#but they are just shapes!!! that move around on a ball so like

[slowpokecrossing]

kirby characters are suprisingly hard to work with despite being really simple shapes

[meownotgood]

pillars. / viktor x gn!reader, fluff and angst, lots of angst actually, implied childhood friends, confession kisses, mentions of death, one singular czech pet name, kissing viktor's moles, takes place during s1 act 2, so technically no s2 spoilers but some things are implied. word count: 7.9k

read on ao3

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"You look exhausted," You hum, your voice thick with fatigue in unison, "Don't you think you should rest?" 

Viktor takes a breath deep and slow enough to hear, his hands briefly faltering as he twirls a small, bronze magnifying glass with his fingers, but he doesn't reply, nor does he turn away from his notes. 

The lab is cool, quiet — aside from the distant hum of various pressure valves and idle machinery. The Hexcore thrums. Runic engravings litter each complex, geometric surface. Viktor rests his balled-up hand on his face, bony knuckles pressing into his cheek. With his inkpen, he messily scrawls something into his notebook. Low, blue light illuminates the cluttered room and his workspace. Each side of the Hexcore pulses when you approach behind him, twirling to its own complex, ominous rhythm. Acknowledging you, somewhat. 

Viktor inhales sharply, and shakes his head frustratedly, crossing out what he'd just written with jittery, forceful motions. 

It wouldn't be the first time you've found him here, like this, mulling over some sort of invention or idea when most of the city is already asleep. Falling into a focused routine is merely second nature. And normally, you wouldn't protest. 

When you were much, much younger, staying awake as long as you could felt fun. Helping Viktor cram studying for exams in between finishing an invention the night before Progress Day became a yearly occurrence. In the weeks before finalizing blueprints for the Hexgates, you'd almost forgotten when either of you had last seen the sun. It's just that this routine has been far more absorbing, far more taxing — and the repercussions are painted clearly on Viktor's shadowed face. 

He looks drained. Worn. Like if he tried to stand, if he wasn't leaning against his desk and absorbed in his research, the weight of his own exhaustion might make him crumble and collapse. The ends of his hair stick out in messy, curled strands, from where he's anxiously twirled them around his fingers. 

You hate the dark bags that have made their home under his eyes. You feel a knot in your gut as you watch Viktor's hands; shaky, and imprecise. Flipping through the pages of his notebook to search for something. Tracing a sentence with the end of his inkpen, only for his gaze to flicker back to the start when the words failed to register. 

You sigh. Forcing a smile, even though he can't see it, you take another stumbling step forwards. Your arms wrap around his thin figure loosely, and your weight settles gently yet firmly against his hunched back, in something of a tender, evocative hug. 

Viktor shifts, his grip tightens on his pen when it almost slips. You nuzzle into the perfect, head-shaped space at the crook of his neck, breathing him in — flooding your senses with a coffee-warm richness, with the scent of ash and sweat and lingering sparks. 

His gaze softens like melted honey. As if the simple press of your body to his returned pieces to himself he'd thought he lost. Brows unpinching, your heat at his neck spreads across him in waves, contradicting the collected edge kept in his tone. 

"I'm not yet tired," Viktor lies, trying his hardest not to lean into your embrace. "I'd like to analyze this for a few moments longer. This page is," He shakes his head. "Incomplete. If I could find the key to what induces some form of response, then-" 

As if on queue, the Hexcore sparks with energy, twirling faster, glowing with luminous constellations. Viktor swiftly moves to jot something down, but as fast as the Hexcore reacted, it's just as quick to return to normalcy. 

He mutters something under his breath, slightly jostling you from his shoulders when he leans forwards in focus. 

"I swear," You're grumbling; you rest your chin on the hard edge of his shoulder, glancing between the Hexcore and his notes with passive interest. "You've always been like this." 

"Like what?" Viktor flips through his notebook once more. "Stubborn, I'm assuming?" 

"Stubborn, yes. Smart. Terribly ambitious." You reach up, until you're able to place a few taps onto his forehead with the end of your finger. Viktor barely seems to notice. He adds onto an almost-full page by messily writing in the margins. 

"I know how hard it is for you to stop those gears in that brain of yours. Once they're going, it's impossible to get them to stop." 

"Mm. And you know how important this pursuit is in particular, yes?" 

He reaches for a notched turn dial on the opposite side of his desk, connected to the Hexcore by a series of braided wires and support poles. Your gaze follows his hands — gripping carefully, with delicate, calloused fingers. There's a distinct pause. A moment of palpable tension, as you both instinctively hold your breath. 

Viktor twists the dial. Once, twice. 

The Hexcore gives off a few miniscule, pitiful sparks, like a God's first attempt at a lightning storm. And he expels a long, drowsy, disappointed sigh. 

"I do," You murmur, sympathetic. 

Viktor grinds his jaw, hard enough to feel it aching, but even through his fierce familiarity with self-induced destruction, even though he isn't deserving of this, he can't hope to hold onto the ragged bites of stress in his veins. Not when you're so warm, when the feeling you ignite in his chest with your voice alone is so terribly soft. He has missed this. 

"But I also know," You're continuing, "Every time you get close to a breakthrough, once you let yourself rest," Viktor's head nods sleepily, struggling not to fall, and you playfully tap your index finger to the end of his nose. 

"That's when you find it." 

Part of him wishes he could keep himself from listening. Of course, as strongly as he wants to be better and more efficient, because taking a break is like admitting defeat, and defeat is worse than accepting he might've reached the end of his line — he knows you're right. 

Placing the cap on his pen, he leaves it in the middle of his notebook, closes the pages to save his spot before hastily, reluctantly pushing it aside. 

You grin. You slowly shift up, and Viktor feels your arms sliding from his shoulders, your weight leaving his body. For a second, he thinks you might move, believes you'll leave and feels a sharp grind between his ribs at the thought. Instead, you place your palms on his rigid shoulders, and you squeeze. 

His lashes flutter, eyes partially rolling into his skull. His head grows dizzy, like he'd been spun. Frustration melts out of him as warmth and light take its place, shining from your touch like the kiss of stars and the rays of the sun. Bright and lovely; galaxies weaving themselves into his tired muscles. 

Relaxing, he can't help but lean back, dropping his head against your waiting chest. 

"I saw Jayce before I left this morning," You're murmuring. It's in one ear, and out the other at first. You lean in, speaking close to him this time, to make sure you've been heard. Your voice shudders through him, warm like candle wax. "Says he hasn't seen you sleep in days." 

"In one day," Viktor corrects, rather matter-of-fact for someone who's busy melting into you like his limbs are boneless. "Technically, about twenty- no, twenty two hours. More or less. Honestly… hardly worth the over-exaggeration." 

"Vik," You scoff playfully, breath fanning warmly on his skin. "You're doing it again." 

Your palms move. They drift from his shoulders to his arms, fingertips gently toying with his sleeves in a foolish attempt to touch his skin. He tilts his head all the way back, and cracks his weary eyes open to look at you. 

"And what is it I'm doing?" 

"Saying things that make me worry about you. And then expecting me not to." 

"I am not-" 

Right then, before he can speak, your hands return to his now-tensed shoulders; they combat the ache in his chest and the tightness in his throat when they roll his muscles. His chest thrums with a soothing gentleness, rich and saccharine, difficult to swallow down. 

"You are worried about me?" Viktor questions, sighing slightly when your hands work out a particularly old, tightened knot. "I have not seen you in… who knows how many days. I have lost count." 

Your mouth forms a hard line. 

"I- I know," You're answering, hands drifting down smoothly, as if they're carried on waves. They find where his tie is neatly fastened around his collar, grasping the diamond and pulling to loosen it. "I've been trying not to get in your way. Everything is just- Jayce is a counselor now, and you're busy with a thousand different things. I'm not going to interrupt your work with my stupid-" 

"Our work." Viktor's tone is resolute. It holds you, grounds you against the raging winds in your mind that threaten to pull at your pieces. "Hextech was furthered by your contributions. Do not forget that." 

You swallow, but it does little to chase away the dryness in your throat. In a hasty, abrupt motion, your palm grasps Viktor's shoulder, this time twisting his chair to make him face you. He eyes you with surprise for a moment, his tired gaze tender and weak enough to light the shrapnel in your stomach. 

"Viktor." Your head tilts, affectionate. You reach up, and brush away the messy strands of hair that cover his pretty face and tickle his forehead. "This research, this dream of yours, it's-" 

"It is a necessary risk." 

Gaze wide, you freeze up. Viktor exhales sharply, glances away from you to focus on something in the distance instead — messy shelves of discarded machinery, inventions you once worked on together, etched with your signature and his — because the way you're looking at him has an ache prodding at his heart, sharp and thorned.  

"Finalizing this thesis would simply be the beginning," Viktor continues, passionate, gradually starting to talk with his hands. "Think of the lives we could save, of the good we could prosper from this sort of technology. Enough to improve the Undercity for the better, to provide rationale for the potential dangers. I understand you are worried- but this is our life's work we are talking about. If we were to determine the true limits of Hextech, it would make our efforts worth it, in spite of… even if…" 

He stops, trails off. Glances up, and decides he might've said too much. You understand. You have always understood where all of this is going. 

The lives he could change would be worth the price, even if he was to throw away his. 

Tattered threads tear from within you — unspoken, buried deep. You've become well acquainted with the taste of denial. Sharp on your tongue, thick in your throat to meld with the bile. It sits on your lips as words better left unspoken. Eats away at your skin and your flesh and your core, settles in your limbs and at the tips of your useless fingers. Reverberates, until the ringing in your ears begins to sound like him. 

Piltover feels so distant, with the idle noise of the lab filling the room. Miles away, even though you're right in its heart. Nothing has ever been fair. It cast you aside, it was never your home. He was. 

All you've received for ages now are fake sentiments, vague reassurances. Reminders of how terribly futile your ambitions have proven to be. Every sun has to set, every star will burn out — but fuck, you don't want him to burn. 

Your mind is dizzy. Each thought spins, tipped faster and faster. Light pounds from behind your eyelids, and your stomach churns, making you nauseous. The lines blur between Viktor's figure, the floor, and the dull aura of the Hexcore, beginning to overlap everything together. 

You aren't present, or perhaps you're wishing to be anywhere but here. Curled beneath the covers, hiding under your bed like you did when you were a child, running to the furthest, broken edge of the universe so you wouldn't have to imagine him slipping through your fingertips; Viktor draws you back, grasping your chin oh-so gently. He tilts you towards him, puts your focus on him to push the rest of the world into the background. 

"Though, I suppose there is no harm in stopping for the night," Viktor reasons, his tone a soft murmur, devastatingly gentle. "I have missed you. I believe I may have neglected to make myself clear." 

And for a brief reprieve, there isn't anything sweeter. Nothing this fatal. 

His arm braces behind him, elbow resting on the edge of the desk. You follow through when he gently keeps you in place, steady on his direction; you're a compass, and he's Polaris. Your gazes don't separate, magnetized together like a hex crystal to iron. 

For a moment, he forms a small pout, in a way that would have you grinning if the circumstances were different. His expression ripens, becomes soft. Almost guilty. A plea and an apology and some form of a confession, muddled into one dangerous, indecipherable nebula. 

"You sure?" You're muttering, trying to keep your tone upbeat, regardless. "Your project looks like it's itching to fly away." 

"Eh," Viktor shrugs, he allows his thumb to brush over your cheek. "I'm sure it can wait. It understands I have more important things to focus on." 

His touch makes you ache. Guides your sorrow to entwine with his, digs in deep to grasp at your chest with such devastating familiarity. 

It's an excruciating reminder of how much you have craved this. How badly it hurts, to feel Viktor's hand tremble as he touches you, slightly unsure, when you wish he wouldn't be. Exhaustion is wound so deeply into his system, you'd think he was born with it. He brushes his palm from your cheek to your jaw, caressing idly, in an absent, lazy motion. And it frustrates you, because you know you'll soon be lost, wishing you could feel his touch again. 

Every pound of your heart reminds you of everything — of the brushes of fingers, when passing tools and pens at the work table. Hands solidly grabbing one another to steady anxieties, to offer familiar reminders. Nights spent categorizing constellations, while in your eyes, Viktor's radiance burned brighter than any distant galaxy. 

Gentle touches pressed to weary limbs. Tightening machinery, releasing the gears on a brace. An arm offered to help him stand. Instinctually standing beside him, at the side that might need you. Fingertips exploring the notches of a spine, traveling rivers of veins, mapping out star-shaped clusters of freckles. 

Tired moments much like this, but instead of protests and strives against fate, there were lovely brushes of whispers. Twin dips in the same bed, murmurs of, I'm here, you can go back to sleep. Touches that wished for themselves to be something more, something lasting. Though they knew they'd evaporate by morning. 

It's far too late to still rely on daydreams. 

You let the haze die out, tracing the edges of his hard knuckles as an apology before you clumsily push his hand from your cheek. Standing up straight, the lab seeming more cold and quiet and empty than ever, you choose to put distance in between yourself, and your lost love. 

"Sorry. I shouldn't-" Breathe, you've got to remind yourself to breathe. Air catches in your lungs, sharp and dizzy, and you quickly shake your head. "Viktor, I-" 

Gods, Viktor shouldn't have to choose between you and his ambition. He shouldn't need to place his own body in the middle of making a difference, and saving himself. There's still so much you haven't done, haven't said. The life you both dreamed of and fought for is crumbling, he still has so much he was meant to accomplish, and yet — 

A hand grabs your wrist with surprising force, to keep you from taking another step back. 

Viktor's brows pinch. "Do not tell me you're thinking of leaving." 

Oh. Your gaze finally travels up from your feet, and he looks hurt; his voice barely manages to avoid cracking around the edges. His fingers dig into your wrist sharply, desperately. 

Viktor's jaw tightens, his firm grip causing veins to show in his wrist. Your shoulders slump, and you exhale. 

"I'll walk home with you. You shouldn't sleep here, it's bad for your-" 

"No, no you will not," Viktor interrupts, exasperation echoed through his tone, pain and worry laced through the lines of his palms to compel them to shake. "Tell me why you are refusing to stay. It's been weeks without change, why must you run off the moment I attempt to make time for you? I doubt you have any idea how much this torments me." 

Weeks of avoidance, days upon days where he'd watch you disappear too soon. Viktor would turn, he'd say something to the empty air because he expected you to be there, but you would be gone, absent from the lab or the hallways or the dorm you once shared. Bitter sentimentality, the hurt you forgot to take with you, is all that would linger in his bones. 

Just how far are you willing to run — in vain, until your legs might snap — to pretend you won't lose the only thing you have left, your friend, your partner, to imagine you might escape the certainty of his conclusion? 

Your gaze is flighty. It carries raindrops, flutters on soft wings, between him and the intricate, statuette angles of his face. Between the ground and the desk, and the glowing Hexcore. He has rarely seen you so unsettled. When your emotions run high, you hide them from him; unsuccessfully, he might add. Your wrist flexes beneath his palm as he feels your hand clench, and unclench. 

Little by little, you're tugging his heart from between his ribs. Tearing it apart like petals pulled, like the games you used to get lost in when you both were kids; you love him, you love him not —

"I can't stay. I wasn't- I shouldn't have tried to come back to the lab in the first place," You answer, dejected. His grip only tightens on your wrist when you pull. "Viktor, please." 

"Answer me. I need you to say something," Viktor grits out, voice getting louder, his shoulders tensed with frustration. "What is the cause of this- this fracture in between us?" 

Your arm drops. Your bottom lip quivers, and your breath gets caught in your lungs. The expression on your face is more sore than he's ever seen it, painful enough to kill, bordering on bursting into tears. 

And then, your voice quiets. "I don't want to watch you die." 

The Hexcore gives off a low, rumbling sound. The lab becomes quiet enough to hear the individual ticks of machinery gears. 

Viktor's grip loosens on your wrist, only slightly. He doesn't speak, he can't listen to his heart or his head when he's placed between the persistent thrumming of both. You aren't looking at him. Regret dawns on your face, then sadness, then something he can't recognize when you turn your head away. Fatigue curls into his system, and settles amongst everything else: the guilt, the anticipation. The raw, forceful tenderness. 

It's a reminder that you're right. 

The passing of each slow second seems to exist for just the two of you. Dragging on and on. Barely helping him to find any answers. If only there was more time. 

Words could never be enough, burying your emotions like lodging a knife way deep in your chest isn't working. Your partner was made to burn bright, to exist as an act of defiance itself. To dedicate his mind and his body and his bruised hands to progress, no matter the obstacles or limitations, the past grievances or untold emotions. 

So many moments were never adequately spent. Days and weeks across years taunted you, moments spent as friends and colleagues, despite half of you belonging to him. 

You just needed one push, one thrust into the light to stop you from holding back, because you knew you risked ruining everything. But if Viktor continues, if the Hexcore grows more and more dangerous, if the council continues to require more of him, and what you haven't spoken about becomes true — there won't be anything left to ruin.

And as he watches you collapse, firm on the outside but weak on the inside, turning back to him because you have to, not because you want to, Viktor finally understands. 

He knows this body is… wilting. 

Decaying; he can feel every ounce of newfound weakness in his limbs, knows he's a servant to his own existence as it waits for him to waste away. Many from the Undercity are much less fortunate. He is grateful you are stronger than him. 

More pressingly, he is acutely, abruptly aware of how little time he's spent with you — it runs as fierce in his chest as the hourglass-shaped reminders of the short span he has left. You used to be inseparable, you shared the same dreams. Your talks weren't limited to melancholy utterances of, Have you eaten yet? and, Is your leg okay? and, I never see you anymore, will this time be the last? 

How he's chosen to treat himself are small deaths, in a way. Promises to join you later that led to nothing, nights of exhaustion framed by mornings of fading in and out. He's followed his own guide to avoidance, the steps were simply laid out differently. He's grown sick of it, truly. And deep down, or perhaps on the surface, he is so, terribly exhausted. 

Swallowing thickly, you remain frozen in place, waiting for him to give up, for his hand to slip from your wrist. When it does, you continue to linger. Your heart pounds loud in your ears. Little glances at him greet you with his face downcast, his shoulders slumped. 

You sigh — and you decide this can't be it, or perhaps you're just not ready. You draw yourself dangerously close, to trail your knuckles down Viktor's sharp jaw as a weak apology. 

If there's one thing he isn't accustomed to, it's throwing logic to the wind. Viktor tries to think of this like his notes, attempts to categorize and interpret these emotions. He imagines there's diagrams and logs in his own swirly handwriting, outlines that would guide him to precisely what he needs to do. 

None of it works, of course. It's a terribly juvenile line of thinking. And he's rarely one to give into impulsivity, but you make it so difficult to think, to focus. 

His breathing is already quickening and sharpening, creating pockets of light in his weak lungs, even through the reminders of his own mortality's shadow. Nothing is more important than the feeling you cradle in his chest, bright and fate-defying. 

It would not be like him to accept this. To fade out with a hundred contributions unfinished, a thousand words unspoken. Confessions meant to fall from his voice like meteor showers, fears and regrets with no way to form on his tongue. The thought alone leaves him troubled, choked. His jaw tightens in frustration, only relaxing when the ghost of your fingertips guides him to. 

Low light frames you, the features of your face troubled; oh, he can hardly remember the last time he's seen your smile. But he remembers, knows it to be beautiful. The slight softening his gaze undergoes as it flickers across you is utterly familiar — you pointed it out, once. 

Your eyes overfill with warmth, they melt like amber. Your pupils widen like big, lovesick moons. His head can't help but spin; there's so much he never realized, when you did.

His hands like to absently search for something to fiddle with when he needs to think. His fingers have a habit of tapping against something methodically: his desk, the spine of his notebook, his own forehead. The mark above his mouth follows his lips, when they tip into a smile. He's doing it now, surely. Softening in your afterimage. Gaze warm, honeyed, hopeful. 

No, he isn't sure if his fate can be changed; he's treading close, but he isn't dying yet. The Hexcore is unresponsive to every stimulus he's attempted, but his research is far from complete. There are mountains of quandaries he isn't sure he can fix, pitfalls remaining just out of his control. All but one, all but this. This is something he could do, something he can change. 

You almost speak. Almost give some useless, parting words when his tired, gentle eyes drift back to yours, two ships on the same sea. He's inquisitive, hesitant, his brows creased together in thought and with conviction. The mere sight of him — hair a mess, skin pallid, ignites a thousand feelings and worries in your gut; a lighter tossed to a puddle of gasoline. 

It's something Viktor picks up on. 

You look pained. Unsure of yourself, from the way your eyes can't quite meet his own, from how your hand slips away from his cheek, as everything in you threatens to disappear. Weary, as you gaze at him like you've already lost him. 

You've forgotten how to read him, he realizes. Caught up on what you might lose, the both of you have forgotten what you could have. Viktor's heart feels like it might burst, with enough force to make the sun's implosion look weak, and you don't understand, he'd have to show you. 

He takes it as a sign. Grasps the last chance you've extended to him, and runs with it as fast as he can. 

His name dies on your mouth, before you have the chance to speak it. Echoes haunt your soul when his palm finds your cheek, solid, sure; Viktor pulls you in hard, threads of distance easily closed, and he presses his lips to yours with an intensity that feels vividly visceral. 

It won't fix what's already been done. This isn't a promise, falling short between being reassurance and becoming a goodbye. It isn't the way he would want to confess, if fate was kind enough to give him a choice. 

But Gods, logic and reason, worry and mortality are all melting into nothing. Fading and fizzing into the sky, budding and beginning anew in his lungs — because for so long, he has needed this, needed you. As fiercely as dead parchment longs to be burned. 

Your body immediately goes tense in surprise. Your arms awkwardly hover in place, until Viktor's head tilts, following the gentle aria, his palm brushing from your jaw to your cheek to hold you close — as though you're still prone to vanishing, if he were to let go. Like this is the beginning of too many firsts, and even more lasts. This kiss is worthy of savoring. 

So, you do. You let your eyes flutter closed. You shift forwards with a shaky step, practically stumbling into him. 

It's sweeter than you ever could have pictured. The subtle roughness to his chapped lips. The slight tickle of his breath, when you pull apart for long enough to hesitate, but not enough to gain the wisdom to stop. 

Soft kisses draw you further, closer. A hand holds his cheek, a palm braces to his shoulder. Careful to use little force, to avoid any accidental hurt. 

Viktor follows, leans back, has you bending closer as you get caught in his butterfly effect; blue light bathes you, and the Hexcore shifts, utterly radiant. There's a moment of separation, a brief second where your eyes barely get to flutter open. A pause that promises to be your last opportunity for regret. Greedy and urgent, brutally eager, Viktor drags you back in, keeping you caught in his penumbra. Coaxing you to cage him in — to kiss him like you mean it. 

The taste of you is vivid, perfect, intense, rich; you make charged electricity glitter down his spine when your fingers curl into the soft, chestnut tresses of his hair. Grasping, pulling, leaving it even messier than it already was before. 

Your lips part, your breath forms an intoxicating meld with his. And he is only foolishly, stupidly human. Made of flesh and bright dreams, etched with soft skin and fervent desires. Too weak, desperate, and caught in your echo to contemplate anything but the way his own name sounds — the V is a soft vibration, the completion of the consonants makes it sound like reverence — when it's breathed into his mouth. 

Hazily, he feels your palm press, shoving gently to his chest, pushing his back against the desk in a clumsy effort to bring yourself closer. His chair shifts slightly from the movement, rusted wheels grating the tile. Your palm finds its place between his lower back and the desk's firm edge, bracing some of his weight, and acting as a buffer, keeping him from pressing against it. 

Viktor melts underneath you, breathes a soft noise into your mouth that begs you not to stop — as if you could. As if you haven't wanted this in an unquantifiable amount of ways, across an infinitum of discarded daydreams. You're left to steal gasps in between, clinging onto quickened sighs that rival the struggle of keeping your head above water, as wild waves crash over your skull. 

Out of breath, he blindly fumbles to find your shoulder; pushes gently, silently asks you for a moment of reprieve. 

You draw back immediately. You're unable to stop yourself from shuddering when he softly breathes your name. Familiar accent curling around the syllables, giving them life and importance like your name was made for him to say. To whisper, to covet, to plead. 

"Lásko," Viktor coos, as his eyes grow heavy. Glinting, with a spark of zeal that tells you to stop holding back. 

You're well acquainted with the warm, softhearted nickname. You know it to be something Viktor taught you himself, between gentle explorations of the few things you didn't already know about one another, when your late-night curiosity and desire to learn led you to, Oh, and what name would you use for someone special? 

His jaw grits; his next words, murmured in his mother tongue, resemble a sharp, possessive swear. His head tilts with yours when you lean closer — but you shift, falling in to let your lips find his neck. 

The kisses you place there are hurried, desperate; like rays of light, as if you don't have time. Obediently, he stifles a whimper, and allows his head to fall back. It leaves plenty of room for your wandering hands to crinkle and press aside his shirt collar, and you place your lips on the firm, jutting curve of his collarbone. 

You find the twin moles on his neck tendon, blessing a kiss there, near desperate enough to bruise. You follow them like a treasure map, to kiss the perfectly-placed mole above his mouth. Your palms cup his face faintly. Then, you sweetly kiss the mark on his opposite cheek, your lips warm, laced with fervent sparks. 

Viktor shudders, he feels lighting race up his spine and split him open like a scythe. He's been avoiding his own declining reflection for weeks upon months now, but he doesn't need to remember much of himself to still know exactly where you're kissing, like the back of his hand. 

The ghost of your lips just above his mouth, and then to the apple of his cheek send a thick, syrup-sweet realization reeling through him. His moles. It reminds him of fingertips playfully tapping his face. Of soft comments and pretty compliments, portraits of his own image that he'd never forgotten because they were from you. 

When you hear the hitch in his breath, he swears he feels you smile against him. He's certain, once you shift back down to his neck, to repeat the process all over again. Placing messy kisses onto his soft skin, worshiping the intricacies he would've never thought were admirable. Memorizing each placement as though it's deliberate, like making a map of the night sky's constellations. And Viktor swallows, shakes, softens. 

Blindly, you search for where his hand has been kept at your side. You grasp it, and pursue the natural interlacing of fingers: yours fitting perfectly between the gaps of his. 

Trying not to shudder, failing when your breath fans against the right-angle corner of his jaw, he guides his free hand to trace the small of your back. His fingertips are gentle, hesitant. Careful brushes akin to a study, an exploration. 

With a dizzy mind and even more muddled thoughts, he doesn't expect when you support your weight by placing your knee on his stool, between his legs — when you lean in close and fast and hard, crashing your lips against his once more. One kiss isn't enough, so you kiss him again; you let yourself be pulled in on his current, and he forgoes breathing to drink you in instead. 

Your body arches into his touch, curves when his palm presses flat to your back, attempting to feel as much of you as possible. You want to be pliable beneath his warm hands like clay, because at least being molded would leave an imprint. You'd have something to remember what this meant, what his touch felt like. 

Seconds and minutes bleed into one another. You can barely tell where he begins, and you end. Two halves of the same anatomy, you can feel the thrum of his inherent light beneath your breastbone. 

The Hexcore watches. Pulses, hard enough to make pens begin to roll across the desk. To topple a precarious stack of diagrams, which sends a few papers fluttering to the ground, to make the steel marbles of a Newton's cradle clumsily clink together. 

Neither of you notice. The response Viktor's been searching for spikes just beyond his reach. You make him feel weightless, as though the fragility of his own vessel is more of an afterthought, until he could be ripped into fragments and you would be there to put him back together. Viktor's palm holds the back of your neck, his head tilts with yours, and you kiss. Falling into one another, only unfalling to breathe. Your atoms melt into his particles, blossoming a blur between your two shapes. Your heart pounds with his, to a rhythm so exact they could be mistaken for the same singular beat. 

Finally pulling away requires a mountain's worth of strength and effort. You only do so because you've got Viktor's back pressed hard against the desk, and he's practically about to fall off his chair. 

You both needed to breathe. It takes several moments for your head to stop spinning. You can barely focus on anything, but the bruising of your lips and the skip of your heartbeat. Stumbling back, sliding from his chair to offer him more room, you cup his jaw in both palms. Soft and blissfully tender, as though this is what they were made to hold. 

Viktor sighs hard, gasping heavily. His skin is slightly flushed, still warm to the touch. His gaze stays on you, basking in your afterglow. You're used to him flinching away. A slight hesitation always laces through his fingers when you try to grab his hand. His muscles tense on instinct whenever your arm wraps around him, braced to help support his weight. 

But this time, your palms hold his face, your thumbs brush his skin, and he melts into your touch, unburdened. Gaze fluttery, expression relaxed. Giving in at last, after countless ages of starvation. 

The low light of the lab, and the soft glow of the Hexcore's rune matrix — quiet, now — frame his face in outlines of shadow and hues of cerulean. Shades of blue meld with the honeycomb of his eyes, dulling the color. Clouds over a fading sun. 

He hears the slight shake in your breath first, before he feels a tiny droplet hit his cheek; and you're leaning forward, trying to hide. Eyes shut tight, as you rest your forehead against his. 

"Sorry, I-" Viktor murmurs, weak and faint. So quiet, you almost fail to hear. "I know this does not… fix things." 

Oh. He hasn't seen you cry since you were both kids. 

Viktor remembers clumsily trying to comfort you, making a crude somewhat-flower-pinwheel out of scrap metal as a gift, because he thought it wouldn't fix everything, but it might make things a little bit easier. For a time, anyway. 

Reality is often a cold, cruel overseer. Remembering how to breathe again brings sharp pain into his lungs, it returns an ache to his tired shoulders and his strained leg. His vision comes back into focus, his future returns to taunt him but this time, something is different. 

He feels a spark. A newfound wave of ambition. The radiant golden hour, before a bright, final breakthrough. 

"It's fine," You breathe, weak and fragile, with a meager shrug of your shoulders that says you are anything but. "I didn't expect it to." 

Viktor grasps your chin, gently shifting you back to give him space to look at you. His thumb brushes a stray droplet from your cheek. He tuts: a soft, teasing, tch sound. "Ah, but for a time, the world nearly felt miles away. Did it not?" 

His gaze is hopeful, almost nervous. Trying to gauge any slight shift in your reaction. Thankfully, his voice seems to swiftly bring you back to life. You laugh a bit, wiping the remainder of tears away with the back of your hand; there's the smile he's always admired. 

"Like we were melting into each other," You admit, a little shy, tenderly wistful. Your heart unfurls in your chest like a bright, pretty blossom. It's fitting for the both of you to recollect, to try and analyze the intricacies of every situation. "It was…" 

You're pausing, trying to find the right description, as you rest your arms around his shoulders in something of a half-hug. It was lovely? Captivating? Addicting? 

You shake your head. You're glancing away, because even remembering kissing him is enough to make your heart pound, enough to tempt you to pull him in again. Viktor tilts you back towards him, his finger lightly tapping your jaw. 

"Hm- Breathtaking?" He muses, "Better than you could have dreamed?" 

The brief lilt of confidence he embodies, words smooth as they're carried on his accent, pleasantly reminds you of when he was younger. Far too composed, and eager to prove himself. He follows it through, coaxing you forwards with a palm to your side. You're gentle; most of your weight, you support yourself, until Viktor pulls you down, patiently and decidedly guiding you to settle against his lap. 

"You know," You're cooing, head tilted, "That sounds an awful lot like a confession." 

You can see each subtle heave of Viktor's chest, expanding with every long breath he takes in. It's a tight fit. His stool is barely wide enough to accommodate himself, let alone you. His brace presses into the back of your leg just slightly: jutting metal, protruding bolts. The spread of his thighs leaves you with a small amount of space, but still forces your body to press awfully close to his. 

You're in the perfect position to witness every detail of his face. His tired eyes, the curve of his jaw, the slant of his nose. His thick brows pinch slightly, forming a faux pout, and you reach up. You brush your thumb from his temple to his brow, relishing in the instant softening of his expression. 

"Perhaps it is one. Or, actually-" Viktor hums, inquisitive. "It contains the potential to be one, if I decided to elaborate." 

"Oh? Enlighten me." 

A pause. Viktor bites the inside of his cheek as he ruminates, and your fingertips push fluffy strands of hair from his face to tuck behind his ears. 

"For so long, I… ached to be close to you." His tone is calm, temperate. It twists a shiver up your spine, cool and heaven-sent. His palm trails and caresses your face; a lesson in restraint, as he tries to stop himself from pulling you in once more. "It was a pipe dream. I assumed I was… too late." 

"I thought- I was sure you didn't-" Your shoulders grow tense and the bridge of your nose knots up, you twirl a strand of his hair around your finger and pull it away to admire the resounding curl. "Since when?" 

Viktor exhales. "We have been effectively inseparable since the day we met, I am certain you still remember when the Undercity kids would laugh and- and make jabs at my obvious crush. But, you are searching for something specific. In that case, there is one instance." 

This time, you don't have to ask him to elaborate. 

A palm tracing down the column of your neck, idle yet admiring, Viktor takes one more steady, deep breath. "It was the Progress Day after we had finalized the Hexgates. The council's afterparty was… stifling. I was fortunate to have convinced you to attend. You wore such gorgeous attire. Jayce commented, stated I was unable to take my eyes off of you. I denied it. In hindsight, it was more than obvious." 

The party was hardly your usual scene. Viktor was always the one who wound up convincing you to attend every Progress Day. 

He'd mention you should vouch for your contributions, try to mingle. You were fine with dressing up for an hour or two, but all of the drinking and fraternizing — you found the presentations about new technology to be interesting, but everything to happen afterwards was tiring, to put it bluntly. 

The occasion then was more special than most, though. There was a difference in the way Viktor asked you, sounding hopeful and stress-bound. It seemed important to him, and so it was doubly precious to you. 

"I joined you on the balcony, once I was able to shake the flocks of investors." Viktor continues, thinking, thumbing through all of the details, "You'd been saving a cocktail for me all night, if you remember. Something made with rum- apple cider, I believe." 

Viktor recalls overhearing several of your conversations. Your excitement to show off what you invented together was palpable. You made the room shine, he thinks. He watched you go on and on, when you thought he wasn't listening, assuming he was busy with his own consultations. Viktor zoned out of them, truly. Once the day's festivities are over, the rich folk of Piltover are more interested in finances than progress. 

Your words were so kind. Viktor is amazing, have you met him yet? Every sponsor and socialite would know your partner to be intelligent, inventive, incredible. He doesn't compare. It's funny, how Viktor saw the same qualities in you. 

For most of the night, you were separated; Viktor was busy with the swarm of fancy patrons, all of Piltover's finest hoping to get the latest gossip on what the partner to the Man of Progress would come up with next. Luckily, the both of you chose the same hideaway to try and escape the crowd. 

"I had been waiting for such a moment- to speak with you. You offered me your congratulations. Complimented me, on my performance of the short speech you helped me to memorize. And… so clearly, I remember you said, 'I'm so proud, Viktor. But I knew you could do this.'" 

I knew you could. No underestimations, never a doubt in his potential. You believed in him, even when no-one else did. When there weren't eager investors and a fawning council, just you and him, the suffocating smog of the Undercity, and his foolish dreams. Within the gaps in between, your praises sung as loud, unbidden, echoing strums. 

He supposes he's going to have to ask again for your faith, just one more time. 

Viktor's gaze stays focused down, for a moment. Contemplative, emotional. 

"I almost kissed you right then." He glances up to you, finally. "But-" He hums, then sighs, "There were benefactors still lingering just beyond the balcony, some of which already decided to inquire extensively about my personal life. I would have hated for our first kiss to incite such a scene." 

Viktor admires the tender kindling of gentleness on your face. Slightly pained, despite the hints of softness. It's his cue to find your cheek, to hold you close and oh-so softly like he did from the start; the cliff before the waterfall, his first step in to drown with you. 

Nothing will ever return to simplicity. But Viktor refuses to regret this, decides he should face it head on. Every building conflict, these budding emotions, the remnants of how your lips felt on his; tenderly unforgettable, a crucial step that he refuses to forget. 

You can feel the slight tremble to his fingers, the calluses on his palm — 

"Vik-" 

"I need to have your trust." 

Your eyes widen. 

"Viktor," You're starting again, "You already do- you always have. I don't want you to hesitate, you can-" 

"No, no, the Hexcore," Viktor corrects. He takes a quick glance between you, and the shifting runes of his project's surface. Glowing and fluctuating, a marvel even when it is dormant. "There is much I have not yet told the council. Nor Jayce, nor you." 

A newfound flicker of conviction blazes behind his sun-bound eyes. A brightened enthusiasm to solve any puzzle he's presented with, a key twisted into a door that he never thought would open. 

Your gaze is curious, attentive, then clearly conflicted, and he feels his jaw start to tighten. In spite, he continues, speaks with his entire chest, even though his hands tremor at the thought, and his voice is much too soft and broken and he hates the sound it makes when it's breaking — 

"You are the one thing I cannot lose." Viktor holds your face lovingly, captures you in a statue-like state of devotion, as he fights against the gnawing roughness at the back of his throat. "I believe I can solve this, but I need to know that to any end, you will follow. Please." 

It's something he's already sure of, against the faint threads of doubt in his mind. Of course you would, if he was the one to ask. The both of you are knit together as endlessly as the lines that connect the constellations, he just needs to hear you say it. 

You offer him a weakened smile, your touch brushing the curve of his face like fingertips would caress the arch of a flower's petal. "Do what you think is right. I trust you." 

Viktor softens. 

There's bittersweet catharsis in finally admitting the truth, along with an endless chasm threatening to swallow him whole — and for now, for the rest of the night, at least, he wants nothing more than to fall in with you. 

"My love," He murmurs; he draws you close, with the pull of the sea to the moon. He dares to press one more faint kiss to your cheek, despite knowing how infinitely difficult it will be to pull away. "My inspiration," A kiss to the opposite cheek, then. "My little spark." 

The lab remains quiet, dark, save for the low hum, and the glowing orbit of the Hexcore. Viktor leans his head against your chest, relaxes further once you begin gently toying with his hair. And finally, fully, he allows his heavy eyes to close. 

[homunculus-argument]

Imagine going on a walk on a really foggy day, enjoying the vaguely eerie, faint and distant aesthetic of it all, and the soft quiet of having no other people around. You're about to cross a familiar bridge when you suddenly feel lightheaded. It's nothing to worry about, just a weirdly wobbly feeling that means you should sit down. And probably get more iron in your diet. Either way, you need to get up and you need to cross this bridge to get home. But now being alone has put this weird fear in you - irrational or not - that if you walk over the bridge, you might get dizzy again and fall from it.

Weird and lonely problems require weird and lonely solutions. Since you're all alone here anyhow, you can act strange if you need to. So you get down on all fours - not on your hands and knees, but on the balls of your feet, like a dog. And like this, you start to slowly creep over the bridge. Nice and slow, happy about your solution that made it feel safe to cross and get home. You can be weird if you want to, nobody's judging here.

You're creeping at a comfortable speed, very slowly, but the bridge isn't that long. You can kind of make out the outlines of things on the other side through the mist. The end of the bridge, a familiar tree, a streetlamp, the silhouette of a bush and-

A person. A human figure. You freeze mid-step to stare. That is the most definitely the outline of a person, standing perfectly still. Staring right at you. You don't know how long this moment lingers, but eventually you can't hold your balance anymore and you have to step forward, placing your open palm back on the cold damp bridge. The figure turns, and takes off running. Bolting off in a very normal, startled way that anyone would when they're spooked.

It occurs to you that you only saw the vague outline of an unexpected person, an obscure figure standing in the fog. They, however, saw the vague outline of you, something perhaps vaguely human-shaped, but moving in a way that people simply do not, slowly, very slowly, creeping over a bridge.

Assuming that nobody would see you, you accidentally became someone's unexplained Silent Hill experience.

[artifacts-and-arthropods]

Giant Emerald Pill-Millipede: when these enormous millipedes are all rolled up, their bodies can be as big as a baseball, a tennis ball, or a small orange

This species (Zoosphaerium neptunus) is commonly known as a giant emerald pill-millipede. The females can measure up to 90mm long (roughly 3.5 inches), making this the largest species of pill-millipede in the world.

There is a significant degree of sexual dimorphism in this species, with the males measuring only about 45mm (1.8 inches) long -- roughly half the size of the females.

Giant emerald pill-millipedes are found only in Madagascar, which is home to several endemic species of giant pill-millipedes (order Sphaerotheriida). The Malagasy name for giant pill-millipedes is "Tainkintana," which means "shooting-star."

Pill-millipedes use conglobation as a defense mechanism, which means that they can curl their bodies up into a spherical shape so that their dorsal plates form a protective shield around the softer, more vulnerable parts of their bodies, just like an actual pill-bug or a "roly-poly."

When they roll themselves up completely, they look almost like gently polished chunks of malachite, emerald, or jade.

Giant emerald pill-millipedes will sometimes form large swarms that travel together as a group. This is the only species of giant pill-millipede that engages in any sort of swarming behavior, and the purpose of that behavior is still unclear. The swarms often contain thousands of individuals, with almost all of them moving in the same direction, even when there is no physical contact that might allow the millipedes to "herd" one another along.

Their swarming behavior also has some very peculiar features, as this article explains:

During swarming, Zoosphaerium neptunus individuals pay little attention to their surroundings; many specimens were observed walking straight into and drowning in small puddles. Some swarms even display ‘cliché lemming behaviour:' in Marojejy, a large part of a swarm walked into and drowned in a small river.

No single specimen was observed walking ‘against the current,' all specimens were moving in the same direction (southeast), even when not in contact with one another.

Of 273 randomly collected individuals, 105 were males, while 168 were females. The males were 8.3 - 14.1 mm wide (average width 10.4 mm). According to the inner horns of the posterior telopods, all males were sexually mature. The females were 9.95 - 15.4 mm wide (average width 11.4 mm). All females displayed non sclerotized vulvae and were sexually immature.

Some researchers argue that the swarming serves as a defense mechanism, providing a layer of protection (or at least some cryptic cover) against local predators, but the swarming behavior is still poorly understood.

Important Note: I just want to remind everyone that these animals belong in their own natural habitat -- they should not be trapped, bought/sold, traded, shipped, collected, or kept as pets. This particular species does not survive well in captivity, either, and the demand for these "exotic" invertebrates is putting the wild populations in jeopardy. The previous article discusses those issues, too:

Another possible threat for Z. neptunus swarms are collections for the pet trade. There exists a large demand in Japan, Europe and North America for 'green -eyed monsters’ as pets. Giant pill -millipedes from Madagascar unfortunately have a very short survival time in terraria. The species is specialized on low-energy food (dead leaves), and adapted to the cool climates (<20°C) of the highlands. Specimens in terraria often starve to death quickly.

So I know that they're adorable and really, really fascinating...but let's just let them be their chunky, adorable little selves out in the wild where they belong.

Sources & More Info:

European Journal of Taxonomy: Seven New Giant Pill-Millipede Species and New Records of the Genus Zoosphaerium from Madagascar

Madagascar Conservation & Development: Swarming Behavior in the World's Largest Giant Pill-Millipede, Z. neptunus, and its Implication for Conservation Efforts

Bonn Zoological Bulletin Supplementum: The Giant Millipedes, Order Sphaerotheriida (an Annotated Species Catalogue) (PDF)

African Invertebrates: Madagascar's Living Giants: Discovery of Five New Species of Endemic Giant Pill-Millipedes from Madagascar (PDF)

[sttoru]

plsplsplspl soft intimate sex with satoru:(

 𝝑𝑒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. gojo satoru x female reader. smut, pwp. unprotected. praise kink. spooning position. crēampie. cōckwarming. reader gets called ‘baby, pretty, sweetheart, princess’

“it’s okay, baby, i know,” satoru whispers words of comfort in your ear from behind. one of his arms is wrapped around your waist to keep your body close, the other circles your thigh, holding up your leg so his cock could slide in and out smoothly.

you’ve both just woken up from an afternoon nap, needy for each other’s touch. your lover’s raspy voice paired with his bedhead has been an irresistible combination.

satoru wasted no time in pulling your shorts down and freeing his erection from its confines. he went from rolling his hips against the fat of your ass and fondling your tits under your shirt, to burying his fat dick all the way up your cunt.

he’s so soft—so caring. his butterfly kisses make you drowsy again, the tingly sensations running from your face to your nape, and back down to your shoulders and upper arms. “let it out, yeah—good girl. don’t be shy,” satoru chuckles softly as he grinds his cock upwards, tip prodding at that sweet spot that makes your toes curl.

your eyes are half-lidded and blurry. you’re feeling so good and loved, so pleased and happy to have a partner like him. “right there, ‘toru,” you whimper quietly once you feel the head of his dick rub back and forth on the deepest parts of your velvety insides. satoru happily obliges, hugging your body even tighter to his chest before burying his face into the crook of your neck.

“here, baby?” the white-haired man asks, his hot breath sending a shiver down your spine as it ghosts over your skin. he keeps his dick balls deep inside you and switches to slow and shallow strokes, “y’re so pretty. you always know jus’ how to take it. so, so, so good.”

your hands are scrambling to hold onto the white sheets. you can’t physically take the amount of pleasure you’re getting, that inevitable peak gets closer and closer. your hips involuntarily jolt back against satoru, reciprocating his gentle thrusts. a big hand reaches out to yours that’s tugging at the covers, slender fingers intertwining with your own.

“m’sgood,” you mumble incoherently through a soft whimper. your back is positioned in a nasty arch that makes satoru’s dick tingle. he sighs against your nape before allowing his tongue to wet the skin, sucking on the same spot soon after. he does the same to your sensitive ears and neck—covering you with his love while also filling your body with the same.

satoru holds your hand tightly, squeezing it every now and then to reassure you. “i love you so much, y’know that, right?” he says in a gentle tone. he’s confessed his love to you so many times before, though he always makes it sound like it’s his first time doing so.

“i’m never letting you go, ever,” your partner promises before leaning over your shoulder to catch your lips in a kiss. satoru’s tongue sweeps over your bottom lip before rolling around in your warm mouth. his hips don’t stop, cock repeatedly appearing and disappearing inside of your pussy. the pace never escalates to make the moment last longer.

“mhmm— wanna b-be with you forever,” you mutter against his glossy lips, feeling safe and protected in satoru’s embrace like this. all you’re feeling, hearing and smelling is him. that’s what peace is for you. as long as you got him, you’re going to be just fine.

satoru smiles at your words. you feel so perfect around him, your cunt molded to fit his cock whenever he pleases, remembering its shape and allowing it to ruin your insides. “of course, sweets. i’ll treat you so well, ‘kay? you can count on me,” he comforts you with a forehead kiss.

“pretty girl. you’re perfect,” satoru continues to praise you like no other. his free hand runs over the small of your back and back to your thigh, keeping a gap between them so his cock can move a bit more freely. “let me hear your cute moans, c’mon. fuck, y’ turn me on so much,” he sighs, not knowing what he’d do without you.

satoru is obsessed with all of you. the combination of your personality and looks is heavenly. his lips never stop distracting you, his tender kisses covering your entire upper body. the lovey dovey atmosphere in the room never dulls even once.

“ah, ‘toruu, hnghh—can’t last f’ any longer,” you moan, your eyes nearly rolling back. your lover is all the evidence needed to let you know that sex doesn’t have to be rough to be good. he can make you cum for an infinite amount of times by simply grinding his hips against you—changing his techniques every now and then.

rolling his hips in small circles or simply pressing his cock all the way inside your cunt and then prodding at your sweet spots, is all what’s needed to make you feel like you’re on cloud nine.

“aww, my poor baby. can’t hold it in f’me?” satoru pouts before kissing your temples lovingly. he caresses your hip, other hand still not letting go of your hand. there’s such a deep connection between you two—no one can ever sever it. that strong bond feels more intimate when you’re merged into one like this.

“nooo, can’t,” you shake your head and whine about how close you are. satoru nods at your needy words and dips a hand down to rub your clit. his middle and ring finger move around the small bundle of nerves in circles. “khehe, that’s okay. let’s cum together,” he whispers as kisses find their way down your jawline.

you hum in agreement, little moans filling satoru’s ears as you get closer to your climax. your body trembles and heats up, your tummy tingles and tenses up. satoru’s in the same situation as you, his low moans turning into hisses and even quiet whines against the skin of your shoulder.

he holds you close, preparing both of you to reach your long awaited releases. “sh—shit, ‘m g’nna pull out, baby—give me a second,” you hear him whimper under his breath as his hand tightens its grip around yours. he’s nearly crushing your bones.

you don’t give him time to even think of pulling his cock out. you want to relive the sensation of having his seed spread inside of your cunt, overflowing until it’s dirtying the sheets. “no- ‘toru. inside, please,” you beg quietly as your pussy locks around his cock. your walls cling onto his dick, yearning to milk his heavy balls dry of every drop.

satoru gasps and hisses, trying to speak up, but getting overpowered by his own noises of desperation. “fuck, all right, princess. as you wish,” his voice is husky and deep as he pushes his cock in to the base before dumping his load inside you.

ropes of hot cum come out quickly, one after the other, filling you with a hot creamy liquid. you can feel every drop being drained inside your spasming cunt. your own cum mixes with his, creating a lewd mess between your thighs.

“th-thank you,” you whisper tiredly. your body relaxes in satoru’s embrace. you’re trembling due to the intense aftershocks and your lover wastes no time into kissing it better. your forehead is peppered with small pecks, the rest of your face following.

satoru giggles at your fucked out state. he gives you a head pat and nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. you can feel him grinning uncontrollably against your skin—the joy emitting from him is contagious.

“any time,” he sighs. you can feel his cock softening after that release, still nestled deep inside of you. he has no intention of pulling out, especially since it’s so comfortable. you let him cum inside you and thus he’ll do everything to keep that hot load buried deep inside your cunt.

you can nearly fall asleep like this with satoru. you have zero complains and simply need to relax after what just happened. perhaps take another nap or two.

the white-haired man kisses your shoulder and rubs your lower tummy, enjoying the softness, “i’m gonna prepare us a warm, relaxing bath in a second. let’s just cuddle some more, baby.”

[rqnarok]

summary: old man!logan finds himself having a breeding kink.

cws/tags: smut, mdni! old man!logan. fem!reader. heavy breeding kink. dom/sub dynamics. unprotected p in v. pet names. not proofread. 

Logan’s younger self would not approve of this idea. 

Hell, it would not even cross his youthful, unbound, and liberated version. Younger Logan would have brushed off the idea - dodging it like a bullet - revolting against it. 

Having a kid? A noisy five-year-old child running around the house, screaming and kicking everything in sight? Yeah, fuck no. 

He’d even hate just thinking about it. 

But now that years have gone by and he’s almost hitting 200 years of age–a lot has changed in how he sees things, alright. Suddenly he’s not that idealistic-insufferable-annoying fuck anymore.

The heavy feels of his own body, his poor visions, his utter tiredness and wounds are slowly tended by settling down with you. Living in a small countryside home just outside Texas is the life Logan needed all along.

So he just can’t fucking help it when he sees how you act with those children at the Barbeque party. How you treat them with such care as if they’re yours. 

The smile plastered on your face after you give each one of them a cookie is Heaven sent for Logan. He’s too focused on being mesmerized by your acts that he almost does not realize how his trousers feel tighter.

He quickly hides his bulge whilst embarrassed of himself, thinking ‘M fuckin’ old for this shit. But who gives a fuck anyway? 

Oh, he in the past would not approve of this at all. 

“Fuck. You’d look so fuckin’ good with y’r belly swollen with my child.” Logan grunts out, thrusting his girth into you as his mind fills up with visions of you carrying his child. 

The images themselves make Logan go feral—growling when he feels how your velvet walls manage to clench around him.

“A-ah! Please!” The high-pitched noise you let out is almost humiliating as you bounce yourself on top of your husband, making the head hit your gummy spot every time you fall down.

“Hm? Y’want that, Little Missy? Want me t’give you a baby?” His calloused fingers rub shapes on your sticky skin, guiding your hips as he tries to search for the answer in your eyes.

You reply with a frantic nod, your mind feels empty as his tip deliciously kisses your cervix. The thought of being full of his seed, pregnant and giving him a baby—makes your eyes roll back in pleasure.

With one movement, Logan manages to manhandle you to a new position, his cock never slips out from your heat, “Want this old man t’give you one? Make you a momma?” 

The sound of his full balls slapping against your ass makes you squeeze your eyes shut. 

Now clearly hearing the obscene moans emitting through the dim room, “Yeahyeahyea—W-wanna be a momma—”

While you wonder how he still has this much stamina at that age, Logan leans down to your ear and buries his face on your neck, “Pretty wife. Gonna make the cutest goddamn babies, y’know tha’?” 

His palms hold your thighs spread open to reach deeper inside you, “Let me fill ya’ up real good.”

Logan’s eyes flicker to watch your pussy swallow his cock in and out. The sight alone makes him throw his head and let guilt wash him over for a minute.

He feels perverted—corrupting you by plugging his cock to the hilt as if it is trying to mold your insides. A dilemma growing.

You could feel how his thrusts steadily became desperate, “L-Lo.” Whining out, your fingers crawl into his back to pull him tighter. 

He can’t fucking wait to have you round up. Shit. You’d be so dependent on him—need him at all times. And he’d fulfill everything you ask him to do. Logan would never even let you move an inch. 

Everything caught up to him as an acute wave, “F-Fuck. There ya’ go, baby.” Logan mutters - his hands shake slightly as they lose their grip on your thighs. 

His cock never pulling out, “D’ya think it takes, pretty?” You could feel him deep inside you—how your walls are painted by his thick ropes of cum. 

Logan gives lazy circles of his hips before pressing a sweet kiss on your lips, whispering several ‘I love you’s’ before lowering himself so his face could level with your pussy.  

“Fuck.” The older man has never seen a far more beautiful sight than this. Watching his cum begin to leak out of you makes his cock twitches again. 

The scruffy feel of his beard scratches your inner thighs as he leans closer—dragging the tips of his fingers along your folds before plugging his digits back inside. 

“Logan-n!” 

A deep rumble comes out of Logan, “Shh. Be a good girl for your husband, yeah? Need’a to make sure it takes.”

[persicipen-archive]

𑑛 “PROMISE TO TAKE IT” ﾉ BLADE, DAN HENG, JING YUAN, LUOCHA. HONKAI STAR RAIL

fem reader ﾉ words 2.1k ᯽ rough scenarios, separately. blade — prone bone. doing it raw. creampie ﾉ dan heng is in his dragon form, but not entirely. missionary. implied mating season lol ﾉ jing yuan — size kink. riding him but he’s still in control and a menace ﾉ luocha — “little thing” petname, oddly comforting situationship or one night stand ﾉ rewritten ᯽ ADULT CONTENT ﾉ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ᯽

BLADE ﾉ

While the bedroom itself remains an oasis of solace and a delicate space where you can be yourself, never judged by his ruby eyes despite his low huffs and puffs at any of your antics, it is now also a jail for your sobs. Cries disappearing in the supple cotton of the pillow as Blade pounds into you, rough hands gripping your wrists like a rope. Oh no, he will not allow you to push his hips away.

Not after you begged for this just moments ago with that adorable whine of yours.

The dripping slickness saving you from the punishment that is him rutting into you with abandon. His cock stretches your pussy wide, filling you to the brim with every thrust, and you arch your back against him, letting him impale you over and over again on his heavy girth.

He growls, his fingers digging into your soft sides, leaving reddened imprints, as he pulls you towards him. He slams into you roughly, his balls slapping against your overly sensitive clit as he fucks you without mercy.

You squirm in his grasp, trying to break free, but no, his grip on you is firm. He doesn’t want you to move. You’re here just to take care of his needs.

The man above you breathes out, his long black hair falling over his arms and tickling your shoulders. Using your body as he pleases, relentlessly pushing until only his base can’t settle into your cunt. You whimper, your legs shaking as you feel his tip brush against your deepest spot, and he chuckles. He likes how you clench around him, unsure if you want him to leave you or to welcome him deeper — this is how he knows you’re getting close.

And so, Blade leans forward, his breath burning your neck, and bites on your irritated skin. You cry out, your soppy walls throbbing to lure him into your heat, and he grunts as he hears your juices plapping down his thighs. The way you cream all over his cock — awfully erotic — your wetness coating his length, and he picks up his pace, pounding into you with renewed vigour. He wants to cum inside you. To fill you up.

A high-pitched squeal escapes your lips, your silhouette shivering with uncontrollable intensity. The overwhelming sensation becomes too much to bear, and you find yourself unable to endure it any longer; still played with like a pretty doll, pressed to the mattress with all of his weight. Blade groans, his girth pulsing, and he snugs himself deep into you, cumming in thick, hot spurts, your pussy milking him until the very last drop.

You mewl at his treatment, your wrists aching from his bruising grip, and he smirks, his red eyes gleaming. The way you look right now, his favourite image of contained desires. His dear beloved.

He will make it up to you later with sweet kisses and gentle caresses, but for now, he enjoys the sight of his cum oozing out of your well-fucked cunt, dripping onto the bedsheets.

DAN HENG ﾉ

This position isn’t something new, however, and even though the fact is pleasant to think about, you do wonder what caused him to get so bold. Maybe at the sight of you admiring his partially changed form, eyes drinking in the beautiful shimmer of his scales, he understood that you find him so attractive — as always, but now also intrigued by other parts of him that might be different.

His hand traces the lines of your ribs as you inhale at the feeling of him entering deeper — the unfamiliar shape of his cock nesting comfortably against your soft insides — and then he puts some weight on top of you, pressing you further into the pillows, his lips barely touching your own, unsure if he already wants to kiss you.

“Tell me if it hurts you.”

“It’s alright, really. You can… you know, continue…”

“Now I’m more concerned that you seem to like it more than when we’re doing it… gentler.” Surprised at his own talkativeness, there’s a red splash of colour on his cheeks as he bites his lips at the end of the sentence and buries his face in the crook of your neck. You giggle at his comment, but it turns into a needy moan as he moves his hips to rest snugly between your legs.

With your tongue, you slide across his upper lip, capturing it softly and biting on its tenderness, tasting a faint trace of his salty sweat and humming as he shivers, your fingers tangled in his hair, brushing through the ebony black locks, before whispering, “I know you’re holding back. No need to, I trust you.”

“Mmh,” Dan Heng mutters with a shaky breath as his shaft hardens and thickens at your reactions. Your reassuring words have such an impact on him; they're teasing him with this pleading tone of yours, allowing him to mate with you during the times when he gets so incredibly hot in your presence, unable to keep his hands off of you.

His thrusts start slow and measured; however, with each minute passing, he finds himself succumbing more and more to the instinct calling upon him; it is so much different now that you’re within his reach — how you react, how you look at him — everything makes him lose his cool. Soon his lips find your nipple again, teeth grazing sensitive skin until you hiss, yet push yourself towards him, arching your back. The sting of his bite stimulates you to the point where your inner walls spasm, clamping down on him tightly as you almost cry out.

Even the shallowest strokes produce audible squelching noises whenever he loses his rhythm. He’s just as intoxicated by the new sensation. The little details that change in his build now make you two melt in each other’s arms; his cock glides with fervour and carelessness against the spots that usually required precision.

The pleasure is overwhelming, even a bit eerie how accurate at bringing the sweetest of your sobs out. His instincts still force him to grip at your shoulders — you let him do this — to slam harder inside of your pussy. And you can barely take it, but he quickly looks at the side on the clock, and it’s been barely minutes since he started…

JING YUAN ﾉ

He embraces you tightly, wide arms with ease, groping your entire body as you shudder, and let him bring you closer, your back pressed to his soft yet firm chest — allowing his cock to reach deeper, spearing your entrance until your essence seeps out in abundance between your bodies.

Usually, you would expect Jing Yuan to prefer being face to face with you, but also knowing what a menace he can be, there must’ve been something more on his mind. Which catches you by surprise when you notice his fingers circle your clit from the front, sort of caging you between one pleasure and another as you helplessly try to wriggle out of his iron grip.

At that, what you hear is a chuckle — deep like the ocean, sweet like honey, dripping with both love and lust, and making you all fuzzy from within. The waves of immense enjoyment lap at your limbs from all sides, and you gasp out when his palm rubs you so skillfully, with care and adoration.

“No matter which part of you I touch… It’s a pleasure to watch you shake in my arms.” He purrs with a small smile, nibbling at your earlobe and inhaling the sweet scent of your hair. You wish to nod but can't, in fear that it’ll only spur him further on to bounce you on his cock and enjoy how you struggle with each thrust. “Does my beloved bird feel good?”

Before you can answer — which you would love to, gathering the strength and courage to wail and sob into his lips as your head falls back on his shoulder — his palm moves up from your bundle of nerves to your tummy, pressing on the soft flesh there. Intently. He knows exactly what to do to get a specific reaction out of you, to make himself moan as you clench abruptly on his girth despite your walls sobbing at the stretch. You feel so full in that moment, choking on your breath at the additional pressure, too occupied with his cock filling your body so wholly.

As he starts to fuck you relentlessly — you cry out, the pitch of your voice higher and higher as you slowly become incapable of maintaining any volume at all — the tiniest sounds, broken huffs of air leaving your mouth; your eyes are glassy with tears, and all you want to do is bury yourself in the pillows and blankets, somehow escape from this prison of bliss. But he holds you close, one hand fondling your breast and the other playing around your lower abdomen, always there where you don’t want him at the moment, just to tease and make you more and more desperate.

A little flick of his thumb against your pearl, a press on your belly, maybe even fingers parting your folds as he drags his fat tip in and out at the perfect angle. It’s enough to throw you over the edge again.

As if your body belonged to him — and he, being the ever caring lover, already knows everything about you, that you enjoy it too much when he manhandles you like this.

LUOCHA ﾉ

The immense pleasure causes your mouth to whine and moan out his name. “Luocha, Luocha…” Is all that can be heard in the room besides muffled gasps and melted noises of naked bodies colliding with each other.

Certainly unpredictable was meeting someone who’s but a travelling merchant, skilled enough to render you putty beyond measure with just a verse of his saccharine voice and touches. You don’t believe him anymore. Though you cannot find an answer to it at the moment whilst your brain just refuses to think of anything else except how well you’re currently getting fucked by that gentleman.

The beauty above you lowers his face close to your own, his treacly lips catching your own with a delicate bite, trailing down your jawline and neck with slow kisses. Lukewarm and wet, like the summer mizzle. Just merely too fast for you to appreciate his features before the golden curtain of his bangs falls across his cheekbones.

“Are you doing well, little thing?” He asks quietly into your collarbone, immediately switching your focus from his words to his cock. With a tender push, he stays still for a moment, pulsing flesh pressing constantly on all your sensitive spots.

“Too well…” you utter with a weak, genuine smile.

He smiles back. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

Luocha continues thrusting in and out at a suave pace, pounding into you with a special sense of skill and gentleness. Hauling into your cunt with each drag of his lean hips, his pace is unbothered, almost lenient with the offputting care. As if this meeting is sensible somehow, way above than what it truly is — a transient exchange of lecherousness, nothing more.

With his hands clamped around your waist, lifting you up slightly up from the bed, his swollen length reaches far inside of your aching core at that perfect angle, the tip gliding repeatedly against the sweetest patch of your walls. Drizzles of pre mingle with your essence and souse your puffy petals whenever he retreats from the confines of your insides, a proof of enjoyment that none of you is able to say out loud.

To keep him close — merge into the comfort of feeling someone’s warmth — you wrap yourself around his willowy silhouette, a ribbon made of entangled limbs.

“I wish we could meet again before we part ways.”

“You’re still here with me.” He hums into your ear, once again leaning in to smooch the side of your head, tickling your sweat-sodden hairline. “You should focus on that for now.”

All the overstimulation is taking your breath away, specs of drool sprinkled in the corner of your lips. His palm pets you softly between your legs, extracting another weep from your throat and a wobble of your tense thighs. The sudden impact of his digits rubbing on your clit draws you nearer to your orgasm; and he wishes to see it soon, so he concentrates on your reactions, tongue slightly peeking out from behind his teeth in concentration.

Your whimpers and cries — pure eroticism that makes him consider if it’s even worth to waste the softness of your fevered skin for a meaningless exchange. If one night can turn so satisfying, a pity it would be to say goodbye instead of promising another and another meeting after that. Perhaps…

AUTHOR’S NOTE — most of those are old thirsts that i put into one post with slightly edited past typos. but the hilarious thing is that luocha’s part had to be almost entirely rewritten today — and maybe it’s not visible to others, but i giggled comparing my writing. it’s like a rollercoaster from my perspective hehe

[nottsangel]

FOUR. face slapping — brothers bsf!theo

warnings — smut 18+. vaginal sex. degradation. face slapping.

kinkmas mlist. moodboard. more.

plap. plap. plap. the sounds of theo’s brutal thrusts echoes through your bedroom, the bed squeaking with each little movement. the humid air is thick with the filthy sounds of sex, despite the pillow he strategically wedged between the bed and the wall. he just can’t seem to control himself when it comes to you— his best friend’s little sister.

“fuck! right there, yes!” you moan a little too loudly with your brother in the room next door, making theo’s eyes narrow sternly as his fast-paced movements abruptly come to a halt. one of his flexed hands resting beside your head moves to aggressively grip your face, fingers digging into your cheeks.

“hey, hey… you gotta shut the fuck up, alright? you’re being way too fuckin’ loud, cazzo. the whole fuckin’ neighbourhood’s gonna hear you.” he hisses through clenched teeth, a frustrated expression on his face as he’s still balls-deep inside of you, the tip nudging against your sensitive cervix. a naughty smile curls on your lips as you gaze up at him through hazy, fucked-out eyes.

“oh, please… always so arrogant about how good you can fuck me, but when you actually do—which isn’t often, by the way—you freak out.” you playfully lie, even though you both know damn well no other man has ever made you feel the way theo can. he scoffs at your bratty attitude, pressing his tongue against his inner cheek in exasperation as he disapprovingly shakes his head.

“idiota. your fucking brother is in the room next—”

“aww, big, scary theodore nott is scared of my brother? maybe i should moan even louder then, hm?” you tease further as you part your lips and squeeze your eyes, preparing to let out a loud, exaggerated moan, relishing the way your actions infuriate him— but before a single sound can even escape, theo’s palm abruptly meets your cheek, your skin burning sharply at the impact and leaving a red mark on your tender skin.

you freeze momentarily, baffled by the audacity with your head still tilted to the side, before your eyes narrow at him, your top lip curling in irritation. “oh, you dickhead.”

the ocean blue eyes staring back at you show expressions completely opposite to your own— mischievous and cocky, as if he knows something you don’t, with a sly smirk playing on his lips.

theo slowly leans his head closer to yours, his hot breath on your bare skin sending shivers down your spine. “tsk… you can say whatever you want, but i can feel the way you squeeze around me... so. fuckin’. tightly.”

your cheeks heat up instantly, and the words you so desperately want to spit at him are caught in your throat. you can’t deny it anymore, and he can see it too in the way your facial expression instantly shifts into one of desire— it turned you on more than you’d like to admit.

without warning, he begins thrusting his cock in and out of you again, his hips snapping harshly against yours, causing you to instinctively wrap your legs tightly around his sculpted torso. you gasp at the sudden feeling, your hands darting to his muscular arms to steady yourself, nails pressing into them and leaving crescent-shaped marks into his skin.

“so pathetic.” he sneers in a condescending tone before roughly sticking his fingers into your mouth, forcing you to suck on them. you uncontrollably moan around them, sucking eagerly just the way he wants you to, making him bite his lip at the sight, the lust-driven expression not faltering from his face once.

“not much to say now, huh?” he removes his spit-drenched digits from your mouth and drags your own saliva over your flushed face, making a mess everywhere before his palm strikes your face with force once more, but even harder this time, the stinging sensation through your skin igniting a feeling of ecstasy throughout your entire body.

“finally.” he drawls, his hands traveling to the back of your thighs before swiftly pushing them up, allowing him to hit spots even deeper, your legs dangling in the air with each forceful, deep thrust.

“finally i found a way to shut you the fuck up while your damn brother is in the other room.” he chuckles condescendingly, a smug, self-satisfied expression written all over his handsome face as he practically folds you in half. your sore muscles stretch painfully, but your mind is completely fuzzy and overtaken by sheer pleasure.

“and you still think ‘big, scary theodore nott’ can’t fuck you good enough? huh?” you desperately want to retort, but you can’t, ‘cause you don’t think that now, and you never once did. the way theo can make you feel is simply indescribable, almost as if his cock was made just for you, filling you so perfectly and finding your g-spot in no time, while still making you crave for more.

“just shut up and fuck me theo! i— please, don’t stop!”

“yeah… that’s what i thought. we both know you’ll always come running back to me like the dumb slut that you are, whether you’d like to admit it or not.”

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

reminder: reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated and keep me motivated. ty! ♡

[ekkothroughtime]

adrenaline | ekko x reader

Word Count: 2,500 Notes: 18+, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, no use of y/n. Unprotected sex, creampie, two short mentions of blood, vaguely described near-death situations, porn with vague plot, established relationships, post-sex banter. This is my first time writing for Ekko; please be gentle with me, haha 💙

"Easy, easy, easy," his burning breath tickles the back of your neck, firm hands squeezing your hips so tightly that you can hardly move. But the adrenaline firing through your nerves still has you wriggling in his grasp. Hopelessly so, as he pushes into you. Pussy fluttering around his cock. Not sure if you want to press into him or jump away from the stretch. 

"Ekko," the shape of his name is the only thing you know. Speech and language comprehension evaporating milliseconds before his pelvis meets your ass. 

And with it, you've lost all control over your own body. Already squirming back into him before you're even ready. Shit, but Ekko's still not moving, calloused fingers digging into your skin, so tight that you know it's going to leave bruises that he'll fuss about later. 

His hips swivel. Stars sparkle in your vision, backdropped by his half-muffled groan. His sweaty forehead falls onto your shoulder, breathing hard through his nose. Mutters something. Sounds like your name.

You think it's your name. Maybe it's not. You don't get time to linger on that because all of a sudden, he's drawing back, and you can't think of anything but the overwhelming emptiness that takes over. He stops just before his tip slips out of you. Lingers there for a second before—

"Ah!" You squeal. Jerking forward. His hips flush with your ass again. And he's already moving again, and fuck—

Alive. He's alive, and he's right here, curled around you. Pistoning into you like one of you might disappear if he doesn't. But you're here. Head resting against the concrete floor. Ass high. Clenching helplessly around his cock as it strikes a familiar bundle of nerves. 

You're here. He's here. Not down in the lanes. Not dodging bullets and throwing punches. Here. Heart pounding so heavy in your chest that it's in your ears. Masking the patter of the rain against the glass and the distant sound of your cries echoing through abandoned halls.  

"Ekko." Repeating again. Blindly pawing behind yourself, brushing his chest, then his lower belly, looking for—

He pins your wandering hand next to your head. Clammy fingers laced between yours. "I've got you, baby," his thrusts are so sharp that his own voice wavers with the motion. "I've got you." 

You don't know what you're doing. Pitchy little whimpers fall off your tongue, tilting your head to rest against his forearm. He's so deep, you don't know if you can even breathe, and oh, you don't know what changed, but his balls are smacking against your clit. Little sparks of heat jolt up your lower belly, exploding in the back of your head.

"Fuck, there you go," Ekko's hissing, "keep clenchin' around me like that." 

You couldn't stop even if you wanted to. Your poor little pussy involuntarily spasming around him, legs trying to close despite his body being wedged between them. Can't do anything short of kicking your foot, like that'll somehow ease the pleasure. 

The hand on your hip disappears. Instead, curling around your waist, cinching your bodies closer. He's so warm. Still smells like oil and something distinctly metallic, the scent of the workshop clinging to him like a bad memory, but a familiar warmth remains underneath. Gentle, like the kisses that pepper up the back of your neck and the hips that have begun to slow. 

"Wanna see your face." He must mean it as more of a warning than a request because you don't voluntarily flip over. You don't even move a muscle. That's all him. Spinning you onto your back, the frigid floor biting into your skin as he slips his cock back inside. You can see it this time. The obscene sight of his fat cock disappearing between your parted thighs, pussy lips practically hugging him. 

You reach for him, outstretched arms hanging in the air for mere milliseconds, before Ekko caves and falls into them. The ends of his hair brush against your forehead, just light enough for it to tickle, and it's only when you're this close that you can truly drink in how he lights up when you giggle. 

"'s my hair getting you again?" He whispers; you're so focused on the split in his bottom lip that you nearly miss it.

"Just a little bit," murmuring, letting your arms loop around his shoulders, broad and delicately chiseled. You think the gods were showing off when they sculpted him.

"Lil' bit?" He parrots in a feather-light tone, nuzzling your noses together. A kiss, all of their own. A perfect distraction for the lazy thrust that punches the air from your throat. 

You should have known he would do this. Too hungry for your expression to let you keep your back to him for long. Him and his swollen, bruised left eye and smeared paint, streaks of white decorating his cheeks and upper lip. That might be dried blood clinging to the side of his neck, and the sleeve of his shirt is mangled in such a way that you wonder how much of that fight was actually playing in his favor.

Thunder booms overhead, rattling the crumbling frame of this old building, swaying with the wind in such a way that you can feel your body tilting with it. You'd worry about it if not for the weight of Ekko's body on top of yours, his mouth wandering across the side of your jaw. Leaving little kisses in his wake, just in case he gets lost.

Your nails dip into the muscle of his shoulders. Legs curling around his waist the best that they can manage. Securing him to you in the only way you know how. 

"I'm not going anywhere," he's hiding a secret mind-reading device somewhere in one of those pockets. You know it. 

All of that effort to keep him from moving, and yet he still manages to lift himself a few inches. Breaking through your grasp with mesmerizing ease, his forearms bracing his weight on either side of your head, properly hovering over you now. Noses brush. His hair is bumping your forehead again. 

Electricity rockets up your spine. 

"There," gasping like a fish out of water, your eyes rolling back. "There, Ekko—mmh!"

There's a grin emerging onto his face, the corners of his lips twisting with that devilish glint that only comes about when he's just found a breakthrough. And oh, you shouldn't have told him because now he's repeating it. Maintaining that same torturous angle, the tiny pieces of scrap metal in his pocket clinking together as his fat tip kisses into those little nerves, over and over and over. 

It's so faint that you nearly question if you're making things up in your head.

The semblance of a moan, slipping through Ekko's parted lips like the beginnings of a melody. There and gone in the blink of an eye, the only indication it was ever there in the first place is the way he immediately forces his mouth closed. 

But one of your hands are traveling to his cheek, your thumb gently pressing on his bottom lip, urging it open again. And who has he ever been to deny you something as simple as this? 

Heat races up your lower belly. Twisting, spinning around like one of his damn hoverboards, rocketing through your veins. It's the kind of sensation that has your skin prickling, back arching off the cold ground and up into Ekko's big, warm body, your shivering legs clinging to his frame. The thump of your heartbeat rises into your ears, the strings holding you together winding tighter and tighter, breaking apart one by one until...

"Come on," Ekko hums; he picked up the signs long before you did, "give it to me."

The final string snaps.

Your vision blurs. Toes curling as your orgasm takes you by surprise, cumming around his cock without any further warning. And god, Ekko just keeps working you through it. Maintaining that same overwhelming pace, battering your poor, spasming walls, every brush of his length against your nerves pushing you higher and higher into the clouds above. 

And you must stay up there for a good minute. Drifting amongst bullets of rain and blinding sparks of lightning, completely and utterly weightless. Heaven, if only for a few fleeting moments.

"Keep going," you don't intend to be so quick about urging him on, but you can't help yourself. Not ready for the emptiness that comes with him pulling out.

Foreheads thunk together without the slightest hint of grace, and his biceps shudder with the effort of keeping his body up, gradually working back up to a choppy rhythm. Mouths clash. Not necessarily a kiss, but it's a touch of lips all the same, drinking in his heated panting as if it's the only thing keeping you alive.

You can't help the way your cunt clenches around his cock, walls almost too sensitive for those short, jerky thrusts. And he whines. Eyelashes fluttering, shivering so hard that you can feel it wracking through him. Fuck, and he's whimpering again. Long, low noises that grow pitchy at the ends.

 Close. He's so close.

Your palms curl around his cheeks, staining themselves in the remnants of white paint that clings to his handsome face. The color smears as your hands roam down his neck and across his shoulders. The tips of your nails gently glide against his skin, swirling indistinct shapes, drawing another shiver out of him.

"You gotta, your legs," Ekko sputters, his tongue flimsy in his mouth. "Baby, I can't pull—"

In an hour, you'll have to deal with the cleanup and regret ever saying this. But he's here, and he's alive, and you're alive, and god, life is too short to deny yourself of the simple pleasures. There's no point in stopping that simple, troublesome little phrase from leaving you.

"Cum in me." 

You think you can see the final spark exploding behind those sweet brown eyes of his. The final straw before it all comes crashing down, his face twisting as his orgasm washes over him and his motions screech to a sudden halt. Hopelessly burying his head into the crook of your neck, hot breath threatening to melt you away. 

Faintly, you're aware of the sensation of his cock twitching inside of you. Pumping rope after rope of hot cum into your sensitive pussy, painting you white. A sticky mess that you'll have to feel dripping out of you the whole way back. As if your post-sex waddle and his unusual displays of public affection aren't enough to tell everyone what you've been up to. 

God, he's gonna wait until you're reunited with everyone to lean over and ask if his cum is still in you, isn't he? Always too eager to see you flustered. 

...maybe you should flip the script and bring it up to him, first. Leave him the stuttering mess, for once. 

"I can hear the gears turning in your head," Ekko's lazy chuckle vibrates against your neck and up your spine, makes your head spin something fierce.

"You need to get your ears checked," but the fire in your half-assed reply is lost the moment he lifts himself up again.

Even now, with the embers of pleasure still twinging the corners of his eyes, his gaze still manages to collect a semblance of worry. His big, warm palms trace over your face, looking for something. Anything. A scratch. A bruise. A splash of blood. The slightest hint that you've been hurt. That he let something hurt you. 

And he finds it.

You knew he would. With Ekko, it's not a matter of if but of when. 

It's nothing but a minor cut. One that's your own fault, really. You hadn't seen the shard of glass sticking out until after you reached through the broken window, chasing your weapon before it could get out of your sight. A slice you didn't truly feel until now, so sore that it aches when he presses a kiss into it.

One of these days, he'll engineer a way to heal with kisses alone, just to prove a point. 

"I'm okay," repeatedly tapping him on the cheek, working a fleeting smile out of that stoic face. "I promise."

And then that smile turns upside down. "I still don't like seeing you hurt." 

For someone so strong, it sure is easy to pull him back down to you. All it takes is one little tug on the wrist for him to melt into you like ice on a sweltering day. Kissing him is like feeling the first drop of rain after the heatwave, the pressure of his lips enough to draw the tension from your shoulders and the worries from your head. 

"So how do you propose we get back home, hm? Mister 'I Can Fly Through Zaun With My Eyes Closed.'" Your smile is painfully evident in your voice, maybe a little too eager to bring up the very thing you overheard him muttering last week. 

His eyes roll, head shaking with it. But...

"There's an underground tunnel that will get us halfway there," he says it with such confidence that you don't need to wonder if he's thought this through or not. Knowing him, it's circled around his mind a dozen times now. "It'll at least get us past the chem-barons without being spotted. We should be good once we get past them."

"Should we start heading that way then?" You ask, letting your thumb trace over his cheekbone, stroking away the dirt that has long since smeared there. There's certainly more where that comes from, pooling around his collar and decorating the jacket he's discarded a few feet away, but it's the thought that counts. Right?

Ekko's eyelashes flutter. A thought flashes behind them. 

"Not yet," he starts, "let's just..." 

The sentence never finishes, left hanging like old laundry, but you've got a sneaking suspicion of what those final words were meant to be. There aren't many topics that steal the wind out of his sails quite like this, and almost all of them involve you. 

"Few more minutes?" You find yourself saying, after a moment.

He nods, eyes sparkling with his sudden, newfangled smile. "Just a few more minutes." 

Lie. From the moment he gets his head on your chest, he's a goner. 

He never lasts more than a minute once he's gotten settled, and his cock still being lodged inside of you doesn't really indicate that he's ready to move anytime soon. Still connected, in spite of the occasional oversensitive shocks and the overbearing danger of being caught like this. In the top floor of an abandoned building, with the chem-barons still warring with each other down the street. 

Only one of the hoverboards is working, and its motor has a horrible stutter that only comes about when it's about to die. You're low on options and high on your delusion of safety.

And yet, you're tracing shapes between his shoulder blades, watching as his eyes fall closed for longer and longer expanses of time until they don't open at all. Lulled to sleep by the beat of your heart, still alive and pounding away in your chest, just like his. 

Just a few more minutes. 

[nanaslutt]

Giving boyfrined!Ino Takuma a hand(y)

ʚ cont: no gender specified for reader, hand jobs, making out, dirty talk, neck kisses, crack at the end ^.^

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Ino's fingers dug into your thigh, threatening to leave a bruise as he held onto whatever drops of sanity were left inside him using your thigh that was slung over his legs. Your hand was braced on his soft chest as he kissed you like he was poisoned and inside your mouth was the antidote, small whimpers and groans leaking from his mouth and into yours, which you greedily swallowed up.

Ino couldn't stop himself from letting his head fall back for a moment, detaching your lips, his mouth open in a wide O shape as he screwed his eyes shut, groans falling freely from his lips as you focused your hand on his tip, making hard quick strokes over it. "Fffuukc baby, oh fuck that feels so good." Ino groaned, his forehead tipping against yours as he looked past your eyes and watched your hand jerk him off, going back to rotating your hand over his entire length as you jerked up and down.

"Yeah? Your tip is so sensitive, huh?" You coo, your lips hovering right over his, your chin tipping forward a bit, almost closing the distance. Ino's eyes locked on yours as he nodded, his eyes fluttering in their sockets before he pressed your lips together, his other hand slung behind your neck, gripping you tightly there. "So sensitive, feels s-so good." He whined between kisses, his hips jerking up every so often to meet your thrusts when he was unable to hold them back any longer.

"Fuck my fist ino, you're close aren't you?" You ask, feeling the telltale signs of his orgasm approaching from his cock kicking against your hand and his abs clenching rhythmically. He nodded dumbly, his lips working sloppily over your own, his fingers curling harder into the back of your neck. "God your hand feels so good, r-right there-" He groaned when you focused your attention on his sensitive tip, rubbing your thumb against the soft skin just under the head of his cock.

you slung your leg fully over his thighs, sitting on him, making sure to keep your lips collected while you did so. Ino released your thigh and the back of your neck and gripped your hips, his hands shaking with the need to finish. Reaching between his legs, you grabbed his full balls with your other hand, massaging them as you worked on his tip. Pre-cum flooded over your fingers at the contact, making you think for a moment he had finished already.

"Oh fuck meee-" Ino whined, his eyes rolling back in his head as he kissed you like a man starved, a long whine traveling from his lips to yours. "I'm cumming baby, b-baby I'm gonna cum-" Ino whined, his body jerking and twitching under yours. You felt the muscles of his thigh tense and relax as he thrust into your hand weekly, spit leaking from the corner of his mouth as he became more incapable of kissing you back properly.

"I know, I know, come all over my hand Takuma." You encouraged, massaging his balls expertly, rolling them in your fingers. You felt them tense as his cock kicked stronger this time against your hand, quick needy pants falling from his weak lips until they eventually stopped moving against your own, falling open in a wide O. Ino locked eyes with you, his face all screwed in pleasure, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, his teeth gnashing together tightly, making the muscles in his jaw strain against the skin.

When you felt the first rope of his hot cum shoot from his cock, spilling over your hands, you were unable to stop your own whine from falling from your lips. His body jerked and shook under yours as cum flooded from his cock, his eyes rolling back in his head after every rope of cum. "That's it, good fucking boy Takuma, give it to me, cum all over my hand." He groaned at your words, his hand wrapping around your neck shakily when you leaned down and sucked the skin of his sensitive neck into your mouth, only making him jerk against the sheets more.

He wrapped his other hand around your own when his cock stopped kicking, you only released him until you were sure he had nothing left to give. Takuma laid bonelessly against the sheets, his mind god knows where as you kissed and sucked on his neck, waiting for his soul to come back to his body. "Jesus Christ, that felt so good baby," Ino whined, cradling the back of your head with his weak hand, pressing you deeper against his neck.

You giggled at his breathless praise, lifting your head against his protests to sit up on his thighs and take in his disheveled look. His blonde hair strewn in every direction, his gorgeous face flushed with glossy, unfocused eyes to match. "Thought I lost you for a second there." You joked, caressing his face with the back of your fingers, making sure you don't get any of his cum on his face.

"Think I did, swear I saw an old man with a white beard at the end of the white light when I came." Ino joked back, a dumb, fucked out smile on his face as his fingers drew lazy shapes against your hipbone. "Thinking about old men when I'm the one making you cum? That's not very nice. Didn't know that was your type." You tease, poking him right on the tip of his perfect nose. Ino scrunched his nose and grabbed your wrist with whatever little strength he had left before he placed your hand back on his face, leaning into the touch like a kitten as he closed his eyes.

A content smile graced your features when he rubbed against you as you stroked his cheek with your thumb, feeling all the tension dissipate from his very tired body. He had such a long day after all, and now he was finally able to relax.

[megumiluvv]

Strongest Sorcerer Virgin

Includes: established relationship, Satoru Gojo x fem!reader, oral (m!receiving), unprotected sex (pls use protection!!), Gojo is cocky until he actually has to do it (lolll), kissing, pet names (baby, princess, babycakes), praise (always), creampie I suppose, mentions of satosugu?? (His first kiss), overstimulation (only two orgasms)

Word Count: 1,421

Masterlist

A/n: I have been thinking about virgin gojo for months. It's not funny. I’m so obsessed with him. The voices said “write Satoru Gojo as a virgin” and I will indeed listen.

〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎ ❀ 〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎

You didn’t know when you started dating him, but Satoru Gojo is a virgin. Absolutely no experience, despite his claims.

Oh, according to him, he’s made every girl he’s dated cum at least ten times before putting it in. Little do you know, you’re his first girlfriend. And unfortunately for him, you’re about to find out he’s still a virgin.

He got off easy with convincing you he could kiss fine, having jokingly practiced with Suguru in the past. But he didn’t want to get that far with his best friend, that’s embarrassing!

You’re making out on his couch, the soft pillows sinking under your combined weight, sappy romance movie forgotten in the background. Your hands move to push his sunglasses off his face and he holds your cheeks. You laugh into the kiss when his hips press against yours and you feel just how hard he has become.

“Is tonight finally the night we fuck, Satoru?” You tease and kiss his nose.

“Wanna see what I’m all about, princess?” He chuckles, cocky til’ the end.

“Mhmm, show me that talented dick you claim to have, Satoru.”

His smirk falters. It’s barely noticeable, but you still notice.

“Satoru? Are you okay?”

“Pshhh, whatttt? Of course I am!” There’s that lying voice.

“Satoru…” You have that warning tone to tell the truth.

“What, babycakes? I’m fiiiine.”

“Gojo.” Now he’s done it. He gulps as you refer to him with his last name

“…Okay, okayyy, I miiight’ve lied…”

“About…?”

“I, uhhh, I’ve neverhadsex.” He mumbles super fast.

“What?”

“I’m a virgin! Okay?! I said it!” He pouts and looks away in embarrassment. You almost want to laugh.

“…say something?” He mumbles shyly.

You do laugh. The strongest sorcerer, the most talented man in the world, is a virgin?! That’s absurd! It’s insane! You can’t help but laugh.

“Heyyy, stop laughing!” He whines, face red from embarrassment.

“Sorry! Sorry! I just can't help it! It’s crazy that you were so confident! I never knew!” You giggle. “Don’t be embarrassed, Satoru, I can help you out!”

“That’s even more embarrassing…”

“Oh, come onnnn, it’s just me! I’d be honored to pop the strongest sorcerer’s cherry.” You giggle at your own words and he keeps pouting.

“You’re so mean. And don’t say it like that!”

“Please?”

“…Fine, but only because you caused this problem.”

You look at his bulging pants and grin. “Mkay!”

His porcelain skin is so warm. The two of you had moved to his room and he’s on his back, your plush thighs straddling his lap. You’re both nude and he’s staring up at your body as if it’s sculpted by those sculptors that worshiped the gods. Hands rubbing your thighs nervously as you kiss down his body, stopping at his happy trail.

“You ready?”

“…mhm.” He swallows hard as you kiss his tip.

His body jolts, nails lightly digging small crescent shapes into your thighs. You grin and kiss down his shaft, lightly licking his balls before taking him down your throat.

He gasps from the sudden warmth and bucks his hips. “Shit, that feels good, so much better than I imagined…”

His whimpers fill the air as you fondle his balls and bob your head. You swirl your tongue around his shaft and pull back when you feel his cock throb in your throat and lightly blow on the tip, the cool air making him jolt.

“Fuck, you’re really edging me, princess?” He whines and rubs your hips.

“Come on, can’t have you blow your load so soon.” You giggle.

“I’m not blowing my load…” he mumbles shyly.

“Mhm, sure. Now, since it’s your first time, do you want to do it all or do you want me to just ride?”

His face is beet red. “Wh- I- uh- I can do it myself!!”

You can’t help but giggle. You lay on your back and spread your legs, showcasing just how aroused you are. He rubs your thighs gently and looks into your eyes for approval. You nod and guide his hips.

“Move your hips and slip it in.”

It takes him a while to actually react, shy from your bluntness. He shifts over you, lining his hips up with your body and looking at you for reassurance.

“Like this…?”

“Yep, you can go slowly or quickly, but push in.”

Satoru swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. He slowly presses himself into you, gasping at the warmth, better than your mouth. His hands grip the sheets on either side of your head, struggling to keep from busting right away.

“I-is this okay so far…?”

You smile. “Just like that, you’re no longer a virgin.”

He lets out a huff of air, laughing slightly at your words. He swallows again, unsure of what to do. You intertwine your fingers with his.

“Move, set your own pace. I’ll let you know if it’s not enough or too much.” You speak gently, encouraging him.

He swallows again and nods, slowly drawing his hips back and hissing at the way you squeeze him.

“So tight, you feel so good, baby… Does this feel good?”

You nod when he thrusts slowly back in, gradually building up in tempo and in turn moving deeper. He hits particularly deep into you and his tip kisses your g-spot.

“Right there! Do that again!” You gasp and hold his hands tighter.

He looks at you with wide blue eyes, pupils blown as he moves harder, eliciting a moan from your lips.

“Th-that good? Does it feel good for you too?” He manages to say through gasps and grunts.

“Yes, Satoru, so so good…”

He clearly likes the praise, moving faster and now at a constant pace, hips barely stuttering from how close he really is. He has to see you cum first. He needs it, needs you to feel good because of him.

“Satoru, my clit, rub my clit.” You whine, guiding his hand to the sensitive nub.

“Do I just-”

“Just rub it!” You buck up into him as he keeps his pace and finally moves his hand too.

His calloused thumb rubs circles into your sensitive clit, and he catches how your folds seem to flutter around him. He bites his lip and watches your face contort into the cutest expression.

“C-close, ‘toru, please…”

“…T-tell me what to do…”

“Just keep up like that, please…”

He nods and fights back every urge to cum, not wanting to miss when you reach your orgasm. You finally cum with a cry of his name, gripping him impossibly tighter and he finally releases as well. Spurts of his seed fill into you as he keeps fucking it deeper.

“C-can’t stop, it’s too much, I can’t stop!” He borderline cries into your shoulder as he keeps overstimulating the both of you, refusing to slow down or stop.

His sloppy thrusts won’t relent on your poor weeping cunt, white forming at the base of his shaft. You dig your nails into his hands, holding impossibly tighter at the overwhelming sensation.

“Satoruuuu! Too much! G-gonna cum againnnn!!” You cry out and clench tighter around him.

He moans and gasps in your ear, too out of it to hear your cries, only focusing on how you’re sucking him in and won’t let go. Not that he plans to ever leave. You reach another orgasm and thrash against the sheets at how intense it was, and again, he soon follows, this time stilling his hips as he whines out your name and so many praises.

“Thank you, thank you, baby, feels sooo good, princess, I love you, I love you…”

He collapses onto you and buries into your neck. You slowly come down from the overstimulated high and play with his hair.

“Satoru, get off…”

“Nuh uh.”

“Come on, Satoru, we gotta shower.”

“Tomorrow, we can do it tomorrow. Can’t move, if I pull out, I’ll just make us cum again.”

You giggle a little and let him cuddle into you. “You’re such a big baby, ‘toru.”

After a moment of silence, you speak up again.

“Was your first time good?”

“So good, you have the best pussy in the world, babycakes.”

You roll your eyes at the nickname and kiss his forehead. “Thanks, idiot.”

“Your idiot.”

“Mhm, my idiot.”

You both fall asleep, not a care in the world. As the moonlight shines through his window, the only thing that matters is that he’s with you, and you’re with him. Satoru Gojo is no longer a virgin. All thanks to one gorgeous girl: you.

[vampiredaisiesss]

touch me — d.w. x reader

synopsis - you run your knuckles through the stubble littering his cheeks. your fingers travel upwards, thumb tracing his crow's feet. the lines on his face have deepened as he's grown older as has his hair gotten lighter. you find him all the more beautiful like this.

trigger warning - older dean winchester (early 40s) with younger reader (early 20s)

He thinks about time, about how it marks you, about how each silver strand falling to the floor is another reminder of all the years between the two of you.

The harsh glare of the bathroom light is unforgiving, casting every line on his face into sharp focus. Dean watches your reflection in the mirror. The gentle snip-snip echoes off the tile walls as you work the scissor over his hair, your lip caught between your teeth.

Steam still clings to the bathroom mirror from your shower, making the edges of your reflection soft, dream-like. Your tank top's damp where his hair falls against it, and there's something so domestic about this moment it makes his chest ache.

You hum "Hey Jude" while you work, because of course you know that's what Mary sang when she cut his hair. Of course you know that's what he sometimes hummed in his sleep whenever he'd have a nightmare.

"You're thinking too loud, again," you murmur, running your fingers through the short hairs at his nape.

"I've got shirts older than you," he says finally, the words tasting bitter on tongue.

You laugh out loud, and it sounds like every good thing he probably doesn't deserve. "And they're all flannel, and they all smell like gunpowder and cheap liquor that you probably spilled on them two decades ago, but never got dry-cleaned, and I love them." Your smile turns soft at the edges. "Just like I love the man wearing them."

"Kid—" he starts, but you cut him off.

"Don't 'kid' me, Dean Winchester. Not when you're balls deep inside me every night." You pause for just enough time to fix him a determined stare, and he offers you a small smile.

"You think I don't know who I'm choosing? You think I haven't counted every scar, every gray hair, every year you spent saving the world before I was old enough to know it needed saving?"

The scissor is forgotten on the countertop as you run your knuckles through the stubble littering his cheeks. Your fingers travel upwards, thumb tracing his crow's feet. The lines on his face have deepened as he's grown older as has his hair gotten lighter.

You find him all the more beautiful like this.

Dean's throat tightens. You're stripping him bare with your touch. "Exactly. You could have anyone. Someone who—"

He swallows hard, but he's smiling now. His chest feels heavier with something else. "When you say it like that, sounds like I should be in a museum, not your bed."

"Someone who what? Someone who hasn't survived forty years in hell? Someone who doesn't wake up reaching for a weapon? Someone who doesn't understand why I keep rock salt by the bed and devil's traps under the rugs?" You shake her head. "I don't want easy, Dean. I want you."

"There," you say finally, brushing loose hair from his neck. Your lips find that sensitive spot behind his ear, and he can feel you smile against his skin.

"Please," You chuckle. Your hands slide back into his hair, resuming cutting. "Museums are for looking, not touching. "And I'm very..." snip "...very..." snip "...fond of touching you."

"Touch me," he says, and it comes out like a prayer he never learned properly – rough and wanting and holy all at once. It curls around your heart in the shape of Dean's hand.

He reaches up, catches your hand before you can move away.

You touch him like you're reading braille, like every freckle on his body has a story to tell. Your lips trace constellations across the map of blue veins over his body. And when you finally put your lips on the scar along the side of his hip — the first ever souvenir he collected on his skin — you feel the smallest tremor in his breath. It’s so faint, but unmistakable, and for a moment, you could almost swear you made Dean Winchester mewl.

And you do.

[gremlingottoosilly]

Imagine mafia könig secretly beaming as his hostage wife made him a lunch box for work only for it to get ruined by a underling bumping into him or accidentally eating it thinking no way their boss woykd have such a cutesy lunch

You're finally coming around. Seriously, he checked all the ingredients three times over, and you didn't even try to poison him. He had his food testers test everything(and hot jealous they got to try it before he could), and he had you under supervision all the time...which resulted in a perfectly prepared bento with the most perfectly arranged foods. He didn't even know Austrian food could look this good, and not like a pair of fried shoe pieces - but you were too damn good at cooking. God, he adored it and adored you. Konig was just so ready to get to his office, kill some traitors, seal a drug deal and move some guns around from Hungary to Bratislava, and then finish the first half of the day with perfect lunch that his perfect wife prepared. The he sees one of the newest recruits - high enough in ranks to be on base, low enough to not know shit about boss's wife - already finishing with his lunch. Including pretty little fried pork bits in the shapes of stars, little Vienna sausages in form of octopuses, and the carrots shaped like hearts and bullets(which looked more like ball-less dicks, but you tried and it was the only thing that mattered). You even included a note, asking him to finally let you go and see your family - which he ignored, of course, reading between the lines and just knowing you'd love to have him. All of this was now tossed aside, into the recruit's endless stomach and... Konig had people trying to betray him, to destroy his criminal empire, and to kill him. Still, he had never drawn a shot as fast before as he did now - and with the poor recruit lying dead on his feet, he couldn't even care to toss the body aside, instead just calling for servants. You finally came around and did something nice for him - and he didn't even get to eat it! Oh, you will have his heavy, muscular body slumped on your lap, and you will feed him some bought sweets and listen to his grumbles, even if that means he has to literally chain you down and force you to stay with him. And, of course, you will cook him another lunch - and you will do it every day from now on. No good deed goes unpunished.

[submattenthusiast]

mess

summary - matt cumming on himself after being edged for so long

pairings - sub!matt x dom!reader

contents-smut, jerking off, mommy kink, one mention of pegging, cum, edging, crying, safeword mention (but not used) etc.

notes- based off this ask, not proofread, no plot.

“please, it hurts,” matt cried. it had been an hour of torturous edging, matt had an attitude earlier and you were sick of it, so you punished him the only way you knew how. 

hot tears streamed down matt’s face as he tried to gain your sympathy. his cheeks were red and his eyes were puffy, he had started crying around the second time his orgasm was denied. 

his cock was red and aching in your hands from the repeated blue balling. “poor poor thing” you cooed, tone laced with faux sympathy. he whined and pouted at your words, you didn’t care, you were enjoying this.

you continued your movements on his swollen cock, languidly moving your hand up and down his length. 

matt squirmed on the bed, thighs tensing everytime you gripped his cock. his mouth was in a permanent “O” shape, his voice gone from how many sounds he made.

“mommy m close– fuck please can i cum this time?” his voice cracked as he begged, he wasn’t sure how much more edging he could handle. “please please– i can’t” he sobbed, tears dropping down on his shirt.

you removed your hand swiftly, leaving him hanging once again. “no, no, please don’t stop” he complained, he was so ready this time. “i know i know, you can handle a couple more can’t you?” you urged him, wiping the tears stuck on his sticky cheeks. 

“yes please just want to cum for you mama ” he croaked out, leaning into your touch. matt regained his breath before speaking again, “can handle it just please let me cum soon please, hurts” he motioned to his cock as he finished speaking.

“good boy, gonna make a mess for mommy?” you murmured, hand gripping his base once again. “yes–ah yes i am” he winced, cock overly sensitive.

you loosened your grip on his base and moved your hand on his cock, rubbing up and down. precum dribbled down his cock, making it easier for your hand to move. he hissed at the feeling of your spit mixed with his precum.

you leaned down to kiss his tip before licking off all the precum that stuck to him. his breath hitched at the sensation of your hand and mouth. you placed your tongue back in your mouth,returning to your original position next to him. 

matt’s bottom half was fully nude, leaving him in a plain black tee. the material was becoming uncomfortable, sweat causing the shirt to stick to him awkwardly. “can i take this off please?” he begged, tugging at his shirt. “keep it on, you're gonna cum on your shirt” you demanded.

“s-so i can cum this time” he questions, eyes lighting up at the thought. you chuckled at his desperateness “nice try”. “how much longer then mama” he frowned, tears threatening to fall once again.

“you wanted this, remember?” you question, “yes ma’am i’m sorry” he mumbled, “so take it”. he groaned at your harsh tone, he loved when you got stern like this. you resumed your movements on his cock now that his previous build up had faded away. he jolted up as you placed both hands around his lengthy cock. matt held back an embarrassly high pitched whine,your hands felt too good.

you looked up at him and your brows furrowed, you saw he was holding out on you. you wanted to hear him, you didn’t care if he was close to cumming again, you were doing this to make him feel good. “don’t hold back sweetheart, i want to hear you” you comforted, knowing he was insecure about being vocal in bed.

matt unsealed his lips per your request, “o-oh okay”. his lips were beginning to feel numb from how hard he was biting down on them. “good boy” you complimented, he nodded and smiled shyly. 

“say it, say you’re a good boy” you sharply spoke, stopping your hand once again. he weeped at the loss of contact “ah– i’m a good boy, your good boy please”. your nipples hardened through your shirt at his obedience. 

“please touch me again mommy,” matt begged, missing your hands already. you nodded before wrapping your hands around him, his cock was covered in your saliva from the teasing earlier. he winced,he was beginning to feel overstimulated, he thought of using his safeword but he couldn’t use it before cumming,but he knew he couldn’t handle anymore edging.

your hand began to ache from the repeated actions to his cock and matt had been so good for you, you were finally giving in. he could finally cum this time. you continued to jerk him off, speeding up your pace, eager to push him over the edge.

“fuck– close close close” he moaned, hips starting to stutter. piercing moans and whimpers fell out his mouth. “mommy cum, n-need to ah–” he sniffled. you palmed his tip before going back down to his base. “go ahead baby” you voiced, lazily stroking him now. 

“thank you thank you” matt repeated. his body convulsed as he came, thighs clenched,as his

cock spilled out loads of cum onto your hand and covering his shirt. you squeezed him while finishing him off, making sure every last drop came out of him.

his breathing got heavy as he rode out his high. matts brown hair was a mess and he was sticky with sweat and cum. you still thought he looked so pretty fucked out. his blue eyes fluttered shut as he relaxed into the pillows under him.

you let his cock go as he was no longer hard, and overly sensitive,It fell limp against his thigh. “you alright matt?” you poked, he was oddly silent. “worn out” he uttered. you smiled before cuddling him next to him.

“if me jerking you off wears you out like this, how are you gonna last when i’m fucking you” you laughed, his eyes went wide, looking down at you to confirm he heard you right. “guess i’ll have to practice’’

a/n - rushed this bad but ty for reading.

taglist; @mattybsgroupie @frnkocnlvr @fratboychrisera @issysh3ll @zariyam @bellassturniolo @thepubeburgler @gwennybenny @matts-myloverboy @luvs4matt @floralsturniolo @karttpet @sturniolo-fann @benardsgfs @cuntendipity @heartsforvin

[sweetiecutie]

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem! Reader

Warnings: smut, headlock🤤, unprotected sex, creampie, a bit of fluff at the end

A/n: as promised, as soon as I came out of the cinema I started working on this! It’s not as nasty as I wanted it to be, but I’ll work on that🩷

Your bedroom smelled strongly of sex and sweat, loud moans along with praise mixed with degrading were bouncing off the tall walls, surely gaining the two of you a few noise complaints the next day. You were splayed in the middle of your huge queen-sized bed, head pressed into soft pillows and ass high up in the air as your boyfriend was dogging the shit out of you, making sure that your pussy was raw and thoroughly fucked.

You’ve been at it for hours - your sheets were wet with sweat and other bodily fluids, your ass felt hot from all the spanks Miguel generously delivered. Your throat felt sore from all the moaning and previous face-fucking, musky taste of Miguel’s cock still lingered on your tongue. You felt like a rag doll in your lover’s strong arms, too tired to move by yourself, but too greedy for pleasure to actually stop this sweet torture.

Miguel yanked your hips up higher, getting a firm grip on your waist; he shifted a bit, placing one foot on the mattress for better range of movements. A string of loud mewls along with shameless moans poured out of your kiss-swollen lips as brunette absolutely ravaged you - he pounded your poor dripping pussy with so much vigor that your body shifted forward with each thrust, heavy balls slapping against your clammy skin with loud smacking sounds. Miguel’s large hands moved to smack your pretty ass so it jiggled in his palms, relishing to grab and mold your pliable flesh afterwards.

- Just look at this greedy pussy, taking every inch of me like a cock-hungry slut. Bet you were thinking about it whole day long, huh? - Miguel rasped above you, his filthy words caused heat rising up to your cheeks as you buried your face even deeper into soft pillows, but they couldn’t hide your reddened ears form his sharp eyes.

Miguel leaned down, one massive arm sliding underneath your neck, so that your chin was tucked right in the hollow of his elbow; a few moments later your face was squished in between male’s bulking bicep and a thick forearm, trapped in a firm headlock. He put most of his body weight onto your small body, pounding your dripping cunt into the bouncy mattress, stretching you out on his mighty girth, making your eyes roll back in intense pleasure. You felt Miguel’s free hand slipping underneath your tummy, finding your throbbing needy clit in no time and massaging it brutally with rough fingertips, matching the roughness of his hips slamming into you from behind.

- Oh baby, you’re drooling, - Miguel tutted in feigned pity, his hot lips brushing the shell of your ear, making hairs on the back of your neck rise.

His words brought you out of heavy haze of pleasure, bringing some consciousness to your foggy mind. And, indeed, your chin felt cooler because of your drool covering it, some even dribbled down onto Miguel’s arm, getting in between your chin and his inner elbow. Your hands came to his arm around your neck, fingers digging into firm muscles, leaving crescent-shaped marks on scarred skin.

- Mig..uel, I’m-

- Shhh, my love. Don’t you worry, I’ll take good care of you, - Miguel shushed you softly, his hips slapping against your ass with even more vigor, making you momentarily forget whatever it was that you wanted to say.

He hissed as he felt your velvety walls clenching around him, the suckle of your pussy sent his hips bucking and forcing his cock impossibly deeper into your cunt. A familiar coil makes itself knows in the pit of your stomach - a telltale sign of your next orgasm approaching rapidly.

- Oh fuck bunny, fuck fuck fuck. Gonna fill that pussy with my cum, full and nice, yeah? You’d like that, wouldn’t you? - Miguel rambled next to your ear as his pace became faster and sloppier.

- Pl..ease. Fuck, need.. it. ‘m so close, - you managed to stutter through

Your body prickled with desire and heat, Miguel’s fingers worked diligently on your clit along with his massive cock spreading you open, thick cockhead mushing against all of your sweet spots - he very soon had you cumming all around him, wringing a mind-blowing orgasm out of your exhausted body, your release leaving a noticeable white ring on the base of his dick.

A string or curses and quiet whimpers reached your ears as Miguel’s snapped his hips into yours quickly before stilling completely. Strong shudder ran through male’s massive body and, with a final moan, he shoot his thick cum inside of your fluttering heat, flooding your insides with his warmth.

Miguel went slack against your back, his body mounding against yours as he laid atop of you, making you squeak quietly under his weight. He chuckled airily as he rolled off you to the side, sliding his softening cock out of your bruised pussy. You whined at the feeling of emptiness, warm sperm dripped out in a small dribble, staining your slit and sheets underneath you. Miguel scooped you up in his big arms and maneuvered you to lay on top of his heaving chest, thick fingers tangled in your messy hair, massaging your scalp lovingly.

You took a deep breath, cuddling deeper into your lover’s neck, wrapping one arm around his broad shoulders. Your eyelids felt too heavy and Miguel felt too comfy to lay on, so you were fighting off sleep as much as you could.

- Go to sleep baby, I’ll clean everything up, - you heard a soft murmur, warm lips kissing your forehead in a comforting manner. You hummed in acknowledgment, getting more comfortable in Miguel’s arms.

- Love you, - you whispered tiredly, sleep heavy on your lids.

- Love you too angel

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[tsukumomei]

—PUPPY LOVE

ft. Sae Itoshi

summary: rin swears the new girl makes “nii chan’s face light up”. sae smiles more, and spends time with her like it’s no big deal. their parents don’t notice, but rin can tell she makes sae happier, even if it’s a little annoying. wc. 2.2k

a/n: just a cute fic I thought of cause of that one additional time of the itoshi brothers “nii chan’s frame of mind”

Rin didn’t like her at first, not that he did now.

She showed up at the park one day, just standing there with her ball and staring like she wanted to join their game. She didn’t even ask, just yelled, “Pass it to me!” like she owned the place. Her voice cut through the sound of their cleats against the grass. Rin froze mid-step. No one talked to his big brother like that.

To Rin’s surprise, his brother’s gaze fell on her, and Rin could almost see the gears turning in his head.

Nii chan didn’t yell at her. He didn’t tell her to leave. He tilted his head slightly and nudged the ball her way with his foot. Rin frowned.

That was it. The first domino fell.

She wasn’t even good. She ran weird, her kicks were all over the place, and she tripped more than she scored. Rin thought nii chan would get annoyed, but he didn’t. He actually helped her. He showed her how to dribble and even taught her how to do some of the moves Rin was still practicing. It wasn’t fair!

Then there was the rainy day. Rin was sure they’d stay inside—no one played soccer in the mud, not even nii chan. But when Y/N showed up wearing her rain boots and grinning, nii chan grabbed a ball and followed her outside. Rin had no choice but to tag along. They ended up having the messiest, weirdest game of soccer ever, with Y/N sliding in the mud and nii chan actually laughing when she fell.

But what really annoyed Rin was how nii chan acted around her. His face was different. When Y/N was around, he looked... relaxed. And sometimes, he even smiled. Not his usual smirk when he wins, but a real smile.

It wasn’t like nii chan to be this way. Rin knew his brother better than anyone. Nii chan is the coolest, and he always looks ahead. 

But with Y/N, it was like he slowed down just enough to let her catch up.

One time, Rin saw them sitting under the big tree at the park. Y/N was talking a lot, waving her hands around and laughing, and he just sat there, listening. He didn’t even tell her to stop talking, which was weird because Sae hated when people talked too much.

Even at home, she was there sometimes. She’d come for dinner, and always ended up next to Sae. She’d laugh at nii chan’s jokes and he’d give her the last piece of karaage like it was nothing. 

Their parents didn’t notice, of course. Mom just said it was nice Sae had a “little fan,”and Dad said it was good for Sae to teach someone else; it would “build character.” Rin wanted to tell them they were wrong, but he didn’t know how to explain it. If only they saw what he did.

It wasn’t just about soccer. Y/N wasn’t like the other kids. She wasn’t scared of nii chan, and she didn’t try to impress him like everyone else. She just... acted like he was normal. And somehow, that made nii chan act normal, too.

Rin didn’t understand it fully, but he could tell Y/N was different. She was the only one who could make nii chan stay longer at the park, the only one who could get him to drop his guard. And as much as Rin hated to admit it, there was something kind of cool about that.

By the end of the summer, Rin still didn’t like how much time they spent with each other. 

But even if it was annoying, it wasn’t so bad to see nii chan smile.

—

Rin is eight now, and Sae is ten, and it was Valentine’s Day—the most annoying day of the year, at least to Rin.

When Sae opened his locker, chocolates and notes spilled out onto the floor. Rin, walking past with his own bag of books, stopped and stared. Even Sae’s friends, who were standing nearby, froze in surprise.

“Whoa! Sae, look at all this!” one of his friends said, picking up a pink heart-shaped box. “You’re like an idol or something.”

Rin looked around the hallway, noticing a group of girls peeking around the corner, giggling as they watched Sae. Rin rolled his eyes.

Sae didn’t seem impressed. He sighed, crouched down, and began scooping up the fallen chocolates. “You guys can take them if you want,” he said calmly. “I don’t really care.”

His friends’ jaws dropped. “Are you serious?” one of them asked, already reaching for a fancy-looking box. Sae shrugged.

“Yeah. Take them. I don’t eat sweets much anyway.”

Rin couldn’t believe it. “Nii-chan, you’re just giving them away?”

Sae gave Rin one of his usual unreadable looks. “What am I supposed to do with them? Keep them all? It’s just chocolate, Rin.”

Rin huffed, muttering under his breath. He might’ve been little, but he knew enough to tell that those chocolates weren’t just “chocolates.” The girls liked nii chan. They liked him liked him.

Later, when they got home, Rin peeked into Sae’s bag to see if he’d kept any of the chocolates. Sure enough, there was one. A small, simple box with a handwritten note tied to it.

“Why’d you keep that one?” Rin asked, pointing at it.

Sae looked up from his homework and shrugged. “She gave it to me in person,” he said. “It’d be rude to give it away.”

Rin squinted at him. Something about the way Sae said it made Rin feel like there was more to the story.

—

The next day, Rin noticed Y/N sitting on the stairs near the school courtyard, looking sad. She had her hands covering her knees, and her head was bowed. Rin frowned. Usually, she was cheerful and full of energy, but today, she just sat there, not even looking up when people passed by.

Sae noticed too. Rin could tell because instead of heading to class like he normally did, Sae turned and walked straight over to her. Rin followed, curious but pretending he didn’t care.

“What happened?” Sae asked, his voice calm but steady.

Y/N glanced up, her eyes a little watery, and gave a sheepish smile. “Nothing, I’m fine.”

Sae crouched slightly, his gaze dropping to where she was holding her knee. “Doesn’t look fine,” he said.

Rin leaned closer and noticed the scrape on her knee, smeared with a little blood. Her other leg looked bruised, too. 

Y/N sighed, looking embarrassed. “I tripped on the stairs earlier. It was so dumb. I wasn’t even running or anything. I just... fell.”

“Can you walk?” Sae asked.

Y/N shifted and winced as she tried to stand. “Not really,” she admitted, sitting back down. “My legs hurt.”

Without a word, Sae turned around and crouched in front of her.

“What are you doing?” Y/N asked, confused.

“Get on,” Sae said simply.

“What?”

“I’ll carry you to the nurse’s office,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “Hurry up before we’re late.”

Y/N hesitated, looking unsure. “You don’t have to—”

“Just get on,” Sae said again, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Blushing slightly, Y/N carefully climbed onto his back, wrapping her arms loosely around his neck. Rin’s eyes went wide.

“Nii-chan, are you serious?!” Rin asked, sounding both shocked and annoyed.

“Do you see anyone else helping her?” Sae shot back, standing up effortlessly with Y/N on his back.

Rin scowled but didn’t say anything. He followed them as Sae started walking toward the nurse’s office, Y/N leaning her head against his shoulder.

“Thanks, Sae,” Y/N said softly.

“Don’t mention it,” Sae replied, his voice steady.

Rin trailed behind, muttering under his breath. “She’s so dramatic. It’s just a scrape. I fell yesterday, and no one carried me anywhere.”

But as he watched Sae carry Y/N, his brother calm as ever while Y/N’s face slowly brightened, Rin couldn’t help but feel a little jealous.

“Why does Nii-chan always go out of his way for her?” Rin thought, kicking a pebble on the ground.

By the time they got to the nurse’s office, Y/N was smiling again. Rin sighed, knowing that no matter how much it annoyed him, Sae was going to keep looking out for her.

Sae, as usual, looked calm, but Rin caught the faintest smile on his brother’s face.

Later, as they were heading home, Rin couldn’t help but ask, “Nii-chan, do you like her?”

Sae glanced at him, his face unreadable as always. “What do you mean?”

“You kept her chocolate,” Rin pointed out. “And you carried her to the nurse’s office. You don’t do that for anyone else.”

Sae didn’t answer right away. After a moment, he just said, “She’s different.”

—

Rin was still in elementary school, but Sae and Y/N were now in middle school. Even though they didn’t go to school together anymore, things hadn’t changed too much. Sae still came home every day, and most of the time, he’d be in a good mood. Rin liked it when Nii-chan was like that because it meant he’d play with him, and Sae would even show him new tricks.

But one day, everything felt... different.

Sae came home later than usual, and when Rin saw him walk through the door, he noticed right away that something was wrong. Sae didn’t say much during dinner, and when Rin asked if they could play soccer, Sae just shook his head.

“Maybe later,” he muttered.

Rin frowned. Nii-chan never said no to soccer.

Later that evening, Rin found Sae sitting on the steps outside their house, staring at the ground. Rin hesitated for a moment before walking over and sitting down beside him.

He let out a small sigh, his gaze still fixed on the ground. Finally, he said, “Y/N’s moving abroad.”

Rin blinked, confused. “What? Why?”

“Her dad’s job,” Sae replied. His voice was flat, but Rin could tell he was upset.

Rin tilted his head, trying to process it. “So... she’s leaving? For how long?”

Sae shrugged. “Probably a few years.”

“A few years?!” Rin’s eyes widened. “That’s forever!”

Sae didn’t respond.

Rin thought for a moment, then asked, “Did she tell you today?”

“Yeah.”

“What did you say?”

“I told her I’d miss her,” Sae admitted quietly.

Rin stared at him, stunned. It wasn’t like Nii-chan to say stuff like that. He was usually so calm and serious, never letting his emotions show.

“She said she’d miss me too,” Sae added after a moment.

Rin watched his brother’s face closely. Sae didn’t look like he was about to cry or anything, but there was something about the way he sat that made Rin feel uncomfortable.

“What are you gonna do?” Rin asked.

Sae glanced at him. “What can I do? She’s leaving, Rin. I can’t stop her.”

Rin thought about that for a moment. He didn’t like Y/N as much as Sae did—she was always stealing Sae’s attention, after all—but even Rin couldn’t imagine her not being around anymore.

The next day, Rin decided to follow Sae to the park after school, where he knew Sae and Y/N usually met up. He stayed hidden behind a tree, watching as they sat on their usual bench.

Y/N was holding a small notebook, and she handed it to Sae with a shy smile. “I made this for you,” she said.

Sae opened the notebook, flipping through the pages. It was filled with little doodles, notes, and memories of their time together—funny moments, inside jokes, and even some pictures she’d drawn of their soccer games.

“It’s so you don’t forget me,” Y/N said softly.

“I won’t forget you,” Sae replied, his voice steady but quiet.

They talked for a while, and even though Rin couldn’t hear everything, he could tell it was important. When Y/N finally got up to leave, Sae stood too. They said goodbye, and Y/N walked away, turning back once to wave.

That night, Sae was still quiet, but he seemed a little better. Rin sat next to him again, this time holding their soccer ball.

“She gave you something, huh?” Rin asked, glancing at the notebook on the table.

“Yeah.”

“Are you gonna write back to her?”

“Maybe,” Sae said.

Rin stared at him for a moment before nudging him with the ball. “Wanna play?”

Sae looked at him, and for the first time that day, he gave a small smile. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

Even though Rin still didn’t fully understand everything, he decided not to ask any more questions. If playing soccer could make Nii-chan feel a little better, then that was enough for him.