osborn tag needs more content so i figured i might as well post it lmao.

[noirsfantasy]

𝕺𝖓𝖊 𝕮𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝕬𝖜𝖆𝖞

𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 ➛ Im Changkyun x Reader

𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 ➛ smut

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱 ➛1.1k

𝔰𝔶𝔫𝔬𝔭𝔰𝔦𝔰 ➛ You get a late night call from your boyfriend and he asks you for a favor.

It's 2:34 AM when I'm awoken by the buzzing of my phone. I groan as I reach to grab it off the nightstand, looking to see who it is. My eyes crack open slightly, seeing that it's my boyfriend, Changkyun, and answering it, holding the device to my ear.

"Mm~ Hello?" I answer groggily, still half-asleep. I'm met with the sound of his heavy breathing from the other end of the phone. Changkyun's voice breaks through the labored breaths. "Changkyun...?"

"Baby, I'm so sorry for calling this late-" He inhales sharply and I open my eyes a bit wider, more alert now. "I need you~ I need your help~" He whispers. My heart races, a mixture of concern and curiosity coursing through me.

"Kyun, are you okay? What's wrong?" I question, my voice thick with sleep, but laced with care. He clears his throat, his breathing still heavy as he speaks.

"I'm... so fucking horny, right now." He almost growls as he lets out a soft huff. "I've got my cock in my hand right now and all I can think about is you... I need you... I need to hear your voice..." His voice drops almost to a whisper, sending a shiver down my spine.

"My voice?" I repeat, biting my lip a bit.

"Just- just talk dirty to me, baby." He tells me. "Make me forget how much I miss you right now~" Heat blooms in my chest at the thought of helping him through his moment of need.

"What do you want me to say?" I ask, taking a deep breath as I prepare to fulfill his request. This is so new to me. He's never called me like this, so needy and horny. Changkyun lets out a shaking breath before he speaks.

"Tell me what you're wearing, right now..." He replies, his voice trembling with desperation. I bite my lip, the request forcing a flutter in my chest. I can't help but feel aroused by his need for me, even in this vulnerable moment.

"I'm wearing those yellow panties, the ones with the pink polka dots that are a little too tight and always give me a wedgie~" I start, my voice breathy with the image I'm painting. "I'm wearing your black zip-up hoodie... it's halfway zipped and I have no bra on underneath." The sound of his breath hitching at the other end of the line tells me that I'm hitting all the right spots.

Encouraged, I continue, "My nipples are hard right now, poking through the fabric." My fingers find their way to the fabric covering my breasts, mimicking his touch through the phone. "I'm pinching them gently," I whisper, the tease in my voice evident. "If I close my eyes, I can imagine you're the one pinching them right now.

Changkyun lets out a low moan, his breath becoming more erratic as he strokes himself. "Keep going~" He breathes, his voice thick with need.

"I'm just imagining how your fingers would feel on my soft skin. They'd start at my breasts, groping them gently." I squeeze them as I speak, feeling myself getting more aroused. "Then they'd trail down my body, tracing my sides before dipping lower..." I pause, letting my words hang in the air, giving him room to fill in the blanks. I can hear his labored breath as he groans. I can almost see how needy he looks right now.

He's probably sitting up against the pillows, his cock throbbing in his hand as he strokes it desperately, the precum collecting at the tip as he chases his pleasure. I move my hands down my body, squirming a bit as I feel a tingling sensation in my core.

"As your fingers reach my panties, you'd practically feel the heat coming from my core, my wetness seeping through the fabric, just begging for your attention." I whisper, my voice heavy with longing. "My hands are between my legs now, spreading my folds for you~" The image is clear in both my and Changkyun's mind.

"Yeah? You're touching yourself?" He asks as his breath stutters. I exhale heavily as I start moving my fingers.

"Mmhm~ I'm touching my clit, right now, rubbing it gently, just like I know you would." Changkyun's breathing grows more ragged as he moans, the sound of his fingers moving up and down his shaft audible on the other end of the line.

"Tell me how badly you want me~" He commands, his voice hoarse with need. My fingers twitch as I insert them inside me, curling them while I imagine they're his fingers.

"Daddy, I need you here so badly... My pussy is so wet for you~" I whimper, my fingers pumping in and out of my slick heat, the noises becoming louder. "I wanna feel your body pressed against mine, our slick skin touching, our hearts beating in sync. I'm aching for your cock inside me, stretching me, filling me up~"

Changkyun's moan is loud and needy, the sound sending shivers down my spine. The image of our union fuels the fire, the need to feel connected, to share this moment of pleasure through the phone. Our touches grow more fervent, the sounds of our arousal mingling together.

"I can't hold on much longer," Changkyun gasps, his need palpable.

"Let go, Kyun~" I urge him, feeling my own climax approaching quickly. "Fuck~ I'm so, so close to-" My sentence is cut off by the hitch of my breath, my fingers curling and twisting inside me as I chase my pleasure. With my encouragement, Changkyun's pace increases, his moans growing louder and more guttural. Together, we edge closer to our peaks, the sound of our combined moans filling the night, despite the distance between us.

The waves of pleasure crash over us as we come together. His labored breaths only serve to heighten the experience as my body trembles, my thighs squeezing together as I ride out my climax. Changkyun moans with each heavy breath, gradually getting softer as he comes down from his high. In the aftermath, we both lie there, our gasps echoing through the phone.

"I love you," Changkyun finally whispers, his voice hoarse with exhaustion. I can tell he's on the brink of falling asleep.

"I love you too," I reply, my voice soft and tender. "Sleep well, my love." When I'm only met with the sound of his soft breaths, I hang up the phone. A satisfied smile graces my lips as I roll onto my stomach, drifting off to sleep almost instantly.

[x0llaz]

Seasons 🫧✧˖°

Riize as Wave To Earth

Eunseok x Reader

WC: abt 500

Angst, hurt comfort, fluff, argument/make up. IT GETS CUTE I PROMISE!

Fights with Eunseok were never fun. Stupid fights could escalate so quickly, and words were thrown as if they weren’t just words. This one was no different, neither could remember the origin, whatever it was wasn’t important enough for either to remember. All that was on their mind was the next comeback.

“You’re so needy! I can’t catch a break with you!” Eunseok’s words hit her harder than she would’ve expected. No insult came to mind, only words that she had been trying to say for weeks.

“Maybe because you’re my boyfriend, and there are times that I need you?” There were already tears in her eyes from the previous words, but now she let them fall.

Eunseok didn’t register the sincerity behind her words until he got a good look at her, tears streaming down her cheeks, hands shaking at her side. It shocked him to see YN like this, in all their arguments, she never seemed this vulnerable with him.

“YN,” he spoke her name with a sigh, reaching out to wipe her tears away, guilt hitting him like a bus when she smacked his hand away. He realized this had probably been something on her mind for a while, that maybe he was lacking somewhere and it was hurting her more than he picked up on before. “I’m sorry,” he gently took her hand, relieved that she let him.

YN didn’t look at him, her gaze was fixed on the floor. He brought his thumb to her chin, and nudged her to look up at him. He met her eyes with a sad smile.

“I’m sorry for everything, the fight, what I said, for making you feel bad,” she finally let him wipe the tears from her eyes. “I don’t want to fight you,” he whispered.

“I don’t wanna fight either,” she sniffled lightly. “Can we just… talk about things? Not fight about them, just talk things through,” she asked and Eunseok nodded.

“Of course, baby,” his voice was soft, bringing her hand up and pressing his lips against her knuckles. “I’m sorry i didn’t realize i was making you feel alone,”

“I thought you didn’t care anymore,” She admitted, looking back down to the floor. Eunseok felt his heart break a little.

“YN,” he spoke her name gently, bringing her chin up once more to look at him. “I care about you more than anyone, you’re my whole world,” he held her cheeks between his palms, gentle against her skin. “And I’m so sorry I made you feel like I didn't. I promise you, I'll be better. I will always be here for you. Say the word, and I’ll be there,” he assured her, not wanting her to feel like that anymore.

There was a moment before YN wrapped her arms around his waist, crying into Eunseok’s shirt. Eunseok brought a hand to rest against the back of her head, the other wrapped tightly around her. He kissed her hair, wishing he could undo all her hurt in that moment. All he could do was hold her, and promise to be better.

YN looked up at him, teary eyed, with a light sniffle, and smiled up at him. He brushed her hair back and kissed her sweetly, wanting her to know how much he cared.

“No more fights?” YN asked once more, breaking the kiss.

“No more fights,” Eunseok agreed, kissing her once more.

Sorry for the angst eunseok Stans 😛

taglist: @oftenjisung , @vhuteryh , @skzhoe4life , @cheederzchez , @so-lychee

[watermelonlovershigh]

"I Just Felt Like Cryin"

AN: this randomly came to me in one of my dreams and i had to write it out. i love this concept even though it breaks my heart a little bit. i hope you enjoy and your feedback is welcome!!!!!

This story contains: just crying and comfort

{ dadrry - husband!harry - softrry - have three kids but they aren't in really in story }

word count- 1,061

Harry comes home from the studio and just feels like crying for whatever reason.

As soon as Harry came home from the studio you could tell something was wrong. He wasn't as cheerful as he usually was and he seemed lost in his train of thought. But knowing Harry, he tried to hide his emotions well and act as if nothing was wrong. Especially in front of your three kids. He didn't want his kids to see him have a breakdown. He only wanted them to see their father in a happy state.

The problem tonight was that even Harry didn't know what was wrong with himself. He wasn't necessarily sad and he wasn't mad. So maybe it's a combination of stress and built up emotions but he just felt on the verge of crying all evening. There was this burning behind his eyes that you get when you're trying not to cry and Harry can't seem to get rid of it.

--------------------------------

After going through the routine of giving your kids their baths and tucking them into bed, it was time to go to bed yourselves. This part in your night routines can vary depending on your moods. If you were feeling needy, then it would consist of making love under the duvet. If you wanted to relax more, it could consist of sharing a bath or shower together. If you were tired, it would consist of just cuddling and going to sleep. Tonight you didn't know what to expect but you knew sex was off the table.

You came into your bedroom to brush your teeth and then begun putting your creams and lotions on your skin as you sat on the edge of the bed. Harry told you he'd be back in a moment, that he was going to get himself a glass of water from the kitchen. You were nervous because you didn't want there to be anything seriously going on with him. You hated to see your husband so down.

The whole journey to the kitchen Harry was fighting tears. Then on the way back up to your shared bedroom he was fighting tears. He didn't want to cry tonight. Not that he was embarrassed to cry in front of you. No, you've been married for so long that he's completely okay with being vulnerable around you. He just didn't want to make you sad because he knows when you see him cry you get sad.

But as soon as Harry stepped foot in the bedroom and shut the door behind himself, he took one glance at you, the person he loves most, and his bottom lip started quivering and his shoulders started shaking as a sob left his body. You stood up quickly and walked across the room, first grabbing the glass of water out of his shaky hands. Then asking, "Baby, what's wrong? Hey, it's okay."

Harry just wraps his arms around you and sobs into your shoulder. You haven't seen him cry this hard since the death of his step father and it's really worrying you. "I....." Harry tries to speak, "I donno."

"Are you sad or feeling sick?" you gently question.

"No, I, I just felt like cryin'. M'sorry. I'm a big baby." he mutters as you lead him over to the bed. Now you understand a bit more. Harry has been stressed lately and you have a feeling his emotions just got backed up so much that now they are all flowing out of him. Typically Harry is the type of person that will ignore his emotions until they come spewing out of him. For some it's with anger that includes yelling and being violent. For Harry, he's not an angry or violent person so his emotions are tears.

You help Harry sit on the edge of the bed while continuing to hug him to your chest. His cries are slowing down but are still somewhat there. "Shhh," you whisper while leaning back to lay down under the covers and stroke the back of his scalp, "It's okay. You can cry if you feel like it. I'll be here the entire time and hold you, okay." Just wanting your husband to know its okay to cry it out.

Harry nods his head where it's placed over your heartbeat, his favorite place to be. He loves laying his head over your heartbeat during sex to feel how fast he's got it beating for him. But he also just loves to feel it to comfort him when he's trying to sleep or is upset about something.

After a few more minutes, Harry coos in a hoarse voice, "Thank you. Thank you for always knowing how to comfort me and thank you for loving me." His words nearly bring you to tears.

"Harry, babe, you're so easy to love. You have the biggest heart and everyone can't help but to show you love. I love you so much." you tell him truthfully. You do love Harry with every fiber in your body. You wouldn't have married him if you didn't. You wouldn't have let him get you pregnant three times and had his beautiful babies if you didn't love this heavy man laying across your chest right now.

Harry lifts his head off your chest and leans forward, going in for a kiss, but you stop him. He gets a sad look of rejection on his face but you reach over to your nightstand and grab a tissue. "You have snot running out your nose, babe. Here, let me help you wipe it up." You gently cradle the side of his face and help him wipe his snotty nose. It doesn't gross you out at all because you do have kids that have desensitizes you to this kind of stuff. "There we go. Now you can kiss me."

With the first smile you've seen on his face all night, Harry leans in again and places the most softest kiss on your lips. It only lasted a second but that second means everything to you. After the kiss, Harry whispers, "I love you." He leans back down to snuggle into your covered chest. You grab the edge of the duvet and help drape it over his back to keep the both of you warm. Then once you reach to turn the lamp off and the bedroom is filled with darkness, you began to fall asleep with Harry in your arms.

(PLEASE REBLOG BECAUSE WRITING IS NOT EASY AND IT'S FREE SO JUST DO IT)

(no more tags are allowed because i've hit my number limit. sorry : ( )

tag list: @one-sweet-gubler // @harryscherrysugar // @hsfanficsrecss // @lollypopsx // @harrycanyonmoonn // @itfeelslikemytherapisthatesme // @damnasstyles  // @mrsstylesharry // @softmullet  // @meetmyblondemuffins  // @thegirlnextdoorssister // @stanleystyles  // @haarrrys // @michellekstyles  // @skyangel57   // @the-gardener-31 // @lhharrylilpumpkin // @yousunshine-youtemptress // @clairestylessss  // @kissmyaxe140  // @goldenmelonsugar-hi // @kaitieskidmore1 // @florencepughily  // @alienorknight //@dancearoundthelivingroom  // @swiftmendeshoran

 // @luv-flor7777  // @alohastyles-x // @tenaciousperfectionunknown  // @sleutherclaw // @siredtohybrid // @whoscamila // @a-strange-familiar  // @golden-elodie // @mrspeacem1nusone //  @goldenkhae // @lntwithharry // @shadowygladiatorlight  // @manifestrry  // @mendesblurb // @sunshinemoonsposts  // @depersonalizationsucks // @academiaghost // @zendayassimp // @reveriehs // @vsnnstuff // @dancinsunflowerkiwi // @quinnsgrapejuice // @theroosterswife24 // @justlemmeholdyou // @stylesmygucci // @hsonlyangelxo // @luvonstyles // @howdey

______________

My Masterlist Masterpost

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Would Blanche let me give him head?

Tw: Well, blowjob, seggs, description of bullying, cum eating, violence

Short answer, Yes. Long answer:

You would have to win him over, though. He's ridiculously shy when it comes to anything outside platonic love and attraction. As charming as he is, Blanche actually never had anyone express genuine desire to bed him. He was by no means ugly, but his whimsy and quaintness made others label him as this unromancable, unfuckable weirdo.

Blanche is almost as if he has a built in magnet for bullies, the closest to a love confession that he got was when the people around him dared each other to ask him out, as a joke. It's funny to them because Blanche is not at all an eligible candidate as a bachelor. The idea of sleeping with him is humorous, hilarious, even. They weren't laughing anymore when all of them experienced the metallic taste of his brass knuckles driven deep into their skulls.

He experienced this treatment for the majority of his life, following him all the way to adulthood and even during his time living as a hermit in his cottage. They just can't fuck the old man and they kept tormenting him because of it.

He yearns to be the romantic gentleman he would see in love films, he yearns to be treated like someone valuable like a protagonist of a steamy romance novel. Alas, he was hurt and used for so long, that he blocked that longing out entirely from his mind, to save him from the unavoidable heartbreak. Unfortunately, even when he is expecting nothing, he still gets let down.

It's not a surprise that he's wary with the notion of romance and erotic attraction. It's already drilled into his being that he isn't desirable carnally. It's an automatic no to anyone who thinks it's a great idea to 'prank' him again.

But you... you're different. You're so special and so lovely to him. Bringing up the idea of sucking him off made Blanche freeze in place momentarily, letting all those horrible, horrible memories flood back in. However, he reminded himself that you wouldn't hurt him, you're his beloved friend. His only, one true friend. It should be okay, right?

He's apprehensive at first, but with enough patience and convincing, you could make him sit down at least. Blanche would drape his hair over the back of his chair, letting it pool on the floor. He would nervously bite on his thumb as you slowly unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers.

Blanche felt like his heart is about to beat out of his chest, how could it not? The only person he loves is on their knees at his crotch level, offering to do something so dirty, something unthinkable. Yet so... intimate.

You would stop when you saw him crying, eyes red and wet. His eyebrows would be knitted together and his lower lip trembles in anticipation. Upon asking what's wrong, he would break out into a sob, covering his shameful face with his hands. He would grow hot and his ears would resemble hot embers, he is so, so ashamed.

"I-I'm sorry, my darling. I'm just- I'm Just... embarrassed." And it was too overwhelming for him to see a growing bulge on his crotch, he had never felt this vulnerable before. Not even after being called all kinds of derogatory slurs by hundreds of people in real life and online. This is a different type of humiliation that somewhat felt nice, because it was with you.

He would draw in the sharpest gasp and widen his beautiful, deep blue eyes when you took him in your mouth. Swirl your tongue around his length, let it touch the back of your soft and slimy throat and enjoy the delicious whines, whimpers and mewls that would escape his mouth.

His moans would be like music to your ears, it's so pathetic and needy. Blanche would have his fingers tangled within your hair, not to force you against his length, but to try and slow you. You would bob your head up and down, occasionally catching a glimpse of his messy, teary face. It almost seems like he's in excruciating pain, but whenever you stopped to ask him if he's hurting,

"No! N-no, not at all. It felt so good, I-I can't describe it. It felt so good..." Drool would drip down from the corner as he watched you with a daze. He would let out a cry when you went back to mouthing his throbbing cock, leaked with excess amounts of precum.

Blanche would convulse as if you passed electricity through him, his eyes would roll back into his skull as he's overcome by immense bouts of forbidden pleasure. His fingers would grow weaker and weaker, at one point even slipping off your head and dangling limply on his sides. More tears, mucus and drool would streak down his once clean and dignified face.

At his climax, his entire body would contract and Blanche would let the loudest, most lewd, most improper moan rip out from his vocals. His copious amounts of cum would take you by surprise as it fills you up to the brim, it's so powerful that some would come out of your nose if you didn't open your throat properly before blowing him.

It will take him half a minute to unload everything, making a mess all over your neck, chest and floor. It would almost look like the bedroom is flooding with semen, some even got soaked up by his curly hair nearby.

It will take another few seconds to recuperate, slowly snapping out of this euphoric bliss that he experienced for the first time in his lonely, lonely life. You would be wiping your eyes to remove the cum that temporarily blinded you.

"O-oh! I'm truly sorry, darling..." He would lean forward, cupping your cheeks and helping you clean your face up from decades of pent up frustration and desperate yearning. "I'm so sorry... oh, look at you. I'm terribly sorry for this..." He would frown, now being brought to tears due to guilt. He would be flicking as much of his semen away from your face. Blanche noticed that you're still holding quite a substantial amount between your tongue and teeth, he would bring a cupped hand next to your chin, expecting you to spit it out.

"My dear, don't-" He would be wide eyed when you decided the remaining load in your mouth, grinning happily and even showing that there is nothing in your mouth. Blanche could only dream to have the tomatoes growing in his garden to be as scarlet as his face right now.

Because of his clean diet, his jizz actually tasted... nice? It's mildly sweet and has a very mild smell to it. It's smooth, creamy and generally pleasant to eat.

"You..." He would be at a loss of words as he processed what you did. Upon realizing what the implications are, that you have a part of him inside you willingly, and in unimaginable amounts too... His cock would find a new burst of energy to spurt one last load of cum, soiling his trousers, chair and your face again.

He would then cry out apologies before hastily wiping away more spunk away from your already painted countenance.

You had to assure him that you're okay, you enjoyed it too, only then he will let out a shaky sigh of relief before looking you with eyes filled with so much love and adoration. He quickly tucks his member back into his underwear and zipped it out of sight, before it could do further damage,

"Thank you, my love. Thank you..." He leans forward to press numerous kisses onto your face, initially not caring that he's also coating his lips with his spunk. Only when it seeped into his mouth did he cringe and shudder.

"Ah, icky." Blanche would laugh, and so would you. He nuzzles his nose against yours and continued giving you kisses while you kneel in front of him.

His eyes would land on the disaster that he created while ejaculating, darting from your drenched form to the floor, and to his soiled hair too. Blanche would nervously chuckle while trying his best to wipe your face using the napkin he tucks into his other breast pocket. "Yucky, yucky." He would mumble lightheartedly to himself while he stares at you with the brightest twinkle in his downturned eyes.

"You're such a blessing to me, I love you." He whispered, urging you to come and sit on his lap, despite knowing that he would get his cum onto his waistcoat too. He tries his best to clean you up, but it's already staining everything. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

He would love you up in his arms, showering you with praises and kisses for hours if you let him. You would be as giggly as him, as his fluttering lips would be ticklish. In the end, he would bury his face in your shoulder while he holds you close.

"I'm sorry I made such a mess. I got a bit too excited, y-you made me feel things I never felt before. It was... It was so good. I-I don't know what to say except thank you." He would murmur softly before you felt a certain dampness on your clothes, he's crying again.

"You're so good to me, my rose. You're my one and only, I love you." Blanche then presses a long, tender kiss on your lips. You close your eyes and he closes his teary ones, both of you melting into each other and enjoying the warmth.

He would slowly pull away and tenderly massage your jaw, it must have been straining when you did that for him. He isn't one to brag about his size, but he could clearly see that he was too big for you.

"I can't express enough how grateful I am. You're such a wonderful angel in my sad, sad life... How could I ever repay you, my love?" He caressed the side of your face, occasionally picking out hair that clung to your skin. "Would you like me to..." He trailed off, looking away embarrassed.

You got what he meant, you said yes. But only if he's comfortable with it.

"Of course, I am, my dear." He pressed his cheek against yours, hugging you as if you're his beloved stuffed toy. "But... I'm not, I don't- I don't have much experience doing such things."

He held your face and looked into your eyes, you could see uncertainty and nervousness swirling in those ocean blues.

"Will you teach me, darling? I would love to please you too. You have shown me a world that I couldn't even dream of experiencing. I am forever indebted to you and I-I'm having a hard time coming up with methods to show you my unyielding gratitude."