#but he’s feeling pretty self conscious about it

[dollyswishingwell]

I'm obsessed with your writing style!! Can I request the Love and Deepspace guys the very first time they take you shopping, wanting to spoil you and pick out pretty things for you, but you're still a little uncomfortable?

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Hesitation

𝒲𝒾��𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ fluffff, reader is a bit awkward, i promise i’ll be going through all the requests soon. i hope this is good :D

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ You didn’t realise they’ve been waiting their whole life to take care of you

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You didn’t even realize where he was taking you at first. One minute, Rafayel was humming beside you in the sun-drenched car, legs loosely crossed, wrist lazily draped over his knee, then the next, you were standing in front of a boutique with marble steps and gilded trim, its window displays shimmering with silk and starlight.

You looked up at him, confused.

“I thought we were just grabbing food?”

He smiled, soft and lopsided. “We will. After.”

Your arms stayed crossed as he nudged the glass door open, the cool air inside fragrant with expensive perfume. You hesitated on the threshold like it burned. The place was pristine, curated for a kind of woman you never thought to be, draped in chiffon, light on her feet, untouched by blood or plasma discharge.

“I don’t need anything.”

“I know,” he said simply. “But I want to give you something.”

He was already drifting inside, fingertips brushing lazily across a rack of pale-colored dresses like he was feeling textures of coral under the sea. His eyes were sparkling, pink and blue both. Not because he cared about the fashion. But because you were here.

You stayed by the entrance like an idiot, hand still on your belt. Rafayel turned, noting the stiffness in your shoulders. Then he padded back to you, soft, catlike steps, always a little too close.

“You look scared,” he teased gently, leaning in like he was about to share a secret. “It’s not a trap. Unless you count being emotionally manipulated by a pretty man who loves you.”

You huffed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re beautiful,” he said without flinching. “And always wearing the same six hunter outfits. They don’t even have proper pockets. Let me give you something nice. Please.”

The word please lingered in the air, rare and sincere. It made your throat tighten.

He tilted his head. “You don’t have to like it. Just try something on. For me.”

His tone was so unassuming, so earnest in its quiet request, it disarmed you. A little part of you, tired, sore, always on alert, ached to be indulgent. Just for a second.

“…Fine,” you muttered, glaring at a display dress like it personally insulted you. “But if I look stupid, I’m blaming you.”

Rafayel beamed, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Deal. I’ll take full responsibility. Emotionally, financially, spiritually.”

He plucked the hanger and draped it gently over your arm like a crown being placed on royalty. You rolled your eyes, but didn’t shake it off.

And when you returned from the fitting room, unsure, awkward, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, he stared at you like the stars had rearranged themselves just to form your silhouette.

“…Okay?” you asked, arms slightly lifted in a self-conscious shrug.

Rafayel didn’t answer. Not with words. He just stepped forward and reached out, cupping your cheek with a reverence that made your chest hurt.

“I want to wrap you in every soft, lovely thing,” he murmured. “So the world never gets to bruise you again.”

You swallowed thickly.

“…That’s not how it works.”

He smiled sadly. “I know. But let me try anyway.”

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

The boutique was quiet, too quiet. The kind with glass shelves, polished floors, and a single attendant too nervous to breathe loud. The walls were lined with elegant neutral palettes, coats and dresses hanging like art. You shouldn’t have been here. Not in your boots, not with your hunters permit still sticking awkwardly out from your ID.

You shot Zayne a look.

“This is a little much, isn’t it?”

He didn’t look at you, fingers trailing steadily along the hem of a soft camel coat, his expression unreadable behind silver-rimmed glasses. “You’ll need something appropriate for the hospital gala.”

“I have a black dress.”

He hummed. “The one you wore to a funeral.”

You flushed, defensive. “It’s still in good condition.”

“I’m sure it is,” Zayne said coolly, lifting the sleeve of a deep plum cashmere number and inspecting the stitching like it offended him. “But I’d rather not have the director’s wife think you’re in mourning.”

You scowled. “You said she wasn’t your type.”

“She isn’t,” he said mildly. “But I’d still rather not.”

That earned him a look. You hated shopping. It always felt… vulnerable. You weren’t used to the stillness. The hush of indulgence. You’d spent years with utility belts and reinforced boots, shopping was for people with soft hands and quiet jobs. People who didn’t deal in violence.

Zayne stepped closer, voice lower, a hand ghosting over the small of your back without quite touching.

“You don’t have to like it,” he murmured, tilting his head just slightly. “But I do want you to have something that makes you feel beautiful. Not just… armed.”

You paused.

That soft hum in his voice, that was the problem. The way he said beautiful like it was a diagnosis. Like he could see it whether or not you did. You didn’t know how to handle that.

Still, you hesitated. “…I’m not going to prance around in sequins.”

His lips tugged just faintly. “Noted. We’ll keep it understated.”

You narrowed your eyes, watching him pull a gown from a side rack. Sleek. Minimalist. No fuss. Elegant in the way he was, muted but unmistakably sharp.

He handed it to you. “Try this.”

“…What if I hate it?”

“You won’t,” he said plainly. “But if you do, I’ll find you something better.”

You stared at him, suspicious. “How do you know my size?”

“I’m a surgeon,” Zayne said flatly. “I could recreate your spine from memory.”

You blinked. Your mouth opened. Then shut.

He added, deadpan: “Don’t look so horrified. I meant that flatteringly.”

“…That wasn’t flattering.”

Zayne’s lips twitched again, like he was holding back laughter. He didn’t press. Just waited silently until you retreated into the changing room.

When you stepped out, he looked up from where he’d leaned against the edge of a display table. His eyes flicked over you once, slow, assessing, steady. No smirk. No flattery. Just… a quiet, deliberate stillness.

You shifted, uncomfortable. “Too much?”

“No,” he said simply.

You gave him a skeptical glance in the mirror. He stepped behind you, fixing the off-shoulder sleeve with a careful touch, the fabric gliding under his fingers. His scarred hands looked too rough for the material, and yet he handled it, and you, with absolute precision.

“You don’t have to wear it to the gala,” he said, his tone low, almost absentminded as he adjusted the fit on your shoulder. “But I’m buying it anyway.”

You turned to face him.

“Because it’s pretty?”

“Because you’re pretty,” he said without hesitation. “And I like watching you be reminded of it.”

That stopped your heart for half a second.

“…You’re ridiculous.”

“Mm,” he hummed. “And you’re stalling. Go change.”

You stomped back into the dressing room before he could see you blush.

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

You blinked up at the glittering storefront. Mannequins in flowing satin. Soft lighting. Gentle classical music humming in the background. The kind of boutique you passed without ever really seeing. Now here you were, standing just slightly to the left of Xavier, who was staring at the mannequins like they were alien lifeforms.

“…Are we lost?”

“No,” he said, almost serenely. “This is the destination.”

“…You brought me here on purpose?”

A small nod. His silver hair shimmered slightly under the soft lighting. His expression hadn’t changed since you left the train: calm, unreadable, borderline sleepy. But his hand was resting lightly against the small of your back, guiding you inside.

“I don’t need anything fancy,” you tried, already shrinking under the chandeliers. “I’ve got my uniform. I’m fine.”

“I know,” he said simply. “But I like seeing you wear soft things.”

That caught you off guard. You glanced at him, suspicious. “Soft things?”

He paused, thoughtful. “Like… clouds. Or the pastries you like. But on you.”

You blinked.

“…You mean dresses.”

Xavier tilted his head. “I mean things that look good when you spin in them.”

You didn’t even know what to say to that. You were still in your boots. Still carrying the tension of your last mission between your shoulders. You didn’t belong in a place like this.

As if sensing that, Xavier stepped in front of you, hands clasped behind his back. His voice was quiet, but steady. “Do you feel uncomfortable?”

“…A little.”

A beat.

“I will fix it.”

You blinked. “What—”

But he was already off, sifting through a row of garments with the exact same eerie calm he brought to dismantling illegal protocore traders. It didn’t matter if it was dress racks or combat briefings, Xavier was methodical, careful, and just slightly tilted from what was expected.

He returned with a gauzy lavender number draped over his arm. He held it out to you without a word. You stared at it.

“Try it,” he said simply.

“I’m not even sure it’s my color.”

“I am.”

You gave him a flat look. “And when did you become a fashion expert?”

“I’m not,” he said. “But I am very good at observing you.”

Your ears grew warm.

You reluctantly took the dress and disappeared into the fitting room. The whole time, you expected to look ridiculous. Like someone else entirely. But when you stepped out.

Xavier was already watching.

His expression didn’t change.

But something… softened.

He approached slowly, the tips of his fingers brushing over the hem of the dress like it might melt. Then, without a word, he reached up and gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His gloved fingers didn’t touch your skin. But it still made your breath hitch.

“…You approve?” you asked, trying to sound dry.

“I do not understand what others consider beautiful,” he murmured. “But I like how you look. I like how you always look.”

You stared up at him. He was still expressionless. Still strange. Still not quite human in how he moved, or spoke, or tilted his head when he looked at you like the galaxy stopped turning.

And yet, your heart squeezed.

“…You’re being really weird.”

“I know,” he said softly. “But I’d like to buy it for you.”

You hesitated.

He added, “You don’t have to keep it. You don’t even have to wear it. But if I imagine you spinning once in it, in a room filled with light, then it’s worth it to me.”

You looked away, ears burning.

“…Fine. But only if I get to choose something you wear next time.”

Xavier nodded solemnly. “Deal. I will wear a pastry if you ask me to.”

“What— no, Xavier—!”

Too late. He was already at the counter, wallet in hand, gently coaxing the boutique worker to wrap it in tissue.

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

You’d expected the mission briefing. Trying out new weapoms. Maybe some recon.

You had not expected Sylus to park the car outside a luxury fashion district and say, lazily:

“Get out. We’re shopping.”

You frowned at him.

“You’re joking.”

Sylus didn’t blink. Didn’t even look at you. Just adjusted the black blazer hanging off his shoulders and tilted his head slightly, the red crow brooch catching the light.

“Do I look like I joke?”

You muttered under your breath, “You look like someone with twelve armories and no sense of moderation.”

He smirked. “And you look like someone I’d rather not have wearing knockoff tactical gear while standing next to me.”

Your glare deepened.

“I like this gear.”

“It’s functional,” Sylus said airily, guiding you toward the automatic doors with a hand at your lower back. “But function doesn’t always win wars. Sometimes presence does.”

You knew better than to argue when he was in this mood, calm, smug, and quietly plotting something three steps ahead. He wasn’t just taking you shopping. This was a statement. And you had no idea what kind.

Inside, the boutique was all mirrors and low lighting. The kind of place that didn’t display price tags, just power. A clerk stepped forward. Sylus didn’t speak to her. He just gave her a look, and she vanished into the back to fetch whatever he wanted.

You stood stiffly. He leaned against a gold-trimmed display table, watching you with idle amusement.

“I don’t need you to buy me things,” you muttered.

“I didn’t ask what you needed,” he replied smoothly. “I do what I want.”

You crossed your arms. “Why?”

That made him pause. His red eyes flicked toward you, sharp and gleaming. Then, softly:

“Because I like the idea of you wrapped in luxury. Because I enjoy watching you realize how easily you could own every room you walk into.”

A beat. Then he added with a smirk:

“And because I’m shallow and get bored. So this is also entertainment.”

You scowled.

Moments later, the clerk returned with gowns, gloves, heels, even jewelry, rich reds, deep blacks, all materials that shimmered like oil or bled like wine. Sylus didn’t touch a single one. He just looked at you expectantly.

“No way,” you said, hands raised. “I’m not trying those on.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m a hunter, not—”

“Not what?” he interrupted, stepping closer. “Not someone who deserves to be admired? To feel powerful in ways that don’t involve blood or bullets?”

You froze.

Sylus smiled, slow and knowing.

“Let me rephrase,” he said softly. “Go try them on. Or I’ll carry you to the fitting room myself.”

Your stomach flipped.

You grabbed the nearest piece and fled.

When you stepped out again, blood-red velvet, cut close and dangerous, Sylus’s expression didn’t shift. But his gaze burned. He tilted his head slightly, his tongue pressing lightly to the inside of his cheek, almost like he was savoring something.

“Well,” he said at last, voice low. “Look at you.”

“…Too much?” you asked stiffly.

“No,” he murmured. “It’s perfect.”

You swallowed. “I’m not used to this.”

“I know,” he said. “That’s why we’re practicing.”

You blinked.

He stepped closer. Lowered his voice. “One day, you’re going to rule rooms like this. You’ll walk into a place like this, and no one will question the cost of anything. They’ll ask if it pleases you. And I’ll be the one standing behind you, amused.”

Your heart stuttered.

“…You think I’ll be like that?”

“I think,” Sylus said, reaching up to adjust a strap with slow, calculated fingers, “that you already are. You just haven’t seen it yet.”

You stared at him.

He leaned down, brushing a soft kiss against your cheek like he was crowning you with it.

“Now pick a few,” he murmured. “Before I lose patience and buy out the store.”

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

You were supposed to be getting parts. Weapons. Something for your mission. Not… standing awkwardly in front of a boutique window while Caleb stood beside you, hands in his pockets, watching you like you were the only star in the sky.

“I don’t need anything,” you muttered.

“I know,” he said softly, “but I want to give you something anyway.”

You turned to him, skeptical. “Why?”

Caleb smiled. Not the playful grin you remembered from childhood, but a softer, grown-up version. Sadder. Warmer. More dangerous.

“You work hard. You never ask for anything. You always think you have to handle everything alone.” He tilted his head. “Let me spoil you, just this once.”

You glanced at the boutique. Soft lighting. Silks and crystals and delicate things you’d never wear in a cockpit. Not your world.

“I’m not the type to wear stuff like this.”

Caleb stepped closer. You felt it before you saw it, the sudden change in pressure, the weight of his presence, like his Gravity Evol was always humming just beneath the surface, calibrated just for you.

“You don’t have to be,” he said quietly. “You’re you. That’s all I want.”

You hesitated.

And then, just like he used to do when you were kids, he reached out, tugged your sleeve lightly, and leaned in with a teasing whisper, “C’mon. You didn’t say no when I bought you five extra sticker packs that summer, remember?”

You blinked at him. “You told Gran they were on sale.”

“They were. Emotionally.”

You laughed despite yourself, and Caleb’s smile brightened. Not cocky. Not smug. Just sincere.

And before you could stop him, he was gently guiding you through the door, palm on your back, already talking to the assistant about “something soft, something pretty, something in her color.” The way he said it made your skin burn.

Inside, you tried to retreat, but Caleb was persistent in the way only he could be. Not pushy. Just present. Patient. Like he knew how many steps it would take for you to give in.

He held up a deep plum piece, simple but elegant, and tilted his head.

“I think this one’s pretty,” he murmured. “It matches your eyes.”

“…Yours are purple,” you pointed out.

He smiled again, and this time, there was heat behind it. “Exactly.”

You snatched the outfit from his hand and stormed off to the changing room just to get away from the flutter in your chest.

When you stepped out, uncomfortable and tugging at the fabric, he was already sitting there, waiting. Legs spread, one arm draped over the chair, dark brown hair slightly tousled from his flight jacket.

His gaze traveled down your body slowly, taking in everything.

“…You like it?” you asked, fidgeting.

He didn’t answer immediately. Just stood, walked over, and reached to fix the collar.

“I love it,” he said, voice low. “But I’d love it more if you didn’t look like you were about to bolt.”

“I’m not used to—”

“I know,” he cut in gently, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. “But I’m going to keep doing this. Slowly. Until you believe it’s okay to let me take care of you.”

Your heart thudded.

He looked down at you, purple eyes glowing softly.

“Because I always have,” he whispered. “I always will.”

And when the assistant brought out a pair of heels that matched perfectly, Caleb took them from her hands, crouched in front of you, and, before you could even protest, slipped one on with the same calm focus he used when piloting his favourite aircraft.

“…Cinderella moment?” you asked, flustered.

“Mm,” he smiled, still crouched. “No. My girl doesn’t need saving. But she deserves everything beautiful.”

[malfoy-mrsdracomalfoy]

Potions Partner

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Strong language, some bullying

Word Count: 4268

Summary: Fem!Reader is Draco's Potions partner and has struck his fancy. The catch? The feelings are not mutual. Draco is determined to change that.

Author's Note: This is a slow burn.

Reader's Point Of View:

Draco, my so-called Potions partner is sitting next to me- not paying attention as per usual. Apparently his conversation with Crabbe and Goyle can't wait until class is dismissed. In a lull in conversation, Draco glances over at me, acknowledging my presence for the first time ever.

"Oi, girl." He says, turning his full attention to me.

I look up from my notes to him. "What?" I'm already annoyed I turned in our essay that was supposed to be a team effort to Professor Snape. The only part Draco contributed to it was writing his name on the corner under mine.

He smirks, leaning back in his chair. "Just making sure you're not too busy trying to understand something too complicated for someone like you."

"Oh how thoughtful of you." I say sarcastically, rolling my eyes. his smirk widens at my response, genuinely finding amusement in bothering me.

"You find yourself to be clever, yeah? Talking to me like that."

"Like what, then?"

"Sassy. It's rather cute that you think you're just going to get away with that."

I give him an unimpressed look before promptly looking back at my notes, trying to tune into Snape's lecture again. Finally, the trio falls into silence after Snape gives them a very heavy glare. That doesn't shake Draco enough to leave me be. I feel his eyes on me just about the entire lecture- not taking any notes of his own.

I turn my body away from him so he can only see the back of my robes- feeling annoyed and slightly self-conscious.

After a few minutes, Snape dismisses class and I gather all my things and haul out of the classroom, walking quickly through the crowd of students. Draco catches up with me, matching my pace as I walk. Does this guy really not have anything else better to do?

"You know, every girl in this school would drop their knickers for me- why are you acting like you're better than any of them?" He says, clearly taking an ego hit with my lack of interest. I let out one laugh of disbelief. "Do you actually believe that? I mean you actually believe that most girls want to 'drop their knickers' for you?" I say, mimicking his accent when I repeat his repulsive comment. His smirk returns full force.

"Without a doubt. I could have any girl in this school. Hell, I could have half the professors, too." He says arrogantly, watching me intently for my reaction.

"Oh! Professors as well? Wow! You're really something." I say, voice mocking. His eyes slightly narrow at my tone.

"I bet you're jealous you're not one of the girls I want."

"More like I'm not one of the girls you can have." I look at him, small smirk forming.

"You're not even pretty." He says, testing my reaction. I bet he expects me to wilt like a flower.

"No? Pity. I so badly wanted to be called pretty by someone like you." I say sarcastically. His smirk widens as if he's enjoying someone pushing back to his insults.

"You're rather ugly." He says, waiting for me to snap back to him.

"Ugly? How will I ever bounce back from this heart-breaking insult? I am SO wounded." I say, keeping my sarcastic tone. I notice he laughs softly before he covers it with his usual smirk.

"You're a bloke repellant. I mean, look at you. You have no tits or ass." He adds, clearly trying to offend me.

"Oh, you've been looking, then?" I stop us mid-walk and turn to look at him fully. A challenge. His eyes widen briefly, caught off guard by my quick comeback. A smirk tugs at his lips.

"You know what I mean." He runs his gaze over me deliberately this time. "You have no redeeming qualities." I watch his eyes carefully, smugly noticing that he's not just looking to insult, but he's actually checking me out under the guise of judgement.

"You say that but your eyes lingered a little longer than they should've."

"Fuck off." He says gruffly, turning away to hide his face.

"You started this. I'm just finishing it. I always finish what I start." I say, wanting to throw him off with an unexpected innuendo to catch his reaction. He slowly turns back, his smirk back in place.

"You shouldn't talk like that." His voice drops lower. "It makes a bloke think things."

"I'm not in charge of the innerworkings of a man's mind." I give him a once over, ready to clap back. "Besides. I don't know why you're hassling me about my looks. You have no room to talk." He laughs genuinely, seemingly unphased.

"At least I have a dick." He says, trying to shock me but I spy his hands slightly shaking at my newfound confidence. "You probably don't even know what one looks like."

"A dick? What's that?" I pretend to be confused.

He stares at me for a moment, speechless. Then, he bursts out laughing- loud and uninhibited.

"You're fucking with me right now." He says between chuckles.

"Obviously." I say, confident and standing tall.

He shakes his head as he stop laughing, keeping a smile on his face. He takes a step closer.

"You know what would really fuck with me right now?"

"I have a feeling you'll tell me even if I don't ask."

"Smartarse." His blue eyes hold mine intently. "I'd be really fucked right now if you just.. for once.. stop being such a clever fucking witch and just admit you find me attractive." His voice is barely above a whisper, and I spy a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. I knew he cared about my opinion even though he acts like he's unbothered by anything. I pretend to be thoughtful for few moments.

"Hm. No."

His face breaks into a grin, clearly amused by my denial.

"You're seriously telling me that I'm standing here practically begging you to admit I turn you on..."

I smirk. "I rather like a begging man." I say, pleased I have the upper hand now. He stares at me for a moment, shocked again by my direct approach.

"Fuck, you're infuriating." He says with a low chuckle, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Oh, yeah?" I tilt my head to the side, smirk in place.

He steps even closer, his voice challenging. He seems to want to push me. I bet he wonders how far he can go before I actually snap or give in. "You know what your problem is?"

"I drive men wild with my charm?"

His eyes flicker down to my lips briefly before meeting my gaze again. He smirks, his voice low and seductive "No, your problem is you have no idea how attractive you are when you're being a sassy little bitch."

"Attractive?" I remark with a smirk. He watches me for a second, an amused grin taking over his face.

"Shut up."

"No, I don't think I will." I shift slightly, popping my hip out and crossing my arms. I know exactly what I'm doing. He's going to eat his words and regret he ever made any sort of sexist comment about my appearance. His eyes flick down to my hip, taking in the newfound curves it gives me.

"Stop moving like that." He says, trying to look annoyed but his eyes betray him. He finds me attractive whether he admits it to himself or not.

"Or what?" I say, holding his gaze, eyebrow raised. This was his last straw.

His hand reaches out and grabs me by my hips, pulling me flush against him. "Or I might just have to show you exactly what your smart mouth and sassy attitude do to me." I chuckle. I win.

"You're trouble, and not the fun kind." I say, pulling slightly back- I'm not that easy to get. I feel his fingers dig into my hip slightly, holding me in place. He leans down, his face inches from mine.

"You're the kind of girl that every bloke wants but wouldn't dare try. Too hard to get. Too much hassel."

"But you're not like most guys- are you?" I smirk up at him, pleased I have him in my web now. His grip on my hip tightens as he smirks back, his voice a low growl.

"No. I actually have the balls to go after what I want."

"What is it that you want?"

He releases my hip suddenly, his hands coming to frame my face as he backs me against the wall. "I want you. Your mouth, your attitude... I want to see if you're as fiery in bed as you are out of it." He pauses, face inches from mine. I nearly laugh out loud. As if he think it'll be that easy.

"Not going to happen." I smirk, looking over his features. "I like how boldly you declared that though."

His expression turns embarrassed at my rejection but he quickly covers it with anger. He steps back, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "Fine. Keep acting like you're too good for me, then." He turns to leave but pauses at the door, looking back over his shoulder.

"Something to add?" I say, amused at his ego hit. He needed to be taken down several notches.

"You're so busy being the 'unattainable girl' that you miss out on having any fun." He smirks mirthlessly. "I can have anyone I want. At least those girls know how to act on their desires. They're not stuck up like you." With that parting shot, he storms out of the room.

"Wow. Good insult." I say sarcastically, laughing slightly as I adjust my skirt. "Drama king."

ONE WEEK LATER

Over this last week, Draco has started a subtle campaign of flirtation and teasing me, testing the waters to see if I'll react. He's constantly finding moments alone with me to drop hints or remarks. In between classes, during study hall, even through the dark hallways at night. He's persistent, I'll give him that.

Feeling like I'm falling behind in Potions due to Draco's 'subtle' touches and his loud conversations with his friends- I decide I need to buckle down and head to the library. I refuse to get anything less than an 'Outstanding' because of him.

LIBRARY

Thankful for the silence of the library- I take my favorite seat in the back where there's low foot traffic. I work diligently for a few minutes before I hear an unexpected sound- a swoosh and something with claws landing on wood. I stop my quill mid-air as I still, listening for the sound and looking around- wondering if it's my owl. On a bookshelf about three rows down, my eyes land on an Eurasian Eagle Owl. The owl watches me for a moment before turning and promptly flying out the closest open window.

Turning my eyes back to my essay, I jump back onto my train of thought I had just moments ago. For a while, the only sound in the library is the scratching of my quill on parchment and the occasional page flip.

That is until I hear the creak of the library door opening. I sigh, annoyed that there's going to be someone in here with me. I was hoping for absolute isolation and silence. I hear footsteps approaching- so I look up.

"Hey, beautiful." The smooth and confident voice of Draco floats to me before he reaches me with his usual stride- chest squared and shoulders slightly back.

"Draco." I say casually, turning my attention back to my homework.

"I missed you today. How's your day been?" He presses on, smirk on his face.

"I'm working on an essay. I would appreciate silence."

He takes the seat next to me, raising his hands in surrender as he turns to face the table, grabbing his own things out. I'm granted a few moments of quiet to focus on my homework.

"Y/n?" Draco says, voice quiet.

"What?" I say, turning my head to the side to look at him.

"I forgot my potions book. Can I borrow yours?" He says, smirk in place. "Or we can share."

"Yeah, go on. I'm done with it anyway."

He leans over to 'borrow' the book. As he reaches across me, his arm brushes against my chest deliberately. He pauses for a moment longer than necessary before setting the book down in front of him. "Thanks." He says, looking smug.

I roll my eyes and scoot a chair away from him. Why was he sitting right next to me, anyway? The whole library is empty. I roll my eyes and pull out my Charms textbook, taking notes.

He notices my slight movement away from him but doesn't comment on it. Instead, he leans back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head. His shirt rides up slightly, revealing a strip of his toned stomach. "It's hot in here, isn't it?" He comments, looking at me with a smirk.

"Actually, I'm rather cold. Must be a draft from the air of superiority that surrounds you."

He raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "Always the sharp tongue. I should have known better than to expect anything less from you." He leans towards me, resting his elbows on the table. I hear the library door open again, and a few students shuffle in and take the table a few rows over.

"Must you be here? Couldn't you be anywhere else?" I say, rolling my eyes and turning my attention back to my notes.

He chuckles softly, the sound low and mocking. "And miss out on our banter? No thank you. Plus, my owl found you for me. You should be honored." He watches me from the corner of his eye, his quill moving idly across the page as he pretends to work on his own homework.

I shake my head and turn away so he doesn't see the smile that creeps across my features. I shouldn't find that flattering, it's creepy. He sent his owl to look for me so he can come bother me. But, he must have caught my smile because he smirks which turns into a full blown grin. He knows he's getting to me.

He pushes a little further by 'accidentally' dropping his quill on the floor right between our two chairs. "Oops." He remarks casually, bending over to pick it up- his soft, platinum locks tickling the bare skin of my arm.

"You're not nearly as slick as you think you are." I say. When he raises his head from picking up his quill, he lingers a few moments- his face level with mine. I spot a teasing glint in his ice blue eyes.

"And you're not as unaffected as you pretend to be."

"Shut up." I say, turning from him to hide my shy smile.

"You're feisty tonight." He pauses, letting his sentence hang in the air before continuing. "But I must say... it suits you."

"Everything does." I shrug casually, pretending to focus on my notes.

An amused smile settles over his lips. "You know what your problem is?" He leans forward, his voice dropping conspiratorially. "You're too smart."

"Oh, yeah?" And you know what YOUR problem is?"

He leans back again, his gaze never faltering. "No doubt I'm going to enjoy hearing this." His smirk returns full force as he waits.

"You think you're being charming and persistent, but you're just flat out annoying. Like a fly buzzing in someone's ear."

This time, he laughs out loud. "You're harsh."

"If you think that's harsh, you should hear the things I don't say out loud."

His smirk returns slowly. "Need I remind you that most girls would kill to even be seated next to me?"

"So they can choke on your expensive cologne? It's far too strong and you have too much of it on."

The eavesdropping students a few tables over laugh quietly and glance over, obviously finding this banter entertaining. Draco catches their eye and they look away quickly, pretending to work again.

"You really don't care about my reputation, do you?" He asks incredulously.

"Should I?"

His smirk widens but he says nothing more. Taking his silence as the end of our conversation, I reopen my textbook- aware of his dangerously close proximity. I take advantage of the silence, finishing up my homework and standing to go. Draco murmurs a small "see you later." as I pass him by, which I return, then I leave the library- feeling a little more warmth to a certain blonde Slytherin with an ego that's too big but a charm that's far bigger.

POTIONS CLASS

As I lean over to read a small caption in my Potions textbook, my hair falls into my face. Before I get a chance to move it- I jump at the feeling of gentle fingers pull it back for me. Once the strands are tucked behind my ear, the warm fingers of Draco Malfoy linger on the skin of my cheek for longer than necessary.

When I glance up to meet his eye, he smirks- pulling his chair closer to me before he sits down. He leans closer to me, his voice low and husky when he speaks. "May I borrow your notes?" He asks softly. "Please?"

"If you must." I tease, sliding my notes over to him. His lips twitch slightly at my teasing response. He copies my notes quickly, and Crabbe and Goyle slide chairs to join us at the table. Draco hands them my notes to borrow as well.

"Oh sure, pass them around." I mumble, rolling my eyes and leaning back in my chair. "You're lucky I was done with them."

Draco chuckles softly. I watch as he passes my notes around the table which is somehow bustling with various members of his clan coming to copy my notes before leaving. I watch them flip through my pages with impressed murmurs.

"Damn, y/n." Says one of the Slytherins. I couldn't tell who because I don't know half their names.

I glance over at him, some tall guy with shaggy brown hair. The Slytherin leans forward conspiratorially before he glances over at Draco. "I never thought I'd see Malfoy sitting next to someone that's smarter than him." He winks at me before moving away to his own table. As fast at they came, Draco's clan left.

"Well, this was odd." I say, organizing all my notes that have been returned to me, "No thanks to you. Distributing my notes like it was the morning paper."

Draco smirks at my sarcastic comment, leaning back in his chair with a lazy grace. He watches me intently- his eyes never leaving my face. When I look up at him, he raises an eyebrow. "I was just helping." He says, his tone mock innocent.

"Yeah, helping. Real helpful bloke you are." I say sarcastically, "You'd help me right over a boat's dock into shark-infested waters."

His smirk widens at my comeback. "Well, at least I'd still be helpful. You wouldn't have to do it yourself."

"Funny." I give him an unimpressed look- "And is that what you call yourself? I have a few other choice words in mind. 'Helpful' is not one of them."

He laughs softly, the sound genuine and warm. I really enjoy this banter with him, and I even enjoy him chasing me. It's fun.

"What would you call it then?"

"Annoying." I say, point-blank. He laughs a little louder this time, drawing the attention of some nearby students. He ignores them, focused on me entirely. "Annoying?" He repeats, still smiling, "I'll take that as a compliment coming from you." His eyes sparkle with amusement.

"What are you even doing right now? You've just been sat in that position for the last half hour and you've not gotten one thing done." I gesture to his open textbook and blank parchment. Well, he did have one page of notes done but only because he copied mine. He follows my gaze to his untouched book, still on page 394.

He shrugs nonchalantly. "Maybe I find other things more interesting than studying right now." He says smoothly.

"Does your incessant flirting ever cease?"

He leans back in his chair, a playful glint in his eye as he replies, "Not when I'm enjoying myself this much." He pauses, "And not when I'm around someone who keeps my attention so well." I look at him for a few moments. He's effectively wearing me down with his persistence and I am starting to form a small crush on him that I quickly suppress because there's no way I want him to know he's right about being wanted by every girl.

"You know what your problem is?"

He raises an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk as he waits for my response. "Enlighten me." He says, voice low and inviting. "What's my problem?"

"You stare unrelentingly at me. You remind me of a snake watching its prey."

His smirk widens at my analogy. He leans forward again, maintaining direct eye contact. "And what if I am? Do you know how rare it is to find someone who can actually handle my stare?" His voice drops lower, "Most avoid it."

"Your stare is quite intense, isn't it?" My eyes flicker between both of his ice blue ones.

"Some people say my stare is intimidating. My mother swears I inherited from my father." He laughs softly, "What do you think?"

"You really don't want to know what I think." I laugh softly to myself, tucking my things away to busy myself- small smile in place.

He watches me tuck away my things for a second before he stands up abruptly, making the chair scrape loudly against the floor and steps right behind me. "I do want to know." His voice comes from behind me, his figure towering. I feel suddenly flustered.

"Have you no decorum? We're still in class." I shuffle slightly in my seat. I feel him lean down slightly- his lips close to my ear.

"But you're here next to me, looking so good..." He whispers, "I'm not bothering anyone else, am I?" His breath tickles my neck.

"No, you've just stuck with bothering me."

He lets out a low chuckle, his chest vibrating on my back. I feel his presence almost completely now. I can't help but imagine what it would be like to be under him in a different scenario.

Noticing how quiet it's become, I glance around to see that at some point class was dismissed and Draco and I were left behind. We are the only ones left in the entire classroom.

"Only because you're the most interesting thing in the room," He admits quietly, "You don't back down from my snark, you speak your mind..."

I turn to smirk up at him, faces inches apart. "Soon, you'll be writing me love letters like a pining admirer."

He rolls his eyes at my teasing, but I see a small smile tug at his face. "Don't push your luck." He says without any real heat behind his words. "My handwriting is atrocious."

"Oh, so it's fitting for your personality then?"

He laughs genuinely, looking over my features, clearly enjoying this verbal sparring and extremely close proximity. "Touché" He grins, "You really are quite... sharp." His eyes flick down to my lips briefly before he settles his gaze on my eyes again. "Incredibly witty."

"Don't forget beautiful." I tease, voice playful.

"Beautiful, witty, and annoying as hell." He mutters, his voice affectionate. "The perfect combination."

I give a small smile, shaking my head up at him. "You're being far too nice. What are you up to?"

Realizing he's been slowly shedding his flirty advances for something more meaningful, he clears his throat and regains his composure- standing back upright and heading back to his seat, sitting down stiffly. "Nothing." he says, "Just enjoying the banter with a girl who can actually keep up." He pauses.

"Oh. Is that all?" I smirk at him, already missing his close proximity.

"What else would it be?" He challenges, his voice low. "You think I'm flirting with you?"

"Oh, you're absolutely flirting with me. That's what's been happening."

He stares at me for a long moment.

"Then let me be clear." He says, his voice low and intense. His eyes lock onto mine as he leans in closer. "I am not just flirting with you." He says firmly, "I am courting you. There's a difference." He pauses, letting the words sink in. "And I don't do this with just anyone." I look at him thoughtfully for a moment.

"I like you, y/n." Draco says, holding my gaze. "I'm not pursuing you for a shag. I think you're beautiful, and clever, and witty, and brilliant and I like spending time with you and talking to you."

"Draco.." I start softly.

"Y/n. Please." He says, cutting me off. "Let me finish. Yeah?" He looks at me, waiting for my nod. When he gets it, he continues.

"I want to spend more time with you. Intentional time. I want to pursue a romantic relationship with you. Are you willing to try with me?" He reaches out to take my hand, intertwining our fingers before setting them in my lap.

"Yes, Draco. I am willing to try with you." I say, finally allowing my carefully constructed walls to begin cracking. I have a feeling it'll be a long journey for the both of us but I also know it'll be worth it.

Masterlist

[bowxs]

Omg congrats on your Milestone ❤️❤️ So as an idea, how would Dean react if reader is very nervous during their first time because she is very self conscious about her body and she just wants to hide herself?

awh :( i think dean would be genuinely so sweet and understanding!

divider from @uzmacchiato

dean moved slowly. skillfully. but carefully as he slowly thrusted inside of you, finally finally after all these months of being together, finally being told you wanted him to take your virginity

he took this honor very seriously, determined to make it the best possible experience for you. he took his time stretching you out, not wanting to hurt you at all

even as hes fully seethed inside of you, the pleasure overwhelming, your brain couldnt help but drift to the worst. how did your stomach look from his angle? what if he found you ugly all of a sudden, despite the compliments every day

of course- of course, dean noticed. he always did, especially if you were feeling insecure. his hand found its way to your chin, his movements stilling deep inside of you as he focused on you feeling good mentally

“whats going on in that pretty head, baby?” he mumbles, but his voice is filled with concern as he leans down, pressing a kiss to your cheek

“nothing” you try to answer, but your met with hin shaking his head. “i see that look in your eyes.” he counters, leaving you speechless and somehow more in love with him. he always knew what was wrong

his hand leaves your chin, moving to your stomach, frowning a bit at the way you suck in. “dont do that, baby, you gotta let yourself go for me” dean coaxes, his hands massaging the skin of your waist

“c’mon beautiful, dont be thinking all that bullshit about your body right now” he shakes his head again, slowly rolling his hips, just enough to make you whimper at the new feeling

“dean-” you protest, but he cuts you off again with a kiss. a soft, tender kiss that reminds you just why you love him in the first place. “you have nothing to be insecure about, how many times have i told you?”

he rolls his hips again, his hands slightly tightening around your waist. “id spend my last breath worshipping your body if you asked me too” he whispers against your lips

and god does he prove it that night, spending the whole tome practically worshipping you, letting your bad thoughts melt away under his hands.

[threegoldfish]

The second Marc pulls back to look at him, glance down at what sits hard and eager between Steven's thighs, he... oh god, he almost comes again because of that alone. Because by god does it make Steven feel a way to be seen like this, to have Marc's dark eyes roam along his form - take in the sight of a naked chest, of where his pants are so damn tight---

When he take a peek down there himself, at where both of them are so hard and aching for one another, he can... ---oh gosh, Steven can see the bulge in Marc's pants, and he can also see how his own erection is perfectly on display with him lifting and spreading his thighs in such a naughty way.

Steven whimpers because of that, an additional wave of heat - a little ashamed, self-conscious and embarrassed, yeah - flooding him from head to toe, causing features to turn into an even darker shade of red. Thing is, all of that only turns him on even more, has that cock twitch behind the zipper, oh god, oh--- oh god, Steven saw it himself, he saw it happening!

There's also a wet patch on his pants existing, because of him having... well... erm...

"---D-don't look... so closely, gosh, M-Marc---!" The roll of his partner's hips doesn't help, not at all. Steven moans at that, needy and a little hiccupy, and he blinks his eyes wide open when his hands are suddenly taken and moved down where the hem of that shirt is...

Marc wants him to touch. He wants Steven's hands to feel him up in a more intimate way, while he talks about wanting to do the same, to fuck him, to honest to god fuck him, Marc wants to really do it, really fuck him...!

Thing is, Steven wants it just as badly. Just thinking about being fucked, about being so close to the other that he will be able to feel him inside his own body, is setting parts of his body on fire. Despite him being so shy and awkward, he's... a pervert, yeah he is, goddammit! He has to admit that much here, to himself and the bloody universe, because his hands are immediately sliding under that shirt, only hesitate for a second, and feel up warm, naked skin.

"...Y-youre... g-gods, Marc, you're...s-so warm---"

And Steven stares, because of course he does - stares at his own hands moving under the fabric, with him pushing them upwards, causing that shirt to be dragged up in the process; A pretty belly is revealed, the sexy line of hairs leading down from a belly button, followed by the soft shape of abs that cause saliva to pool beneath his tongue. Further and further those curious hands travel... until his palms come in contact with that chest, the naked muscle, and Steven... ---yeah, Steven grabs them, each pectoral, and squeezes them a little bit. Thumbs more or less accidentally flicking over those nipples he can feel there but not see yet with the shirt covering his hands still...

He just cannot help himself, and Marc feels... amazing!

Steven was like a dream, really. From the sweet little noises he made, to the way that his body reacted to what Marc was doing to him. Not to mention the way the other man went about groping him -- and to know that this was the very first time Steven had ever done this to someone else? Yeah, something about that was really doing it for Marc. Maybe a little more than it really should be doing. Enough that his kisses stopped a second, and he pulled back just in time to watch the other try to arch up. Watch those thick thighs spread just for him -- fuck and wasn't that a sight to see. Steven pulling his thighs up enough to expose the hard line of his cock inside those pants. Marc could make out the length of him, when he peeked down between them. Groaned low and deep in his chest as he rolled his hips once more into the other. If he weren't so dead set on actually trying to fuck his new lover tonight, he might just grind against the poor man until they both finished again. Make Steven even more dirty and sticky. However it was only a roll or two before he was shifting. Before he was moving his hands away from the other man and instead going for the hands that were on his supple chest. Held them there -- a little flustered, now that he was really paying attention, but not enough to stop himself as he guided Steven's hands. Ushered them down his body to get to the hem of his t-shirt, like a silent form of consent to the other. "You can touch some more, baby. Touch a little more personal too, if y'want. Because i know yeah -- yeah, I want to touch you, too. Fuck you. . ."

[swiiivet-screamathon]

"Hey-hey-hey-hey Pure Vanillaaaaa??? Why is Shadow Milk here???"

"Hm? Oh, I wanted to give him a chance through a method he might be comfortable with."

"Excuse me??? You let him follow us???"

"We needed to return home, we've spent far too long away, but I know that leaving him to simmer in the pot for however long we'll be away from Beast-Yeast was just going to get him to sour even more. I meant every word I told him at the end, I want to be his friend, but that can only happen if he does as well."

"So you put the entire kingdom in jeopardy for that insane clown!?"

"We beat him once when he was on his home turf and with his compatriots, as long as I keep an eye on him I don't assume much can go wrong for long."

"Do you not think that might still be a bit risky?"

"I'm not sure if you've considered this Wizard, but I think its worthwhile to remember that he chose to follow us. He could've left Beast-Yeast the moment he was set free, and yet he didn't. He could've left to meet up with his other beast friends at any point, and yet he didn't. And according to his companions his experience with me specifically is one of a kind for him. We never invited him to come along, we never even told him where we were going, and now he chooses to leave his former tower? I might be gullible to him, but knowing him as well as I do, I think that's enough evidence for me to think that he's not followed us purely to enact revenge."

"At least its comforting to know you've thought this through at all; but it still seems like the idea of a madman! Is there no safer way at all to-- ourgh, befriend--- him?"

"Perhaps, who's to say sharing his mindscape for so long didn't make me a madman either. I simply cannot help but not be the one to ostracize him, whenever he's ready he can come talk, but I won't treat him unequally."

"Well-- not that I think you would, but if anything goes haywire-- thats on your shoulders! AND his!"

"Of course, I never considered that I wouldn't be responsible for him. :)"

[floralovebot]

i think i've said this before but i used to really not Understand or like timmy and helia being best friends but it really grew on me over time. obviously their main bestie is tecna and flora respectively, but specifically for just the specialists, i really like them now.

i just tend to think about timmy being this really self-conscious guy who is constantly being looked down on by his peers and even his crush, who is so committed to being a specialist but starts to doubt if he's worthy, who wants so badly to have a Special Someone who understands him,,, being put into this team where two of the members are already best friends and have an insane amount of history and loyalty to each and you can't just Get in the middle of that and the other guy is really, really stuck in his I Don't Need Friends They Disappoint Me Stage. like,,, the loneliness? the loneliness of not having a Best Friend on the team? then he finds tecna but even she starts to look down on him?

like,,, the toll that would take on someone is,,, not fun to think about. while they may not have a lot of scenes together, timelia being best friends is honestly so cute and makes so much sense. timmy had to put up with so much bullshit from the specialists (affectionate), finding someone who isn't going to look down on you, or doubt you, or always think of you as a Secondary Friend is So Important and that's such a big aspect of their friendship. timmy really trusts helia! and you can see this especially in the comics when he gets so mad that helia leaves. he's literally never acted like that with any of the other specialists! in the show or in the comics, timmy may get a little sad, but he never gets that angry and that desperate to contact whoever left. it just,,, says so much about him,,,

like timmy gets painted a lot as this nerd who only cares about tecna (and like. yes. true) but more than that, he's a very sensitive and caring guy who yearns for deep, trusting relationships. tecna is 100% his best friend and special person, but the friendship that timmy builds with the specialists and even the other winx is so important. he craved close relationships so much,,, and it's so nice that they didn't go into the loser lonely nerd trope.

i just really like that timmy was able to find friends that truly respect and love him. and specifically timmy being best friends with helia makes so much sense when you stop thinking about their interests and personalities, and instead think about how much the two of them craved people they could trust, people who would never make them feel less than, people who wouldn't treat them like backup friends, people they could actually connect to. it's just,,, they're so important to me actually <3

[gay-victorian-astronomer]

5, 8, 50!

5. How do you like your eggs?

In an omelette, with peppers, onions, ham and/or sausage, and cheese. Being able to go get an omelette at the dining hall afterwards is the only thing keeping me motivated to go to my stupidly early meeting. I also like them scrambled but I'm a bit pickier about the texture in that case.

8. Do you collect anything? If so, what?

The main thing I purposefully collect are pins, enamel and otherwise. A lot of them live on my denim jacket, but I actually have more pins than can fit on there at any given time. Here's the current state of the collection:

Most of the ones that don't live on the jacket are either too fragile, too large, tend to come off too easily, or I just don't like the design as much (the latter I keep around to swap out with the pride pins when I go visit my parents). A lot of the medium circular buttons were freebies from the library, and a lot of the others were bought from local artists— if you're curious about where I got a particular pin, let me know (in a reply/DM) and I can try to dredge up a link if it's one that I bought.

I actually want to do a lot more to this jacket— because I usually wear a backpack I can only put pins on a limited part of it, so I want to start making/collecting patches to put everywhere else. I have a few already and I've bought materials for a large back patch, but haven't had the time to actually put it together. I also want to acquire some Disco Elysium-related pins or patches, but I haven't found any that really vibe with me yet.

50. Describe your perfect sleeping conditions.

The only thing I really need to be able to sleep is a very dark room— as little ambient light as possible. Beyond that, I generally prefer a room that's on the colder side, so I can fully hunker down into the comforter, but not so cold that I need to wear socks or add an additional blanket (too many layers of fabric starts to bother me, I sleep in just my underwear for the same reason). I sleep best when I'm alone (which is how I almost always sleep, not entirely by choice), and I don't usually sleep with stuffed animals unless I'm feeling particularly lonely that night. If we're really talking ideal sleeping conditions, then I wouldn't have an alarm set, and I'd have a solid hour or two of time after I wake up to dick around on my phone until I'm ready to get out of bed.

[kaiist]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 ⋯ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐀𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐎𝐍’𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔’𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐔𝐋

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑

You sit beside Xavier on the bench in the park, watching people pass by as golden afternoon light filters through the leaves. The air smells of fresh-cut grass and distant food carts. A stylish couple walks past, the woman’s laughter musical, her confidence evident in every step.

“I wish I was pretty like her,” you mumble, more to yourself than to him, your fingers absently tracing patterns on the wooden bench.

Xavier turns to you, his expression shifting to one of genuine confusion. His brows furrow deeply, eyes widening just a fraction.

“What... did you say?” he asks, his tone remaining even despite the clear puzzlement in his eyes. He shifts his body toward you, giving you his full attention.

“Nothing, just...” you gesture vaguely toward the retreating couple. “Sometimes I don’t feel very attractive. Especially around people like that.”

Xavier stares at you for a long moment, looking genuinely bewildered. The silence stretches between you, broken only by distant children’s laughter and birdsong.

“I don’t understand,” he finally says.

You start to explain, feeling suddenly self-conscious under his unwavering gaze, but he gently places his hand over yours, the warmth of his palm surprising against your skin.

“No,” he interrupts, shaking his head slightly. “I mean I don’t understand why you would think that. It doesn’t make sense.” His thumb traces a small circle on the back of your hand. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” he states matter-of-factly. “I’ve always thought so.”

Coming from Xavier, the sincerity in his voice makes your heart skip.

“You don’t have to say that,” you protest weakly, looking down at where his hand covers yours.

Xavier shakes his head, leaning closer. “I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true. I don’t...” he pauses, carefully selecting his words, “understand how you can’t see what I see.”

His fingers tighten around yours, the pressure gentle but grounding. “Every time I look at you, I...” He struggles with the words, clearly moving outside his comfort zone. A faint color touches his usually pale cheeks. “From a purely objective standpoint, the way you look—” He stops, frustrated with himself, and takes a deep breath.

“That’s not what I meant to say.” He closes his eyes briefly. When he opens them, there’s a rare vulnerability there. “What I mean is that you’re beautiful. In every way that matters. Your smile when you’re excited about something. The way your eyes light up when you talk about things you care about. How your whole face changes when you’re lost in thought.”

He reaches up with his free hand, hesitating just shy of touching your face. “I’ve remembered every expression you make. I’ve studied them all.” He looks away, embarrassed by his own earnestness. “You’re beautiful. Please, don’t think otherwise.”

The tension in his shoulders eases slightly, as if relieved to have expressed something he’s held inside for too long. He doesn’t let go of your hand for the rest of the afternoon.

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

You’re helping Zayne organize his medical journals in his office as late afternoon shadows stretch across the polished floors. The pristine space feels both clinical and comforting—much like the man himself.

As you reach up to place a heavy volume on the top shelf, you catch your reflection in the large window overlooking the city. The bright lighting does you no favors.

“Ugh,” you mutter, tugging self-consciously at your clothes. “I look awful today.”

Zayne glances up from his desk where he’s been meticulously updating patient files. He sets down his pen, the soft click audible in the sudden silence. His eyes, usually so focused on his work, now study you with that penetrating gaze that seems to see beneath surfaces.

“What brought this on?” he asks, his voice filling the room.

“Nothing specific,” you say, turning away from your reflection. “Just... some days I don’t feel pretty, that’s all.”

Zayne stands. He gestures to the leather chair beside his own. “Sit.”

You comply, watching as he leans against his desk, arms folded across his chest. The setting sun through the windows casts half his face in shadow, highlighting the sharp angles of his features.

“Are you overthinking again?” he asks directly, but there’s no judgment in his tone. “Or did someone say something to you today?”

“Just overthinking, I guess,” you admit, fidgeting under his steady gaze.

He nods once, as if confirming a diagnosis. “I see.” He’s silent for a moment.

“Beauty is subjective,” he begins. “But if you’re asking for my opinion...” The corner of his mouth twitches in what might be the ghost of a smile. “You’re more than perfect. Inside and out.”

When you start to protest, he raises a hand to stop you.

“I don’t make observations lightly. You know that.” His eyes hold yours. “I’ve studied human anatomy for years. I’ve seen thousands of faces.” He leans forward slightly. “None of them affect me the way yours does.”

The admission seems to surprise even him, a rare moment of vulnerability from someone so carefully composed.

Suddenly, he reaches into his desk drawer and pulls out a small chocolate wrapped in gold foil. It’s from the exclusive chocolatier across town—the one he pretends not to favor.

He places it in your palm, his fingers lingering against yours longer than necessary. “Here,” he says, his voice dropping lower. “Sweet for the sweet.”

Before you can respond, he leans forward and places a kiss on your forehead. The momentary closeness allows you to catch the subtle scent of his aftershave mingled with antiseptic.

“Now,” he says, straightening himself, “wait for me to finish organizing these journals so we can go home. I’m thinking of dinner at that place you like on Fifth Street.” He turns back to his desk, but not before adding, “And no more nonsense about not being pretty. I won’t have the person I care for most questioning their worth.”

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

You’re sitting on the private beach adjoining Rafayel’s seaside studio, watching him add final touches to a vibrant seascape painting. The ocean stretches endlessly before you, waves crashing rhythmically against the shore. The air tastes of salt and fresh breeze. Seagulls circle overhead, their calls mingling with the gentle lapping of water against sand.

Rafayel stands before his painting, completely absorbed in his work. Paint splatters decorate his rolled-up sleeves and there’s a smudge of blue across his cheekbone. The wind tousles his already disheveled hair as he captures the dance of light on water.

A group of beautiful people laugh further down the beach, their perfect silhouettes outlined against the setting sun. You glance down at yourself, then back at them, feeling suddenly out of place in this picturesque setting.

“I don’t think I’m pretty enough for this place,” you whisper, the breeze carrying your words away—or so you think.

Rafayel’s hand freezes. He turns to you slowly, paint-speckled fingers stilling on the canvas, his expression transforming from focus to complete disbelief.

“What did you just say?” His usually playful voice has an edge to it now, sharp as broken glass.

“Nothing, just thinking out loud,” you reply, regretting having spoken at all.

“No, no, no,” he sets his palette down with a clatter on the small table beside him. “You don’t get to say things like that and dismiss them as ’nothing.’” In an instant, he takes a seat on your side. “Did someone say something to you?” he demands, looking around the empty beach as if searching for culprits. “Which human do I need to have a word with?”

“No one said anything, Rafayel. It’s just how I feel sometimes,” you admit.

“That’s even worse! Your own mind betraying you like this?” He runs his fingers through his hair. “This is an emergency. A catastrophe of the highest order!”

He grabs your shoulders. “You are an absolute masterpiece. Do you understand? A masterpiece. I know art. I create art. I live and breathe beauty in all its forms. And you—” he pokes your cheek lightly, leaving a tiny dot of turquoise paint, “—are the finest creation I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

When you try to look away, embarrassed by his intensity, he gently tilts your chin back. The setting sun reflects in his eyes, turning them to liquid gold. “The ocean is jealous of your depths. The stars envy your brilliance.” His voice softens, becoming almost reverent. “And I would swim across every sea before I let you believe you’re anything less than stunning.”

He wraps his arms around you suddenly, clinging like a child. “Now don’t say such ridiculous things again. It offends my artistic sensibilities.”

He then stands, pulling you up with him. “Come on. We’re going to watch the sunset together. I’ll show you how I see you.” He places a brush in your hand, his fingers lingering. “And maybe then you’ll understand why I can’t look away.”

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒

You stand before the massive floor-to-ceiling windows in Sylus’s penthouse suite, overlooking the sprawling N109 Zone from stories up. The city stretches below like a circuit board of neon and shadow, vehicles and people reduced to tiny moving points of light. The luxurious room behind you is bathed in the soft glow of artfully placed lamps illuminating his collection of rarities—collections plucked from across time and space.

Catching your reflection in the darkened glass, superimposed over the glittering cityscape, you murmur without thinking, “I don’t know why you keep me around. I’m not even pretty.”

The room falls silent. You hear Sylus set down whatever gem he was examining, the soft clink of crystal against metal followed by his steady steps as he approaches.

“What an odd thing to say,” he remarks, his voice silky yet sharp as a blade, “because you’re entirely incorrect.”

You turn to find him watching you, head slightly tilted.

“Did I hear you questioning your beauty?” A smirk plays on his lips, but his eyes remain serious, almost stern. “After all this time with me, you should know very well that I have exceptional taste.”

He closes the distance between you. He places his hands on your waist, positioning you both so your reflections are visible in the window. His gaze in the reflection holds nothing but admiration.

“Do you think I surround myself with anything less than perfection?” He gestures to the rare treasures adorning his collection shelf—items worth more than most people earn in a lifetime. “Do you imagine I would waste my time on someone who didn’t captivate me entirely?”

His fingers trace your jawline, feather-light. “Hundreds of rare gems, ancient artifacts, priceless paintings—I collect only the extraordinary, the unique.” His voice drops lower, more intimate. “And yet, not one of these treasures compares to your presence and beauty.”

When you start to protest, he places a finger gently against your lips. “I don’t tolerate self-deprecation from the one person in this universe I genuinely cherish.”

He turns you to face him fully now, both hands cupping your face with surprising tenderness from someone so powerful, so used to taking what he wants. Your disbelief must show on your face because he chuckles softly.

“Your beauty is not up for debate, not even by you. Challenge me on anything else if you wish, demand whatever your heart desires—but on this matter, I will not yield.”

He steps back after brushing a kiss against your forehead, apparently considering the matter settled. “Now come here and tell me what you want instead of what you think you lack. That’s much more productive, don’t you agree?”

He gestures to the plush sofa. “Sit down and tell me about your day today. I haven’t heard you talking about it.” His expression softens further. “Let’s talk about that instead.”

As you join him, he casually drapes an arm around you, pulling you closer. “And tomorrow,” he murmurs against your hair, “I’ll show you exactly how beautiful you are to me. I have something special planned—something worthy of you.”

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁

You’re absently scrolling through your phone as you accompany Caleb while he sorts through Fleet reports in his home office. The space reflects his dual nature—military precision in the organized shelves and structured workspace, but touches of warmth in the photographs and mementos from his DAA days. The soft glow of multiple screens illuminates the room as rain patters against the windows, creating a cozy atmosphere.

Caleb sits at his desk, brow furrowed in concentration as he reviews security protocols. His uniform jacket hangs on the back of his chair, sleeves of his standard-issue shirt rolled up to reveal his forearms. Despite the late hour, his posture remains perfect—the Colonel, always on duty.

Glancing up, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the reflective surface of a dormant monitor. The unflattering blue light highlights every perceived imperfection.

“Ugh,” you mutter under your breath, running a self-conscious hand through your hair. “I look terrible today.”

Caleb’s head snaps up from his work. “What did you just say?” There’s a sudden alertness in his posture, as if responding to a threat.

“Just that I’m not looking my best,” you shrug, trying to downplay it, surprised by his intense reaction. 

Caleb stands, his chair rolling backward. His eyes narrow as he scans the room like he’s searching for enemies in a combat zone. “Who put that idea in your head?”

The protective edge in his voice takes you by surprise.

“No one, Caleb. It’s just how I feel sometimes.” You set down your phone, touched by his concern even as you try to ease it.

His expression darkens for a moment before he walks towards you. “Hey,” he says, crouching beside where you’re seated and taking your hands in his. “Look at me.”

When you meet his eyes, they’re filled with the same warmth they held when you were both kids, before the Fleet, before the incident—before everything changed.

“I’ve watched you grow more beautiful every single day since we were kids,” he says, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. The calluses on his palms catch slightly against your skin. “Sometimes I still can’t believe I get to be with you.”

He reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering. Rain continues to drum against the windows, creating a private world just for the two of you.

“You’ve always been the prettiest person in any room to me. Always will be. Nothing compares to coming home to you.”

His smile returns. “And trust me, I’ve had plenty of people try to catch my eye over the years. None of them even came close. It’s just not possible when my mind can only think of you.”

He presses a soft kiss onto your forehead, his lips warm against your skin. “So no more of this ‘not pretty’ talk, okay? Or I’ll have to issue an official declaration about how gorgeous you are, and that would be really embarrassing for everyone involved.”

Based on this request.

[tonycries]

I'm Addicted, I Admit It!

Synopsis. They’re not drunk on alcohol - no, they’re drunk on you and your pretty lil’ pússy.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Choso x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Geto x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, pússydrunk boys, strength differences, bréeding, màting press, desperate boys, manhandling, marking, jealousy (Nanami’s side), praise, degradation, smacking, cúmplay, dirty talk, some HEINOUS things, lowkey fluffy Sukuna, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.5k

A/N. Was originally gonna be something else but I couldn’t get it out of my head so-

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Won’t stop, can’t stop

A pussydrunk Toji Fushiguro promises to break you - and is fully intent on fulfilling these promises. There’s no way he wasn’t with the way he had you folded into a mating press for the third time tonight. 

“Oh hngh- please.” you mewl, begging for- you don’t even know at this point. 

“Fuck.” he hisses into your mouth, and you flinch as his heavy balls smack your ass harder, throbbing cock massaging your gummy walls over and over-

You weren’t going to make it out alive. 

Vision blurry, drool dribbling down the corner of your mouth, his cum gushing out of your overfilled pussy and spreading in a lewd little pool beneath you. You’re beyond the point of cockdrunk at this point - all you can do is sit there and take it while he keeps squeezing himself into you with reckless abandon. 

That little scar on the corner of his mouth rubs against your lips so deliciously as he grimaces in both pain and pleasure. Overstimulating you both to insanity. And fuck, Toji wasn’t even sure if he could cum against but damn if he wasn’t going to try. Just wanting to fill you up one more time- “One more, doll. Not fucking enough.”

And before you know it, your pussy is clenching around nothing. 

“Ngh- T-Toji.” Face sinking into the plush pillow as Toji flips you like a ragdoll. Not even giving you the time to register what’s happening before he’s bullying his thick cock into your dripping cunt from behind. Relishing in that delirious little squeal of surprise that leaves you as he stuffs you full again.

“Shit, fucking squeezing around me so fucking deliciously, sweetheart. Look at ya.” he slurs hoarsely, voice shot. Drinking in your sobbed little, “Ah- jus’ like that. Fuck hngh- keep going-”

Both of you are barely lucid at this point, but it’s all that tiny rational part of himself can do to not fuck into your sloppy pussy like an animal while you clench and flutter around him. Kissing hotly down your spine as you desperately adjust to his massive cock.

But ah you should’ve known - should’ve gotten an inkling of realization at the way his achingly hard cock was throbbing inside your walls at a maddening little bump! bump! bump!

With an impatient little grunt, Toji wraps an arm around your waist to give your quivering cunt a soft little swat! He drinks in your cute lil’ gasp of surprise, reeling back all the way till his angry, red tip was just kissing your sloppy entrance, pushing in quick, short jabs of his hips - more to fit himself deeper inside your snug cunt than anything. 

With each harsh thrust, Toji’s pulling you back onto himself with bruising strength. Forcing you to feel every ridge and vein against all the right places as he stretches you on his cock. “Fuck, you’re incredible.” he murmurs. “Arch more f’me- yeah, that’s it. Tha’s my girl.” 

And oh how you love being thrown around by him this way. Because no more was Toji self-conscious about hurting you like he usually was. 

No, he’s pushing your back down to arch into his dick, still using and bending you however he pleases. And as he flattens his feet on the mattress, putting his body weight onto yours, it’s only a matter of time before you wonder when bones will start breaking.

But it still wasn’t enough. And he’s restless. 

Because Toji’s looping two strong arms around your legs, letting himself fall backwards onto the mattress, hips burning as he keeps fucking you like an animal. Not pausing even as you clench around him in shock. 

“Feels s’fucking heavenly.” he groans, voice raw. “Wan’ one more, sweetheart. Give me one more.” Lacing his fingers above your head to push. Down down down. So fucking filthily. 

And it burns the way he had you so shamefully spread open. At this point you can hardly believe you’re conscious let alone being able to sob out a strangled little, “Yes! Yes yes yes make me cum, Toji. Make me cum all over your cock again.” 

And he does - thumb pressing down on your poor, ravaged clit. Hard. unmoving even as you whine and buck into his touch. Torn between running away and pushing back for more more more- you cum with nothing more than pathetic little tingles that make you milk Toji’s cock desperately. Batting your lashes tearily up at him with a low, “Wan’ you to hah- c-cum insi-.”

You don’t even have to finish the sentence, before Toji’s pumping his seed into you with a strangled groan of what sounds like your name. Nothing more than hot, sticky wisps of cum that trickle down the side, too much for your poor overfilled pussy. Shooting delicate rope after rope until his cock is angry and twitching inside with nothing but blanks.

But in the haze of your high, you hear the way your boyfriend still finds it in himself to chuckle.  A dark little, “One more, sweetheart.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - His, his, his

When Nanami Kento is pussydrunk, everyone will know the day after. 

And by everyone, it’s everyone - from the apartment security guard that blushes and looks away, to your coworkers who titter when you walk in. 

Because Nanami can’t stop himself from claiming each and every inch of your pretty self. Lips searing on your skin, leaking tip dragging along your swollen folds. His precum smearing so filthily across your cunt.

“K-Kento-” you mewl, grinding your hips into his so that he would just fucking ruin you like you wanted him to. 

“Mhm?” he murmurs, nipping along the delicate skin of your neck. Tongue flattening, licking long, languid stripes down like a sort of reverence. “Tell me what you want, my love.”

And if he put an emphasis on the pet name, well, then let it be known that Nanami Kento was a composed man - but that wouldn’t mean he won’t let everyone know you’re his. Even those scrubs that can’t take a hint. 

Which is why his neat fingernails were digging deep into your hips, leaving pretty crescents in their wake. Dragging down ever-so-slightly to leave you all marked up and his. His grip on you only tightens at the pretty lil’ whines that spill from your kiss-bitten lips, “Wan’ you- hah- inside me s’bad.”

“Oh? And who does my girl want inside her pretty lil’ cunt?”

“You! You Kento- ngh-”

Well, whatever his girl wants - she will get. Because Nanami’s immediately pressing his angry, leaking tip into your sloppy pussy, groaning at the way you’re already clamping down on him so deliciously. Not stopping till you were flush against the neat tufts of blond at his base. Barely even giving you time to adjust because you’ve wanted this for so long and you’re sucking him up so well. 

“Ah! Hngh- Fuck. Yeah fuck me just like that- Kento.” you’re tightening your legs around him, letting Nanami all but use you as he thrusts in small, mindless little motions of his hips. Mouth still marking and biting your skin relentlessly. 

His lips leave your neck to whisper against yours, eyes half-lidded and boring into yours. “Love when y’say my name.”

Gasping breathlessly at the bruising grip all on your hips - your sensitive clit - your throat - just everywhere because Nanami can’t get enough of you. And you can do nothing but buck up deliriously as he speeds up his pace. Ramming his thick cock into your sloppy pussy deeper and deeper. “You’re mine, y’know that? All mine. And anyone with eyes can see that.”

Several things happen at once, you let out a strangled moan as Nanami changes his angle to hit that one spot he knew so well. Flushed tip hitting it over and over until you were sure it was bruising. As bruising at the hand kneading your ass, swiftly coming down. Hard. 

Smack!

Nanami’s large handprint sears into your skin. And through the haze, he soothes his hand over the sting. Starting to draw slow, languid circles on your swollen clit like a little apology - but that doesn’t mean he’s going to be any nicer. Not at all - in fact, before you can react, he’s touching any and every inch of skin once more, making sure to leave pretty lil’ marks for days.

And he has to fight that loud, carnal part of himself that just wants to ruin you under his hands here forever, but no - Nanami needs everyone else to see as well. See how you’re so beautifully his.

Smack! 

“So pretty f’me, my girl. All f’me.”

“Yes! Ah- yes yes yes. S’all for you, Kento oh-” you moan brokenly like a mantra. A raw little ah! ah! ah! Leaving your swollen lips each time his twitching balls smack your ass, so wet and sloppy with your slick. You’re sure they leave a mark every time his achingly hard cock bullies into your snug cunt, dipping in and out in and out in and-

“Yeah? Then you’re gonna cum f’me, too, pretty girl?”

“Yes- ah-” Hand on your clit frenzied now, hips out of control. Breath hot against your ear while he holds you down in a bruising grip. So very filthy and all his-

And then you’re cumming. Jolts of electricity sparking down your spine as you cum so hard that you grab at Nanami’s sculpted back for some - any - semblance of sanity. 

The only things on your mind being how hot and heavy he was fucking you through your high, and the sharp sting on the crook of your neck, his canines digging into your delicate skin.

“F-fuck.” he whispers, muffled in your neck. “Squeezin’ me so tight. Ngh-” hips stuttering and so sloppily still meeting yours. Still fucking rock-hard.

And through your glassy vision you manage to make out the pure pride shining in his eyes as he reads the silent question on your face. 

“Not yet, my girl. I still see some blank spots.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Quiet bully

“Mm, not hngh- stopping until you cum again f’me, pretty girl.”

When Geto is pussydrunk you barely even notice at first.

Because he’s the ever-graceful and suave Geto Suguru, even when he’s ramming into your pretty pussy with reckless abandon. Head thrown back, strands of dark hair sticking to his forehead, hands bruising on your hips and pulling you to deeper into his hips as he fucks you from behind. 

The only way you do get an inkling of the fact is because he’s so mean. Geto always is in bed - but right now he’s just bullying you. Long index toying with your swollen clit, quick, maddening little motions to get you off for the nth time tonight. 

“But, Suguru!” you mewl, clawing at the sheets, “C-can’t cum again-”

“You will.” he leans down, breath hot against your ear as he whispers, low and gravelly. His abs are rubbing against your back as he keeps his unforgiving pace, “I’ll make sure of it.”

Because Geto doesn’t get drunk on just your pussy - no, he gets drunk off of all of you and how pretty you are when you’re cumming all for him. 

“C’mon, you do it f’me.” he hums, so mockingly innocent that would’ve almost believed him - if it wasn’t for the way he speeds up on your clit. Throbbing cock twitching inside you at the delicate tears streaking down your face. 

Fingers merciless on your clit, balls smacking against your skin, holding you still as he rams into you over and over-

“S-Suguru!” you let out a strangled gasp, white-hot pleasure flashing behind your eyes as you cum. And oh he loves that cute lil’ expression on your face, the tears clinging on to your lashes and the way your slutty cunt flutters so filthily around him.

You’re lucky you’re turned away from him, because you don’t see the cruel little smile that curls his lips or the excitement flashing in his darkened eyes. Though, maybe it would’ve better prepared you for when he huffs out a fucked-out, “Tha’s my girl. One more- Hngh- one more.”

Your eyes snap open, a broken little sob leaving you because fuck you weren’t going to make it out alive, Geto was going to absolutely ravage you till you’re ruined-

“O-one more.” Geto groans like a mantra. Flattening his feet on the bed to ram into you at a different angle - one he knew would hit you at that one spot that had you gasping and grinding deeper into his throbbing cock. “One more f-fuck, give me one more-”

If you were in a better state of mind maybe you’d have noticed how fucking sloppy and mean Geto was slamming his cock into your snug pussy. And how his sadistic little hums were becoming more and more strained, turning into broken grunts like he was begging you. Begging himself. Still fucking you like an animal, bodyweight pushing yours down, you crushed underneath him. Trying to milk that last, sweet little orgasm out of you.

“Cum f’me once more, my girl.”

And nothing more has to be said before you’re cumming. Again. Eyes scrunching shut in pain and pleasure as you grab at the headboard for some semblance of stability. 

Honestly, you don’t even have to, because Geto’s wrapping his arms around you, pulling you flush against his heated body. Grunting as your cunt desperately tries to milk him for all he’s worth. Brows furrowed and bottom lip bitten in concentration as he holds off cumming. But Geto can’t - won’t right now. Not yet. 

Instead he’s reeling his hips back again, until his angry, red tip was just kissing your sloppy hole. Running on just your cute lil’ whines and the way you were clamping down so deliciously around him. Thrusting in frantic, shallow grinds for now because he was feeling so generous as to ease you into it.

“Suguru! Ah- not again-” you squeal, big fat tears rolling down your cheeks. But whatever plea that comes next gets stuck in your throat as your loving boyfriend utters words that have your cunt clenching exhaustively in anticipation. 

“Now the real fun starts.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - “Please, baby. Please.”

For Choso, it’s hard to not get drunk off of your pretty lil’ cunt. And he gets so whiny and needy when he does. Barely even squeezing his throbbing cock through the first ring of muscle before he thinks he might just see the pearly gates of heaven - and you were an angel. 

You’re just so warm and sloppy on top of him, slick dripping down to his twitching balls, swallowing him up so deliciously. 

“Ah! Ngh- s-slow down-” you whine, head spinning at the pure stretch of him stuffing you full. His twitching balls were pressed against your ass, veins grazing against your plushy walls, pulsing in a maddening thump! thump! thump! that you can feel in your throat. “S’too big, Cho. I don’t think I can-” 

“No!” he gasps into your skin, eyes half-lidded, cheeks flushed so deceivingly innocently. “Need it s’bad. Need you so bad- Fuck, I can’t stop-” 

Hips moving mindlessly, fucking up in tiny, shallow little thrusts to bully himself inside you. Not even fully inside you, but he was already so out of control. 

The mattress is creaking deafeningly, a lewd little staccato with the squelches from down below. “Choso-” you whimper, torn between clamping down on his swollen cock to suck him up more desperately and running away. 

“Oh- oh baby, f-fuck. Squeezing m’so tight.” he’s groaning into the crook of your neck, strong arms wrapped so tight around your waist that it almost hurt. “Hngh- Don’t think you can run away from me.” And Choso couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to - barely even giving you time to adjust before he’s milking himself on your dripping cunt. 

Cute lil’ whines leaving your swollen lips each time he rams himself inside deeper and deeper, you were just gushing around him. Pretty pussy taking him so readily despite your protests. “Need this so hngh- fucking badly. Need this need this need this-”

“F-fuck, Cho- Yes, give it t’me.”

Ah, his head was spinning. The only thoughts running through his mind being how sloppy you were, so wet and squeezing him so perfectly - his pretty girl was taking him so well. 

Blindly, Choso shifts onto his forearms, head craning to graze his lips along the seam of your mouth . Mind too hazy to kiss you properly like he wanted to - but it’s fine, he’ll kiss you silly after this. Fuck, he muses, balls squeezing painfully, just as soon as he cums. 

And you can do nothing more than take it as he chokes out low little moans of your name. Head spinning because his cock was so big and he wasn’t stopping - just wanting to fuck your tight pussy until he-

“Ngh- c-can’t fucking take it anymore, baby. Need to fucking cum.” he grunts, tearing springing to his eyes, sounding like he’s losing a bit of his sanity every time his heavy balls smack your ass. And he needed you to, too - ringed fingers snaking down to draw harsh, frenzied little patterns on your swollen clit. Not even circles because shit Choso doesn’t have the time for that - just wanting to have you gasping and seeing stars as soon as possible. 

“Cho, m’c-close. Ah! Ngh, m’gonna cum, m’gonna cum-” you keen, hips bucking up wildly for more more more- And oh it’s like Choso’s favorite song, because his throbbing cock is twitching inside you so deliciously, thrusts sloppy and unfocused, thumb aching with how fast it was on your clit. 

“Me too, baby. Hngh- m-me too.” he gasps into your open mouth, movements only getting faster and faster and-

And then you’re cumming. Stars behind your eyes, and Choso’s hips stuttering - so desperate, so filthy as he shoots thick, hot spurts of cum into your snug cunt. Fucking his seed deeper and deeper into you mindlessly. 

And he can’t stop - he won’t. But you absolutely love it. Because you’ve barely blinked the haze from your eyes before he’s pulling away ever-so-slightly, a hand pushing away the dark strands of hair sticking to his forehead. Breaths ragged, voice hoarse. 

“Not enough, baby.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Sober thoughts

They say drunk minds speak sober thoughts, and oh how Sukuna wishes that wasn’t the case when he’s fucking you dumb. How he wishes he could stop the strained little grunts that escape him each time his heavy balls smack your ass. 

“Kuna- Ngh- s’too much, c-can’t anymore-”

How he wishes he wasn’t drunk off your cute lil’ whines, and that fucked-out expression on your face as he rams his cock into your pretty pussy. Plunging into your heavenly cunt again and again and- It was too fucking much for him. 

Because it makes him wish he didn’t lean down, whispering softly in your ear, “You can do it, angel. Hah- I I know you will. Hngh- That pretty cunt is made f’me, always taking me so good-”

Ah, you clench so obscenely around his thick cock, shivers running down your spine. Milking him so obscenely as his weeping tip hits your poor cervix over and over. 

“W-wha-?” you blink tearily at him, voice shot. Trying to grasp reality because usually, Sukuna would usually tell you to shut up and fucking take it like the good lil’ slut you are. And if you were in a better state of mind you’d almost be embarrassed at the way he holds such power over you, just a few words of praise and you’re already turning into his personal plaything. 

He huffs out in frustration, leaning down to lick a long, lazy stripe up your cheek, gathering the big fat tears rolling down it on his tongue. And you can’t even think of bringing yourself to be disgusted, because this is Sukuna and he’s always so filthy and mean. 

Except right now, being mean is the last thing on his mind. Murmuring out a strained little “Don’t act so surprised. You know you always milk my cock so well.” drinking in your cute little whimpers. “Shit- like yer trynna suck the s-soul out of me. Never met someone so fucking perfect f’me-”

He thinks he could almost cum right here right now when he sees you snaking down a hand to play with your swollen clit. “But Kuna~” Such an adorable pout appearing on your face when he gently smacks that hand away. Sukuna just wants to kiss it off your swollen lips.

And he does - licking hotly at the seam of your mouth, biting down on your bottom lip while you keen into his. It’s messy - all teeth and spit and adoration. 

Because you might not see it with your eyes half-lidded from the ecstasy, but Sukuna is looking at you with such nauseating heart-eyes. Ones he’d vehemently deny later, of course. But for now he settles for groping a hand down your pretty body, one, long finger rubbing unhurried little circles on your throbbing, achy clit. 

“Don’t worry your pretty lil’ head.”

So different from his unforgiving cock. All push and pull as he fucks you like his sextoy, but kisses you like his God. 

“Ah! Jus’ like that, feels so f-fucking good-” you’re a teary, whimpering mess underneath him. 

“Mhm? Feels s’good, huh?” he groans gutturally. Letting you buck wildly underneath him because shit you look so pretty being all desperate and needy for him. “Squeezin’ me s’tight. Fucking heavenly you are, you’re gonna pay for it if I cum early, angel.”

Your eyes snap open at his delirious confession and the way he seems well and fully intent on breaking you - and talking you nicely through it. It was making your head spin, especially at the way Sukuna get more and more out of control, all sloppy movements and even sloppier words. Slurring out little praises while he stuffed your ravaged cunt faster. Deeper. Pure, carnal need where he usually toyed with you so cruelly. Closer and-

“Cum for me, angel.”

You think you cum at the first word out of his mouth, because you’re seeing stars behind your eyes before Sukuna even finishes the sentence. And he’s not far behind - giving you one, final harsh thrust before filling you up in thick ropes of cum. It gushes out of your poor overfilled pussy as he keeps fucking into you like some animal. Letting out little mutters of how fucking beautiful you were and how heavenly your cunt is and-

And, well, by the time he’s collapsing into your ready arms, Sukuna might not be so pussydrunk anymore. But by God it doesn’t stop the way he nuzzles your hair softly. 

Pulling your sweaty body close to his, so fucked-out and exhausted. So fucking debauched with the way his cum gushes out of you. Hot and sticky, seeping into the sheets and pooling in the nonexistent space between you two. 

So very, very his. 

♡ GOJO SATORU - Shut up!

Gojo Satoru doesn’t shut up - not even when he’s stuffing his cock into your pretty pussy, and especially not when he’s drunk off of the heavenly feeling. Off the sight of you - all swollen lips fallen into a soft oh!, eyes glassy and miles away, so debauched and pretty underneath him - he just has to let you know.

“Look at you. Fucking perfect. Gonna fuck you till I can’t anymore.” he murmurs wetly. “Gonna make it feel so good f’you. Gonna have y’milk my cock until there’s nothing to milk.”

And Gojo swears he isn’t pussydrunk - but the way he’s babbling into your tits says otherwise. Looking up at you through his long lashes with dazed, hooded eyes, words muffled around your tit but still he keeps running his mouth. 

“Hngh- S’fucking tight and hot around me.” he murmurs, hips snapping to meet yours, milking himself mindlessly on your snug cunt. So hard that it almost hurt at the sting of skin-on-skin. “God, could stay like this f-forever.”

He was getting so loud now. Mixing with the sloppy squelches from below.

“You could, too, huh? Drunk on my cock enough to? Y’look like it-”

That makes your cheeks heat up. “Satoru-” You scramble to hastily cover Gojo’s mouth, stopping that sweet sweet voice from saying the most filthy things. You can feel his smug little grin underneath your fingertips, and you almost know what’s coming- before he licks a long, amused stripe up your palm.

Snatching your hand back, you sigh - as best you could when your boyfriend was ramming his thick cock inside you - “Satoru! What did I say about-”

“But you make it so easy, sweetheart.” he whines, hands roaming all over your body. Gripping and kneading every inch of skin he could reach before resting at your swollen clit. Pooling your sweet juices on his fingertips, drawing featherlight circles around the nub like he was trying to convince you. “Don’t lie. Y’like this big mouth. Love it even.”

Unlike Gojo - it’s hard to get your words out when he’s bullying his cock into your dripping cunt. Ramming into you over and over-

“Admit it. Don’t you love it? Love hearing me talk fucking filthy to you like this?” His words were coming out fast now, mixing with your cute whines and the heady air of the room. Each one punctuated by a brutal, harsh into your dripping cunt. 

Fingers working magic on your sensitive clit while his cock ravages you below. And the great Gojo Satoru does not give a fuck about your hushed whispers about how your neighbours are home or how “this is the fifth time they’ve complained.”

Because his girl’s pretty lil’ cunt is fucking perfect and he needs you to know.

Gojo presses hot, open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck. Thrusts growing more and more careless. Losing his sanity with each stroke - with each word that comes out of his mouth. “I know you like it.” he groans, “I can see it in your eyes, n’ the way this slutty lil’ pussy squeezes me so fucking tight.”

Dragging - not pushing - you both closer to the edge. Frantic now, syllables slurring together and Gojo’s hips stuttering into yours. Drunk off of you and your cunt and the way he can’t stop talking and talking and-

“Yes,” your words were a barely audible whisper - but Gojo hears. Of course, he does. “I love it. Fucking love it, Toru.”

And then he’s cumming - and cumming so hard that Gojo thinks he’ll never be able to stop. Not, that he’d ever want to.

Because Gojo keeps pumping the thick, hot spurts of cum oozing out of him into your sloppy pussy. And shit you look so pretty underneath him, his seed dribbling down your thighs, eyes fluttering shut as you cream around his cock. And, of course, he has to let you know - babbling about how cute you were milking his cock and how warm and wet.

And Gojo’s still running his mouth as he pulls out, over your disappointed little mewl. All the way down till he’s swiftly centered between your open legs. Breath fanning your cunt, a devilish grin curling his lips.

“Time to help you remember exactly how much you love this big mouth.”

A/N. Plagiarism not authorized.

[daryltwdixon]

Summary: You’ve never felt fully at home in your own skin, but that has never stopped Joel from showing you just how much he wants you. One night, you gather the courage to show him what you’ve been too afraid to share, and he shows you exactly what it means to be wanted, worshipped, and seen.

|| smut MDNI 18+, Joel is down bad in love, self conscious reader, no physical description (except 'soft belly') but reader is insecure of their body, no specific timeline, age gap mentioned but not specified, pinv, f!receiving oral, little bit of (f!receiving) ass play, dirty talk, praise kink, daddy kink, soft!joel, he calls you like every pet name in the book. some aftercare || notes: joel miller in reading glasses hello? dont kill me for being a little bit of a cornball in here. joel is a cornball when he's in love. Yes I know I wrote the word pretty a lot! That’s the point!!! Inspired by this request

Joel’s bed became home long before you were ready to admit it.

It’s where you feel safest. It’s where he tugs you into his chest first thing in the morning, rough hand splayed over your back like it belongs there, murmuring something low and sleep-thick against your temple. It’s where you read curled into his side at night, him propped up against the headboard in that worn old Henley, eyes flicking lazily over the pages of whatever book you handed him, while yours is gripped a little tighter, the latest thriller mystery that has your heartbeat ticking up by the final chapters.

He had told you to stop reading them before bed once, but he didn’t really mean it. Not when you curled tighter into him, not when your hand slid across his stomach and stayed there gripping him like you needed to be close to something steady, something warm. Something like him.

Joel loves you like this. Warm and soft and pliant in his bed.

It’s one of his favorite places. Not just for pressing you down into the mattress and filling you, not just for the pretty, breathy sounds you make when you’re too far gone to think about what you look like or where his hands are. No—he loves the quiet moments, too. The ones where your limbs are tangled up with his, hair a mess, lips kiss-swollen, your skin still carrying the ghost of his touch.

And every now and then, when you’re asleep on his chest or laughing at something dumb he said, he still finds himself wondering how the hell he ended up with a girl like you.

You’re so much younger. So much softer. He doesn’t know what you see in a man like him—older, rougher, carved from all the years you haven’t had to carry yet. You could’ve had anyone. But you chose him. 

You’ve been together a few months now, and he still hasn’t wrapped his head around it. Still doesn’t know what he did to deserve your trust, your sweetness, your sharp quick wit when he least expects it.

He tried to keep his distance at first. Tried not to look too long when you smiled, not to follow the sound of your voice like a damn tether every time you were in the room. Told himself it wasn’t right. You weren’t for him. You were good. But you kept coming closer.

And once you started to pursue him—sweet and fearless and so goddamn certain—his resolve didn’t just crack. It collapsed.

The years between you didn’t matter to him anymore. The guilt didn’t matter. The voice in his head that told him to stop, that warned him he was too old, too jaded, too broken to ever deserve you—it all went quiet the second you looked at him like he was worth wanting.

He had to have you. To feel you, hear you, know you. So he gave in.

But there was still something there he didn’t quite understand, even now. Something that never quite leaves him.

Because every time he takes you to bed with the singular thought of getting you naked, of taking you until he gets his fill, until you’re trembling and wrecked and crying out his name—every single time, he sees it.

That flicker of hesitation.

He watches your shoulders shrink inward. Watches the way your hands move to cover your belly the second his fingers slip beneath your shirt. The way your breath stutters like you’re already bracing for something—even if it’s just his eyes.

You never say it out loud. You don’t have to.

And every time he settles over you, broad chest looming, palms sliding down your sides with reverent slowness as he lays you down on his bedspread, you ask him in that sweet, uncertain voice:

“Can we turn the light off?”

And Joel… hesitates.

Just for a second. Just long enough to take one more look at your face—flushed and perfect and lips swollen from letting him kiss them until they’re bruised. He always obliges. Always reaches over and clicks off the bedside lamp without a word, even if something in his chest aches as the room goes dark.

In the low moonlight, he can still see pieces of you. The softness of your belly. The curve of your thighs. The arch of your back when you start to melt beneath his touch. And he reveres it. All of it.

Worships you like you’re something holy.

But even in the dark, he notices everything.

The way your breath hitches when he kisses down your body—not with pleasure, but with discomfort. The subtle tension in your limbs when he trails his lips past your ribs. The way you squirm when his mouth lingers at the tender skin between your stomach and mound. Not because it’s too much. But because you don’t want to be seen.

And it kills him a little every time.

Because he wants to see you. All of you. Wants you to know that there is not a single inch of your body he doesn’t adore.

But still, like many nights before, he obliges you tonight and reaches over to turn out the light at your request.

The room falls into darkness.

Joel wakes to the warm and golden light of the morning, the kind where sunlight filters through the blinds in soft, slatted beams, pooling across the hardwood floor. The kind where the world outside feels far away, like it can wait a little longer while the house stays quiet.

His mind fully catches up to the scent of coffee and the soft creak of floorboards.

The bed is empty beside him, blankets still warm, your pillow carrying the shape of your head. He rubs the sleep from his face and swings his legs over the edge, the weight of last night still humming low in his chest.

He finds you in the kitchen.

You’re at the counter, barefoot, wearing nothing but his t-shirt—one of those older ones, soft and stretched out, the hem barely brushing the tops of your thighs. Your hair’s a little messy, skin still marked in places from where his mouth had worshipped you in the hours of the night.

You’re so focused on pouring coffee into your favorite mug—the pink one with the little chip at the rim, just big enough to catch your lip if you’re not careful—that you don’t hear him come in.

He steps in behind you, silent as ever, warmth radiating off his chest before you even feel his hands.

One arm slips around your waist, the other gliding up beneath the hem of the shirt you’re wearing—his shirt—until his hand splays flat across your stomach. His lips find your neck a second later, soft and unhurried, brushing along your skin as he breathes you in.

You stiffen, just a little. It’s not resistance, you could never resist him, but your body goes still beneath his touch, that automatic flicker of self-consciousness rising to the surface like it always does when he touches you in the daylight.

Still, you don’t move away.

Joel’s voice is low and rough in your ear, all gravel and morning warmth, “‘Mornin’, darlin’.”

You smile, small, a little sheepish, but it’s there. “Morning.”

His hand drops lower, fingers brushing the curve of your hip, then sliding up again, slow and lazy. His other arm tightens around your front, keeping you pulled against him as his lips trail from your neck to your cheek.

“Joel—” you murmur, half a protest, half a laugh, squirming under his touch.

“You look so pretty like this,” he says, voice thicker now, rougher with sleep and want. “So sexy in my shirt, honey.”

You go quiet. Not because you don’t like it. But because it still hits that spot—the part of you that flinches at being seen. You press your lips together, focus on the coffee in your hand, as if the words might disappear if you just don’t look at him.

But Joel sees it. Feels the shift. The way you tense ever so slightly when he calls you nice things. Like the words don’t fit, not yet. Like you still haven’t figured out how to wear them.

He kisses your cheek again, slower this time.

“I mean it,” he adds softly.

You nod once, a breath catching in your chest before you murmur, “I know.”

Joel leans in and kisses the back of your head, just behind your ear, then murmurs against your skin, “Put the coffee down for a second.”

You glance over your shoulder, suspicious but smiling. “Why?”

“Just do it, baby.”

With a soft sigh, you set the mug back on the counter. Before you can ask again, he’s turning you in his arms, hands firm but careful on your hips and over the shirt, as he spins you to face him.

He steps in close, real close, until the backs of your thighs press against the cabinets and his hands come up to cradle your face. Big, warm palms on your cheeks, thumbs brushing the softness there like he’s memorizing the way you feel under his touch. 

Then his hands squish your cheeks between his hands, just enough to puff your lips out like a fish.

Your brows furrow as you try in vain to pull away. “Joel—!”

“Say it,” he says, dead serious despite the ridiculous hold he has on your face.

Your eyebrows knit further as you still. “Say what?”

He smirks, dipping his head until your noses bump. “Say: I’m pretty.”

You groan, giggling despite yourself as you try to wiggle free. “Joel, oh my god—”

He holds on, pressing exaggerated kisses to your squished face—your cheek, your forehead, your nose and your puffed out top lip. “Say it. Go on. I’ll wait all day.”

“Fine!” you huff, lips barely moving from the way he’s still holding your face. “I’m pretty.”

He grins, loosening his hold just enough so you can speak properly, though he keeps his hands right where they are. “Didn’t hear you.”

“I’m pretty,” you repeat, cheeks heating as you say it, soft and unsure but not sarcastic. Not deflecting.

Joel beams, eyes crinkling at the corners, kissing your lips as he loosens his hold on your face. “Damn right you are. Prettiest girl I ever saw.”

You can’t help but smile now, wide and a little bashful. You duck your head, but he catches you again, presses a kiss to your lips again, sweet and unhurried.

And when he backs away and you finally reach for your coffee again, cheeks still warm, he’s watching you like he’s already counting the seconds until he gets to do it all over again.

That night starts like any other night.

Late, quiet, the house dipped in soft shadows. The windows are cracked just enough to let in the evening breeze, the hum of cicadas drifting in with the warm air. Joel’s in bed already, reading glasses sliding down his nose, thumbing through the same page of his book he’s read three times without taking in a single word.

He’s waiting for you to join him, your book is still closed on the side table. You’d excused yourself to the bathroom before you could even cuddle up in bed beside him. You had said you needed two minutes.

That was fifteen minutes ago.

He figures you’re brushing your teeth. Or lost in one of your little bedtime routines—rearranging things on the counter or doing your 10 step nightly skincare. He doesn’t mind. He’s gotten used to your rhythms the more you stayed over. Grown to love them, even.

But then he hears the bedroom door open, and when he glances up, expecting to see you in one of your usual pajamas, his breath catches. You’re not wearing one of his big T-shirts or those soft cotton sets you like so much.

You’re standing in the doorway in white lace, delicate and sheer and almost ethereal in the low glow of the lamp light.

It damn near knocks the air out of him.

He forgets all about the book in his lap—doesn’t even feel it fall to the mattress as his gaze rakes over you, slow and disbelieving. His jaw goes slack as he removes his glasses and sets them on the side table.

The bra—he doesn’t know what it’s called, not that it matters—looks daintier and more delicate than anything he’s ever seen in his goddamn life. Feminine in a way that hits him right in the chest. It wraps around you like it was made for your body, hugging your curves in all the right places. The straps are thin, dipping into the softness of your shoulders, and the lace cups give just enough to let his imagination blur with what’s already in front of him.

The matching bottoms sit high on your hips, scalloped lace tracing the tops of your thighs, giving him a perfect view of the skin he’s only ever touched in the dark.

Your hair is pulled back behind your shoulders—intentionally, he thinks, like you wanted him to have the full view.

Your lip is tucked under your top teeth, and your eyes flick down for a second, uncertain—then back up again.

But then you smile.

Shy, but proud. Like you’re showing him something precious and a little terrifying. Like you finally believe, even just a little, that he might actually mean every word he’s ever said about you.

Joel shifts to the edge of the bed, jaw tight with restraint as he beckons you to him. Slowly, you make your way over, and he soaks in the look of your thighs as you move, the way your body is begging to be marked and taken. His hands curl against his own thighs like he’s afraid to touch you too fast, too hard, and shatter the moment.

But when you move to stand between his knees, and he lifts his eyes up to meet yours, you don’t flinch.

He lets out a long, shaky breath. Then his hands lift slowly, reverently, palms brushing along the outside of your thighs, up to your hips.

His voice is low, almost reverent. “Christ, baby… look at you.”

You let out a nervous laugh, eyes dropping for a second—but you don’t cover yourself. Don’t twist away like you usually do. You stay right there, between his knees, close enough for him to smell the soft scent of your lotion and whatever little perfume you’d put on just for him.

Joel lifts his hands, slow and sure, and holds your hips, warm, steady, splayed wide like he wants to cover all of you. His thumb strokes gently over your skin where the lace ends, just above your hipbone.

“You did this for me?” he murmurs, looking up at you.

You nod once, eyes still shy but glowing with something soft. “I wanted to. I…I know I usually…”

“I know,” he says quietly, thumbs stroking your skin under his touch. “Don’t gotta explain nothin’ to me.”

His voice is gentle, but there’s something else beneath it now. Thicker. Hotter. Like he’s barely keeping a lid on what he really wants to say.

You bite your lip again, tucking it under your top teeth as you gauge his reaction. Joel leans in, eyes never leaving yours, and presses a kiss between the valley of your breasts—slow, open-mouthed, just wet enough to make your breath stutter.

You exhale, body already leaning into him, melting under the heat of his mouth, the drag of his stubble, the way his hands are rubbing slow circles along your thighs. His fingers toy with the hem of the lace between your legs, pinching the delicate fabric between them, like he can’t decide whether to rip it off or worship it.

“You know what this does to me? What you do to me, angel?” he rasps, voice rough now, filthy and unfiltered. “You got me starin’ like a damn animal. Don’t even know where I wanna taste first.”

He kisses the underside of your breast, and even though it's covered by lace, he bites softly at the curve, tongue soothing the mark he leaves behind. His hands move to grip your ass tightly now, pulling you closer, positioning so your stomach and hips are flush against his chest.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty, baby. Every time I think I’ve seen all of you, you go and give me this?”

His eyes flick up, hungry and reverent. You squirm, a tiny whimper slipping past your lips, but Joel doesn't back off. He presses another kiss to your stomach, then just above your belly button, murmuring into your skin.

“Timid little thing—but deep down you like it, don’t you? Like when Daddy talks like this?”

Your thighs twitch under his hands and you nod.

He grins, feral and soft all at once. His hands slide up your sides, palms hot and steady against your ribs, thumbs brushing the edge of lace as his mouth follows—slow, open-mouthed kisses trailing higher, tongue flicking against the fabric covering your breasts. His tongue pokes out over the lace of your bodice right where your nipple would be, teeth grazing over the hidden but pebbled skin. Your jaw falls open as you watch him.

“Goddamn,” he mutters, breath catching against your sternum. “You wore this just to drive me crazy, didn’t you?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer.

One hand lifts, fingers tugging gently at the strap of your bralette, sliding it down your shoulder. Then the other. His movements are careful, almost reverent, as he peels the lace down and away, baring you inch by inch.

And when your breasts spill free, his breath catches audibly.

“Jesus Christ.”

He sits back just far enough to look. Just for a moment. Just to see you.

“Prettiest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he murmurs, thick with awe and heat. He brings his hands up to grip the flesh of your breasts, kneading them together, “Bet you don’t even know what you do to me, baby.”

You bite your lip again, that flicker of shyness still dancing across your face—like you have to physically restrain yourself from trying to cover the revealed skin. But no. Not this time.

Joel leans in and licks a slow stripe over one nipple, making you gasp. He drags his tongue in a lazy circle, then sucks it into his mouth, groaning low in his throat like he’s tasting heaven.

You whimper, your hands flying to his shoulders, fingers gripping him as your back arches on instinct.

“That’s it,” he growls, pulling back just to press a kiss between your breasts before taking the other into his mouth, this time sucking harder, leaving it damp and peaked from his tongue. “Let me hear you, baby. Wanna hear every sound you make when I touch you like this.”

Your hips roll against him, thighs trembling as you stand between his legs.

“Sensitive little thing,” Joel mumbles against your skin. “Just needed someone to show you how fuckin’ perfect you are.”

He kisses lower, down the underside of your breast, then back up again, licking softly, sucking just enough to leave the faintest mark.

“M’gonna take good care of you tonight, baby,” he breathes, dragging his mouth back to your nipple. “Gonna take my timeand take every fuckin’ inch of this sweet body. You gonna let me?”

You nod, breathless, voice caught somewhere in your throat,“Y-yeah.”

Joel looks up, eyes blazing, lips slick from kissing you.

“‘Yeah’, what? Tell me, honey.”

Your begin to squirm as you tell him, “I want you to, Daddy. Please.”

Joel groans like it physically knocks the air out of him. His hands trail back down your sides, slow and reverent, fingertips grazing the lace waistband still hugging your hips.

“You’re killin’ me, baby,” he murmurs, dragging his mouth lower. 

He kisses down your stomach, tongue peeking out to trace the little dip of your navel, his hands smoothing down your hips and behind to cup your ass again, fingers squeezing tight. The lace panties are all that remain, soft and delicate, slightly damp already with your arousal. He noses along the waistband, breathing you in.

“Fuck, you smell so good,” he growls, teeth catching gently at the fabric. “Bet you taste even better.”

Your hands slide into his hair, tugging gently as he tongues over the lace, not pulling it down yet—just feeling you through it, his mouth wet and hungry over your hips and tummy.

You moan, your hips grinding against him again as he teases you, his one hand reaching down to drag his fingers over your clothed mound, the slick of your folds soaking through. He groans at the feeling before pulling back with a sharp exhale, looking up at you with wild eyes.

“On the bed. Hands and knees. Now.”

You blink, heart leaping, but you don’t hesitate. You scramble onto the mattress, crawling forward on shaky limbs until you’re positioned right where he wants you—on all fours, back arched, breath quick and needy.

Joel groans behind you at the sight, pulling his shirt over his head before dragging a hand up your spine, slow and heavy.

“Goddamn, baby. Look at you.”

Once he’s climbed onto the bed behind you, spreading your knees a little wider, he kneads at your ass with both hands, reverent and gentle. He settles his body lower, shifting on the bed until his face is level with your center. He drags his thumbs along the backs of your thighs, spreading them a little wider, groaning low when he sees how soaked the lace of your panties is—slick and clinging to your folds, a perfect puffy outline of everything he’s about to taste.

“Look at this,” he breathes, like it’s something sacred. “Fuckin’ drenched for me.”

You gasp when you feel his mouth again—not on your skin, but over the lace. A slow, deliberate kiss right to the center of you, hot and wet and perfectly placed. His lips part, tongue nudging against the fabric, teasing your clit through the sheer barrier.

It’s maddening.

He hums, the vibration making your hips twitch.

“Fuck, baby… I could spend all night like this. Kissin’ you through these pretty little panties. Smellin’ you. Feelin’ how worked up you are for me.” He nuzzles in deeper, breathing hot against you, licking a wide, slow stripe up the center of your heat—through the lace—then mouthing at it, sloppy and wet, soaking it even more.

You sob, spine arching, thighs quivering where they try to stay upright. Joel groans against you.

“Can’t believe you wore this just for me,” he mutters, dragging his tongue back down. “So fuckin’ soft. So sweet. Pussy’s beggin’ for it, ain’t she?”

You nod frantically, already breathless. “Yes—God, Joel, please—”

He chuckles darkly, biting gently at the fabric. “Please what, baby?”

“Take them off,” you gasp. “Please—need you.”

Joel pulls back, and you feel the shift in the air before you feel his hands—rough palms curling under the waistband of your panties, fingers brushing the skin of your hips as he peels the lace down slow. Agonizingly slow.

“Anything for my girl,” he says.

Joel’s broad, warm hands palm at your ass, kneading every inch as he situates himself behind you. He dips lower, mouth pressing open-mouthed kisses into the flesh of your left cheek, then the right, before his teeth sink down into the soft meat.

You yelp, hips jerking at the sharp nip.

“Prettiest noises too,” he murmurs into your skin, kissing the sensitive mark he left behind. His hands spread your cheeks, thumbs firm as they open you up for him—and when you peek over your shoulder, you find his eyes locked on your center, gaze dark and fixated, the pupils blown wide.

When he catches you looking, his eyes flick up to meet yours.

“She’s flirtin’ with me,” he says, grinning like the devil.

Your face burns, and you let your head drop into the pillows, hiding from the embarrassment that curls through your belly—hot and helpless, tangled with molten want.

Joel’s lips find your skin again, slower now, more reverent as he holds you open. His tongue drags between your cheeks, a deep, teasing stroke that makes your whole body tense. He kisses your slick folds with a wet, lewd sound that makes you gasp.

He hums, low and satisfied, then laps at your dripping arousal like it’s his first taste of water in weeks.

“And the prettiest pussy,” he rasps, lips brushing your folds. “You know that, darlin’?”

You moan, unable to answer, as his tongue pushes deeper. He flattens it and licks slow, wide strokes up your slit before circling your clit. His nose bumps your entrance, barely prodding, teasing you as his tongue works your clit in tight, filthy circles.

Your hips start moving without your permission, grinding into his face, seeking more.

Joel groans like you’re his favorite meal, tongue flattening again, letting you push into him.

“That’s it, baby,” he coos, eyes fluttering shut. “Ride my face.”

You mewl, your body bucking, wild and desperate, grinding into him like a goddamn bronco at the fair. Your walls flutter, your core pulsing with pressure as it builds, and builds, and builds.

Your thighs begin to shake.

Joel’s grip on you tightens as he takes over, tongue working your clit with expert flicks, fast and relentless.

The pressure in your belly snaps like a pulled cord, your spine arching as your orgasm crashes over you. You cry out, pushing yourself deeper into his mouth as you come, loud and wrecked, your fingers gripping the sheets.

Joel moans into you like he’s the one coming undone, tongue never faltering, coaxing every last wave of pleasure from your trembling body. Even as you start to come down, breath catching in your throat, he doesn’t stop. He just slows, letting you twitch and gasp and shake through it.

Then, you feel it. The warm, wet pressure of his tongue pushing up past your folds, over the skin between, then circling your tighter hole. You jump at the intrusion, a sharp gasp breaking from your lips—but the haze of your orgasm makes your body soft, receptive, already melting for him.

You whimper, hips twitching. Joel just groans again, closing his lips around your sensitive rim, suckling gently.

“F–fuck,” you whisper, unable to think, to move, to breathe.

He licks you there once more before planting slow, open-mouthed kisses up your spine, up to the small of your back, your shoulder blades, and finally your neck.

Then he’s curling over you, beard scratchy against your skin, his lips brushing your cheek.

“Turn around,” he whispers, voice low and rough, "Wanna see your face when I stuff you full a'me,"

You can’t help but giggle at the tickle of his scruff against your neck, still dazed, still boneless, but do as you’re told—twisting under him until you’re on your back, staring up at him.

Joel’s eyes, though dark with hunger, hold something else too. Something deep and aching. Something sweet.

And then, with that same steady tone he uses when talking patrol routes or fixing fences, he says, “Now. Here’s what’s gonna happen, sweetheart.”

His lips brush your jaw, then your ear.

“I’m gonna fill you up so deep, fuck you so full of my cock, my cum, me, that when you look in the mirror tomorrow, all you’re gonna see is how fuckin’ beautiful you are—‘cause you’ll still be wearin’ what I did to you tonight.”

Your chest heaves, the words settling deep in your stomach, curling there like heat and honey.

“Joel, I—” you start to say, only to gasp when you feel the hot, thick head of his cock nudge at your entrance.

“You feel this, honey?” he murmurs, pulling back to look down between you, voice rough and reverent. “Feel how bad he wants you? How bad I want you?”

You nod, gripping his forearms tight, your thighs falling open even wider for him.

He notches just the bulbous tip inside you and hisses at the wet heat.

“Jesus,” you breathe. “I feel it, Joel, I—I… pleasepleaseplease—”

“I know, angel, I know,” he pants, his thumb stroking your inner thigh, grounding you. “Now I wanna hear you say it.”

Your brain lags, thick with need, swimming in lust and love and the ache to just feel him.

“W-what?”

Joel watches you, eyes burning into yours.

“Say, ‘I’m pretty, Daddy.’”

Your whole body flushes, lips parted in disbelief, already whining at the way he just knows how to unravel you.

You groan wordlessly, bringing your hands to your face to hide. He is so on your shit list for this.

Joel chuckles darkly, pushing in another inch, and you whimper behind your hands.

“I’m waitin’, darlin'.”

You squirm under him, thighs trembling, skin turning hotter and hotter by the second. Every nerve in your body is screaming for him to move, to fill you, to do something.

But Joel waits. He always waits—until you give in, until he gets what he wants.

You lift your hands from your face slowly, eyes hazy, cheeks heated, lips parted. He’s watching you like a man possessed, one hand gripping your thigh, the other wrapped around his pulsing member with agonizing patience.

“M’pretty,” you whisper.

Joel’s brow arches, lips curling, “Not quite, sweetheart. You know how I want it.”

Your chest heaves. Your pussy clenches around just the tip of him, and even though you see the twitch in his jaw, he still waits.

So you gather your courage, heart pounding in your throat: “I’m pretty, Daddy.”

Joel’s smile breaks across his face, so bright and full of something so tender it nearly knocks the air from your lungs. It almost pulls you out of the heat of it, the haze of arousal, until your core clenches and he sinks into you just a little deeper.

You gasp, the stretch sharp and perfect.

He leans down slowly, hands braced in the pillows beside your head, lowering himself onto his forearms until his chest is flush with yours, until there’s no space left between your bodies.

He’s still not fully sheathed in you.

“Again.” 

“I… I’m pretty, Daddy,” you breathe, voice shaky as your pussy tries to adjust around the thick stretch of him.

“The prettiest,” he nods, and his lips mold to yours as he finally pushes all the way in. Your mouth falls open with a gasp, the sound swallowed by his tongue slipping between your lips, hot and hungry, as he bottoms out. His balls press firmly against the slick, wet crevice of your ass, and the mess between your thighs is obscene—your arousal dripping, sticky and hot, soaking the sheets beneath you.

Joel groans into your mouth, loud and wrecked like its been trapped in his chest for hours. His hands come up to cradle your head, keeping you right there beneath him as he begins to move, slow at first, pulling out a few inches before rolling back in, the full weight of him rocking your body with every deep thrust.

“Shit,” he mutters, voice low and reverent. “Pussy’s so damn tight.”

He pulls out slowly again, then drives back in hard, enough to jolt you up the bed, the sound of it lewd and perfect. His brow furrows, eyes fluttered shut as he focuses on the way your walls cling to him.

“Fuckkkk,” you mewl as he continues sawing into you, filling you and stretching you around him, buried to the hilt.

Joel grins, feral and hungry, sweat starting to bead at his brow.

“Sound even prettier when you take my cock.”

He sets a rhythm—deep, grinding thrusts that hit all the way up, filling you to the brim. His body covers yours, chest brushing your nipples, beard scratching your throat as he nips and kisses every inch he can reach.

“Been thinkin’ about this for so long, baby” he grits out between thrusts, hips slapping against yours. “The way you’re always hidin’ yourself from me, coverin’ up like you’re not the most beautiful fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen.”

Your hands claw at his back, your legs wrapping around his waist, trying to pull him impossibly closer.

“I got you, honey,” Joel pants, head dropping to your neck as his arms wrap around you, pulling you into him even tighter. “And you’re gonna start seein’ it for yourself,” 

His pace picks up, rougher now, slamming into you with the kind of need that’s barely human.

“Gonna fuck you so full you forget every goddamn lie you ever told yourself in a mirror. Gonna make sure the only thing you remember is me—how you sounded, how you looked, when I wrecked this perfect little body.”

You’re gasping, whimpering, shaking beneath him, stars flashing behind your eyes as he pounds into you like he’s never going to stop.

“That’s it, baby. You take it,” he growls. “Take my cock so good, like the good girl you are for me. Fuckin’ made for me.”

“Joel—” you cry, voice breaking.

He lifts his head, eyes wild and tender all at once.

“Say it again, sweetheart. Tell Daddy how pretty you are.”

“I—I’m pretty,” you choke out. “I’m—fuck, I’m so pretty, Daddy—”

He loses it.

His hand slides under your thigh, hooking it up, opening you wider, deeper. His hips slam into you harder now, the rhythm filthy, brutal, perfect.

“I know, baby. I know. Look at you. My good girl, look so beautiful takin’ it so fuckin’ well.”

His other hand comes up to cradle the back of your neck, guiding you forward as he sits back—craning your head up so you can look down, see exactly where you’re joined. 

Your mind barely registers the softness of your belly, too focused on the thick stretch of him splitting you open, the obscene way you take every inch. You both watch as he drives into you, slick and deep and devastating, a ring of your last orgasm glistening around his cock. The pressure builds again, white-hot and unbearable.

And Joel knows—he feels it in the way you clench, the way your voice goes high and desperate, the way your hands grip him like you’ll fall apart if you let go.

“You gonna come for me again, sweet girl?” he pants, fucking you into the mattress. “Gonna let Daddy feel you pulse around his cock?”

“Yesyesyes—Joel, I—please—”

“That’s it,” he snarls, “give it to me.”

You shatter.

Your orgasm crashes through you with a scream as he releases your neck, letting you arch your back, trembling as you milk his cock with spasms so tight it makes Joel curse, a broken sound from deep in his chest.

And then he’s coming, hips stuttering, burying himself to the hilt as he spills inside you, filling you just like he promised. His voice breaks on your name as he grinds through it, hands gripping you enough to leave bruises, breathing ragged.

Neither of you move for a long moment. Just the sound of your breathing, tangled and uneven. His chest heaving against yours. Your legs shaking around his waist.

His hand slides up, cradles the side of your face. His thumb brushes gently beneath your eye, even though you’re not crying—but something about the touch makes you want to. Makes your throat ache.

“Hey,” he whispers, voice all gravel and reverence. “You okay?”

You nod, eyes still fluttered shut, heart pounding. “Y-yeah.”

Joel presses a soft kiss to your lips—barely a touch, like he’s afraid of ruining you more than he already has. Then another, and another, until you're giggling quietly beneath him, too dazed to hold it in.

He smiles, the kind of smile he doesn’t show anyone else. The kind that barely reaches his eyes, because he’s still looking at you like you’re a dream that might disappear if he blinks too hard.

“Look at me, baby.”

You do. You always do when he asks.

“You’re so beautiful,” Joel murmurs, voice low and rough with what sounds almost like awe. “You know that?”

The words hit you deeper than they should. You suck in a sharp breath, trying to even out your breathing, but your lungs don’t cooperate. Your eyes dart away, suddenly misting and too overwhelmed by the intensity in his gaze—by the sincerity written all over his face. It's too much. Too close. Too real.

But Joel’s hand is already there, catching your chin gently, tilting your face back toward his. His thumb grazes the edge of your jaw, soft and steady.

“No,” he says, barely more than a whisper. “Don’t do that. Not tonight. Not after everything you just gave me.”

Your chest stutters, emotion building so fast and so sharp you feel like you might spill over with it. Your fingers twitch against his back before finally settling, drifting across his damp skin in slow, absent circles. You take deep, calming breaths to settle yourself. Breathe in, breathe out.

He’s still inside you, still heavy over you, like neither of you are ready to let go just yet. Your limbs are tangled, the air still thick with sweat and heat and something quieter—something softer.

The room is quiet now, the kind of quiet that doesn’t feel empty. Just your shared breaths, slow and unsteady. The low thump of his heart where his chest presses to yours.

Joel shifts only slightly, just enough to press a kiss to your cheek. Then another to your jaw. Then your temple. The way he moves is unhurried, like he’s memorizing you. Like he’s kissing more than just skin—like he’s kissing the pieces of you he’s afraid to speak out loud.

It makes your chest ache.

“You’re being so sweet,” you whisper, throat tight almost like it’s a secret.

His lips hover at your lips, pressing gently but not fully,  “I don’t know how not to be,” he says softly. “Not with you.”

You close your eyes, pressing your face into the curve of his neck. His scent wraps around you—salt and skin and something warm and comforting that’s just him. The warmth blooms under your skin again, curling around your ribs, spreading down your spine.

“I love you.” he says, like it’s always been there, waiting. Like it’s not a confession so much as a truth that finally found its way out.

Your breath catches. Not from fear, not from panic, but from the sheer weight of it. The gravity. The sound of those words, spoken into the low light of the room while he's still buried inside you, holding you like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever touched.

Your eyes flutter open. You don’t move. Not yet.

Joel doesn’t either. But his voice dips low, softer now. A hint of uncertainty laces the edges. “Too much?”

You shake your head instantly, and your hands rise to cradle his face, looking up at him, fingertips brushing his temples like you need to anchor both of you in this moment.

“No,” you whisper, a tear finally escaping your eye. “No, not too much.”

Your fingers slide into his hair, tugging gently as you pull him down and press your lips to his. And when you pull back, your words are trembling but sure.

“I love you too.”

He exhales like he’s been holding that breath for years.Then he kisses you—slow and deep and home, his mouth moving against yours like he’s sealing the promise between your bodies.

taglist: @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal, @anxiousscribbling

[maeventide]

Thinking about a self conscious Nanami Kento following the Shibuya incident he made it out alive okay, good men don't perish in this house

pairing: nanami kento x f!reader cw: body image issues, angst, hurt/comfort

Nanami looks at himself in the mirror and studies his disfigured flesh with thinly veiled disdain. His stomach churns as his gaze follows the ugly, reddish grooves that twist and mar half of his face. The macabre view of his teeth as a result of the tearing to his right lip is no pretty sight either. Nanami certainly never believed himself to be an exceptionally handsome man before all this...but now...

He finds it difficult to face you, knowing that every time the two of you go out in public together, people stare. Of course, you've reassured Nanami countless times that it doesn't bother you in the slightest and that he shouldn't be ashamed, but being the conscientious man that he is, Nanami can't help but worry that he's becoming a burden to you.

The whispers of the people that pass you by certainly don't ease those anxieties in the slightest.

"What happened to his face?"

"Look, he's wearing an eye patch. How weird."

"Why's a cutie like her hanging out with that ugly mug?"

"You can see his teeth! Gross!"

"She must be a gold digger. No way anyone would willingly date someone who looks like that."

Each of those callous remarks, especially those that question your character, feel like a ruthless punch to the gut. You furiously defend him of course--everything short of spitting venom at the people who've uttered such cruel words--but Nanami knows that he's dragging you down. He knows that he's selfishly ostracizing you from the rest of society by staying by your side. He knows it's not fair to you. It isn't right to subjugate you to all this...

If he were a better man, Nanami would have cut ties with you long ago.

"Kento..."

He feels your arms wrap around his waist from behind. You've caught him staring in the mirror again, and at three in the morning no less. Nanami can't help but feel utterly ashamed.

"I'm sorry, love. Did I wake you?"

He feels you shake your head back and forth against his back, the warmth of your body, so recently bundled up beneath the covers, seeps through his t-shirt. It's calming, just like your touch.

"Do you mind turning around for me?"

Incapable of ever denying you, Nanami does as you wish. He turns to face you, too tired to try and hide his melancholic expression (not that you wouldn't have seen through his thinly veiled facade anyway). Your own expression doesn't waver as you look at him. In your eyes Nanami sees neither disgust nor pity nor anger. Instead Nanami sees what he always sees--love.

"I love you," You say, as if it were the most matter of fact thing in the world. "Every day when I wake up in the morning and see your sleeping face next to mine, I feel so incredibly grateful that I can hardly breathe."

Your hands rise up, reaching forward to gently cup Nanami's face. He winces slightly at your touch, his scared tissue is still sensitive, but he doesn't pull away. He doesn't think he ever could.

"Kento, I know that adjusting to these scars--both the ones on the surface and the ones inside--hasn't been easy. I know that there will be bad days,"

Your thumbs tenderly caress Nanami's cheek, tracing the bones that now protrude there thanks to the weight he'd lost. He realizes that he should be feeling self-conscious right now, with how close you are to the ugly parts of him, but he doesn't. Not when you're looking at him like he'd just hung the moon and stars.

"Nanami Kento, you are stuck with me. I'm going to stand by you, through the good and the bad. Through all of it. That's what people who love each other do."

You smile at him and Nanami's chest tightens to the point of pain, breath catching harshly in his throat as his vision begins to swim. It comes crashing down in waves, all the doubt and all the pain he'd held inside. He can't hold himself up anymore and Nanami slumps against you, burying his face into your shoulder as he lets the tears silently flow.

And like always, you hold him.

[mwphisto]

I’m not worth it - Rafayel

Rafayel is genuinely appalled when you tell him that he could find a partner so much more worthy of his love. Not only is he appalled that those words left your lips, he’s utterly appalled that you said them with 100% sincerity.

Better than you? Better than the woman he waited 800 years for? Better than the woman he gave up his entire world for? Better than the woman who owns his heart? Seriously? Do you even hear yourself when you talk?

The anger that flashes across Rafayel’s face has you shrinking back, heart pounding because you realize you are in a world of trouble for saying such a thing. Not just because of the fear, but because he is responding so fiercely to your self deprecating proclamation.

“What?” It’s nothing short of a hiss, a look of genuine disgust on his face. Not at you, but at the heinous idea you dared to utter. “I said I—“ but he cuts you off, a noise of pure anger leaving the artist’s lips.

“I heard you the first time, and I most definitely do not want to hear those words again.”

Then, he’s moving towards you, lithe hands coming up to cup your heated cheeks. The intensity in his gaze urging you to break eye contact but you don’t dare to. “Who do I have to kill?” And you blink, unsure of how to proceed.

“Who do I need to kill?” Again, leaving you lost. “WHO put those god awful thoughts in your pretty little head, cutie? WHO do I need to kill for ever making you doubt your worth of my love and affection.”

And your throat is drying up, because if you give him the honest answer he’d have to kill— “m-me.”

“You?” Rafayel is holding you a little tighter, heart thumping in agony that the creature who could conjure up such evil ideas was none other than yourself.

“What have I done to make you feel like this?” Because clearly he’s done something wrong along the way. Was he too bratty? Too dramatic? Did he make one too many sarcastic comments? Did he act some sort of way that made you question his feelings? He’s spiraling.

“You did nothing! God no, Raf. You’ve done nothing it’s just… me I guess. Self conscious. I-imposter syndrome even! Just… got too lost in my own head and…”

You’re spiraling too, and he can see it just as you picked up on the way he began to lose it. And you still have the audacity to think he wouldn’t burn the world for you? To be able to pick up so easily on his derailing train of thought.

“My love, my entire heart…” he’s coming down, coaching himself mentally to take deep breathes because nothing will get solved if he loses it like he usually does. “… I would destroy the entire world if it meant keeping you happy.”

“I would do whatever you asked me too with no hesitation. You mean everything to me, more than everything. Why would you ever deem yourself unworthy of my love?”

Tears leaked down your cheeks now, not because of your own insecurities but because of how fiercely he was loving you. The way he always had, maybe that was part of the reason you had begun to feel so unsure.

“I think I just…” you sniffle, leaning into Rafayel’s touch as he thumbed away the tears on your cheeks. “…I guess I got so overwhelmed with your love. That… part of me felt undeserving. You’re so handsome, talented, you have a kind soul even though you try to hide it. I’m just… me.”

“Exactly. You’re just you. Perfect in every way. So beautiful, so strong, brave, equally as talented.” His eyes search yours before continuing. “You’re equal amounts of loving and sweet. You put up with my antics like nobody else, you have time for me when nobody ever has.”

“I may not be the easiest lover. I may be dramatic, I may carry my own emotional baggage that I struggle to open up about. But there is one thing I am certain about, one thing I will proudly proclaim with my whole heart. And it’s the fact that I love you more than anything. More than my art, more than my career, more than Lemuira.”

You’re crying hard now, hands holding his wrists. The warmth seeping into his skin as your tears leak down and collect on his palms. He hasn’t let go of your face, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to either. “Please, cutie. My love, my heart, my beautiful girl… the next time you’re feeling like this. Tell me before it becomes unbearable.”

You can only manage a nod, hiccuping as he tugs you close to place kisses all over your face. “I would lay down my life and die for you, so don’t you ever think that you are unworthy of my love. You’re perfect for me, the only woman I could ever want. I waited 800 years for you to return to me, and now that you have, I’m never letting go.”

[wonubby]

another freaky bakugou thought of the day – 17+ only!

bakugou having a pretty girlfriend with glasses, who he loves soooo much! always cleaning them for her when they get dirty and pushing them right back up to the bridge of her nose.

he thinks his girl looks the prettiest with glasses, always complimenting and reassuring her when she gets self-conscious, but when she refuses to listen, there's only one thing he can do.

and he loves it.

"c'mon you can take it," he grunts, as you whimper, the words you wish to say being stuck at the back of your throat by his dick.

you're looking up at him, eyes watery and red, glasses slightly foggy, and hair wrapped around his fist in a messy ponytail.

fuck, you've never looked better to katsuki than now. he loved watching you turn into a mess around him, drool running down the corner of your lips.

you slowly push your head down lower, foggy eyes looking up at his, wanting his approval.

"doin' amazing for me, baby, fuck," katsuki choked out, head thrown back. his grip on your hair got tighter, unintentionally thrusting into your mouth, causing you to hit his thighs.

getting the hint, katsuki dragged you off. whimpering at the loss as you gasped and spluttered.

"kats, be gentle, pleaseee," you whined, feeling your throat burn.

a soft chuckle left his mouth at your expression, a cute little pout displayed on your fucked-out face. "'m sorry, baby. was it too much for you?" he mocked you condescendingly, his hand wrapped around his base as he nudged the tip of his cock towards your lips.

"open up. it aint gonna suck itself," he snarled. hand lightly making contact with your face.

a pathetic whimper escaped you as you stuck your tongue out, kitty licking his tip before taking it in whole.

"that's a good girl. taking me so well, shit," he breathed out. you pulled back slightly, sucking on his tip, knowing it was the fastest way to make his high approach.

katsuki couldn't help but thrust his hips up once more, eyes rolling back in his head at the sensations. "fuck, sweets. you trynna make me finish already?" his groans only encouraged you to pick up the pace, eliciting the sweetest and sluttiest moans from him.

he made the mistake of looking down at you, watching how your glasses covered the view of your beautiful eyes, slightly slanted with a small hand rubbing circles on your clit.

all he could do was groan, hands sparking slightly because of the pleasure. you felt so good around him; he wished he could live like this, reducing you to nothing but his cock warmer.

"shit, sweets, get off," he whimpered. ripping you off his dick once again before jerking it in his hand, back and forth.

you moaned at the sight, opening your mouth to suck around his head, pushing him to the brink of his high.

one last grunt left his lips before he came. white sticky ropes of cum hitting your face, staining your glasses, cheeks and tongue. the sight of him spilling all over you had your own high peaking, fingers coming to a stop on your sensitive clit as you jerked on the floor.

"katsu," you whimpered, eyes going cross-eyed, locked on the twitching dick in front of you.

katsuki's eyes finally opened, looking down at you before releasing another curse at the sight. quickly picking up his phone, he opened his camera, directing his still hard cock to rest on your tongue once again as he angled your face to look at the camera.

"that's it, there's my pretty baby. so fucking beautiful, covered in my cum," he smirked, snapping a picture before tossing his phone to the side.

katsuki picked you up by your underarms. placing you onto his lap to give you a searing, fervent kiss. you moaned into his mouth, tongue fighting for dominance only for yours to succumb under his.

pulling away, katsuki slowly licked at your cheeks, cleaning up the remaining sticky substance and removing your glasses.

"now, you feeling any better? not gonna spew any more nonsense about how you 'look so ugly' with these on?" he pressed, frowning at you in fake anger.

giggling, you place your head in the crook of you neck. "if it means i get to suck you off, maybe i'll keep calling them ugly." you teased, feeling his arms tighten around your waist.

"you damn brat," he huffed, flipping you onto your back.

"looks like i'm gonna have to teach you some manners now," he growled. before you could protest, his hard, throbbing dick was already aligned with your opening.

he poked it in slightly, hearing you gasp at the intrusion. "get ready, ya fuckin'' minx. it's gonna be a looooong night."

first time writing smut... kinda scared.

[sknyuz]

hi r u doing smut fics? but anyways if u do pls make about how whc 2 characters would react if you give them a bj 🤭

anyways i luv ur whc fics keep it up thanks xoxo

weak hero class headcanons — going down on the boys of weak hero class 🔞

synopsis — how the boys of whc... well, anon’s ask is pretty self-explanatory

pairing/s — (all the whc boys here are in senior year/18+) sieun x reader, suho x reader, baku x reader, gotak x reader, juntae x reader, baekjin x reader, seongje x reader, beomseok x reader

a/n — >< everyone’s been waiting for something a bit more... out there for the whc boys, and since i rarely do smut, this was definitely a challenge !! i hope everyone has a fun time. disclaimer: this is pure smut, mdni. if you’re a minor in the taglist, don’t interact pls. i removed who i know are under 18, but might have missed some.

masterlist | join the taglist | request a fic

⤷ yeon sieun

he doesn’t say a word when you kneel, just watches you with that intense, unreadable stare. it’s not until your lips wrap around him that his breath hitches—barely audible, but sharp. his fingers curl into the arm of the couch, the only giveaway that he’s actually unraveling.

you go slow, wanting to see what kind of reactions you can pull from him. he swallows hard. his thigh twitches. then, finally, a sound—low and breathy: “don’t stop.” he doesn’t guide you. doesn’t push. but when his hand cups your jaw, there’s something raw in it—like he’s grounding himself with you. he finishes with a tight exhale, eyes fluttering shut, and when he comes back down, he murmurs, “come here,” like he’s desperate to hold you, to take back the control he just gave up.

⤷ ahn suho

he watches you kneel in front of him, his expression shifting from surprised to almost amused. “you sure about this, baby?” he asks, voice still calm, but you can hear the hint of anticipation beneath it.

but the moment your mouth wraps around him, his teasing demeanor fades. “f-fuck—wait—” his hand flies to your hair instinctively, not rough but firm, guiding you just the way he wants. his hips buck upward just a little as he tries to hold himself together, but it's clear he's losing it.

"shit, you feel so good," he groans, voice thick with need. “y-you’re gonna make me—” he cums with a sharp gasp, eyes fluttering shut, his grip tightening in your hair as he shudders. afterward, he pulls you up into his arms, kissing the top of your head with a soft laugh.

“you have no idea what you just did to me,” he whispers, his breath still unsteady, holding you close like he never wants to let go.

⤷ park humin (baku)

“oh my god, wait, wait—holy shit—” he’s already whining before you even start, half laughing, half panicking. you press your mouth to his length and he melts, one hand flying to his hair like he needs to pull it to stay conscious.

he talks through the whole thing—loud, flustered, ridiculous. “you’re so hot, oh my god, i can’t—babe, babe—your mouth is actually insane—” he keeps trying to look down at you, like he doesn’t want to miss a second. every time you suck a little harder, he moans like he’s being possessed.

“i’m gonna cum, oh fuck, i’m—ah, shit—” he whimpers, hand flying down to cover his mouth as you take all of him in. afterward, he lies flat on the bed, panting. “i literally saw god. was that even real? or did i hallucinate?”

⤷ go hyuntak (gotak)

he doesn’t say a word—just watches you silently, jaw clenched. when your lips wrap around him, he inhales sharply through his nose, gripping the edge of the couch so hard his knuckles go white. his voice comes out low and strained—“don’t tease. if you’re gonna do it, do it.” and when you take him deeper, a groan rumbles out of his chest—so deep it makes your thighs clench.

he doesn’t fuck your throat, doesn’t move much at all—but you can feel the tension in his body like a live wire. he cums with a stifled grunt, holding your head there as he spills down your throat. afterward, he leans back, breathing heavy, eyes glazed. “…fuck. that was something else.”

⤷ seo juntae

he looks like he might pass out when you kneel—eyes wide, hands flying up like he’s about to protest but forgets how. “w-wait, you don’t have to—i mean, if you want to, i’m not gonna stop you, but—” and then your mouth is on him and he chokes on a gasp. his hands hover awkwardly in the air for a second before he grips the blanket, knuckles white.

“ohmygod—th-that feels—” his voice is high, barely coherent, broken between moans and shaky breaths. you glance up and his face is flushed, lip caught between his teeth, eyes behind his glasses already watering. he cums with a whimper, hips bucking up with his thighs trembling, immediately covering his face. “i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to go that fast, i just—holy shit, you’re really good at that.”

⤷ na baekjin

he doesn’t speak when you kneel, but his expression changes—sharpening, almost curious. maybe a little hungry. he stays perfectly still as your mouth wraps around him, but his breathing falters, eyes darkening as he watched his length disappear against your lips, hand twitching once before it settles gently on your head. he groans—quiet but intense, jaw clenching every time your tongue swirls around him. “fuck,” he mutters under his breath, hand tightening in your hair.

you feel his thighs tense under your touch, and his voice breaks when he tells you, “just like that.” his body shivering as you hollow your cheeks. he cums with a gasp, hips barely jerking, breath catching like he didn’t expect it to hit so fast. after, he helps you up, kisses you slow and deep, he touches your jaw gently and pulls you into his arms, forehead to yours and whispers, “thank you, darling.” like you just saved his life.

⤷ geum seongje

he smirks the moment you drop to your knees, eyes glinting with something dark. “damn, baby. didn’t think you had it in you.” but when your mouth sinks down on him, that smirk vanishes—replaced by a look that’s feral.

his hand fists your hair, not rough at first, but when you moan around him? he pulls—hard. “fuck—keep doing that,” he growls, “you look so good like this. fuck, you’re mine.” keeping you there as his hips twitch forward. he pulls—not to hurt you, but to keep you there, like he needs it. his other hand wraps around the back of your neck, firm and possessive, holding you close as he thrusts shallowly into your mouth.

“look at me,” he growls. “i said—look.” his pupils are blown wide, gaze locked on yours like you’ve got him under a spell. “you’re fucking perfect like this,” he pants. “mine. you get that? mine.”

“fuck, you’re gonna make me—” he cums with a sharp gasp, head tilting back as his muscles tighten, breath ragged. the moan he lets out is raw, needy, almost desperate—the kind that lingers in your ears long after.

and afterward, he yanks you into his lap, kissing you sloppily, breathing you in like he needs you to live. “don’t ever do that for anyone else,” he whispers against your lips, “i’ll lose my fucking mind.”

⤷ oh beomseok

he stares when you kneel in front of him—eyes wide behind his glasses, mouth slightly parted like he can’t believe what’s about to happen. “a-are you… really gonna—?” his voice is so quiet, it barely comes out. he shifts back on the bed like he doesn’t know where to put his hands. but he doesn’t stop you—he can’t. and the moment you wrap your lips around him, he breaks. “f-fuck—wait—” his head falls back instantly, a choked gasp punching out of him as his fingers grasp at the sheets.

his glasses slide down a bit, his breath stuttering as the heat rushes straight to his face. he whimpers when you take him deeper, soft and sharp, his thighs trembling slightly as he tries so hard not to move. “you look so good like this,” he pants. “fuck, you’re gonna make me—” he cums suddenly, hips twitching up into your mouth before he can warn you. it’s high-pitched, needy, almost embarrassed as he moans through it—his glasses fogged, his whole body tensed and shaking. afterward, he reaches for you with trembling hands, pulling you against his chest like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. “how am i supposed to act normal after that?” his usually deep voice is slightly higher now, still recovering from the high.

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[dissolved-g1rl]

What if buck got a bit self conscious about being way older than the reader, like probably in the early stages of their relationship

Bc maybe someone told him or he overheard something at a bar bc they were hanging out there?

I just want to comfort my boy

imagine me & you ♡

He has his arm around your shoulder, gently running cool metal down your arm as you babble on about something about your stubborn professor who isn’t replying to your e-mails. “Mhm” he hums nodding along in agreement with your complaints. You bat your eyelashes at him, pouting, “You’re not even listening!” you grumble, the little furrow appears when you knit your brows. “Yes I am!” Bucky denies, using his thumb to smooth the little wrinkle. “What’d I just say?” You say lulling your head back. He cups the back of your head, pressing a kiss to you lips till that cute pout he loves is smothered away. “That you need another beer.” He says pulling away

He smiles when you push him towards the bar. He pads over, it’s pretty noisy, a big game going on at a local university. Guys and girls gearing more towards your age make the bar lively. He taps his fingers against the bar, ordering two more beers for the two of you. Two girls wearing sparkly shirts, a sorority he guesses, whisper to one another, cupping around their mouths and giggling—“old enough to be her dad.” he catches. He feels hot under the collar with embarrassment. Great, great, great granddad actually, yet he digresses. He thinks for a centurion he looks pretty good. Sure, he won’t always get your references, but he’s only old by logic. He’s got all the bells and whistles, gets it up just fine—maybe too easy. He’s got some stray grays, you and your drooly cunt like ‘em just fine. And sure, he’s put on a little bit of weight over the years, he doesn’t mind. Despite this, that hot feeling of embarrassment still weighs heavily on his heart. You could do better. Better than a man who has to check his sperm count annually, better than a man who still writes everything in cursive, better than a man who has more years behind him than in front. The clink of glass against the bar redirects his attention, right, beer.

He hands you your beer, you still crinkle your nose when you drink—he used to find it cute. He’s starkly reminded of the fact that you are not used to drinking yet. He sighs, smoothing the frizz in your hair. You raise your brow, patting his leg. “Something wrong?” You ask, tracing a heart onto his knee. He smiles, a bit tight lipped. “Nothin’s wrong baby.” Bucky denies pinching your cheek till you bat his hand away. “Yeah right, you big grump!” You say, draping your arm around his shoulders, shifting till you’re settled onto his lap. Your weight on top of him is a welcomed pressure, he wraps his arms around your middle, peppering your nape in kisses. People cheer, touchdown or something. He thinks it’ll be fine —you and him. He doesn’t have that much to teach you, not really, but you sure do teach him a lot of things everyday. He’ll have you for as long as you have him. Bucky hopes for forever. “Love you.” He chimes, just to you, it’s intimate. Secluded by the booth, yet liveliness surrounds you. “I love you too Buck!” You reply easily, you mean it—showing him your pretty smile that makes him almost queasy with how sweet you look. The three words soothe his worries, thats right, you love him, and he loves you.

credit to @cursed-carmine for dividers

a/n: not proof read, sowwy for any mistakes

[eraserbread]

read part 1 our husband is hungover :(( what r we gonna do to help him??

when nanami finally wakes up, he's drowning in an ocean of shame, throbbing, and filth. it's hard to breathe - the room is too hot, and he's alone. you're not tangled up next to him like you always were. in fact, he feels quite lonely when he sits up, rubbing at his exhausted eyes.

either he chose to block it out, or he just didn't remember anything past shoving satoru off at the bar. it's nothing new, but seeing humans die had an effect on him. there shouldn't have been casualties when he was working with satoru -- even he's a grade 1. the whole situation just made him unsure of himself. when he watched that woman draw her last breath last night, he saw you in her wake. you begging for safety and mercy,

it's the only reason he let alcohol touch his lips -- and that's probably the reason he still has his shoes on when he slips out of bed half-naked.

one whiff and a quick scan of his surroundings has him muttering curses to himself. first course of business—a bath—a long one—in one he purposefully bought for this house that could accommodate all of his height.

and in the bath is where you find him, damp, steaming rag covering his sensitive eyes.

you come bearing coffee and breakfast, unwashed yourself but okay enough to slip something on real quick and take care of your hungover husband.

your bathroom is painted in beige and greys, new appliances and fixtures all personally picked by a very tedious kento. on the neo-modern tile floor, you kneel, placing your gifts on the side of the tub.

"i just treasure you so much." he speaks before you can, absolutely blinded to you but locked onto your delicate footsteps.

it's only when you laugh does he pull the side of his cloth up. he catches the final pull of your smile and can't help but grin back. kento just knows he's a lucky man.

"you're cute, but an idiot when you drink." you start. he sighs.

"yeah, yeah." he looks at you, sitting up when he notices the spread. omlettes - rice, his favorites. and, he's starving.

yeah, even hungover nanami wants you right now, bad.

"get in here."

you end up on your knees, somehow. always. ken's splayed out under you, sitting back against the tub with his eyes covered. he lets you take the lead, this time.

surely he wasn't expecting you to tuck your hair back and take his pretty, dripping erection in your mouth. he hardly reacts, just giving you a steady little breath. but, you can see his chest tighten. he peeks down at you.

"oh, baby... that's nice." you stop, parting your lips like you want to speak. "hush, don't distract yourself."

you must be looking up at him like an idiot, because he chuckles again, letting his cloth fall back over his eyes. something in your chest screams for him -- it's a true feeling, pulling and tugging on your insides when he looks and talks to you like this... this love is bone deep.

so, you give it everything you have. making up for all those stupid, self-conscious years you spent abstaining. if you knew ken liked oral so much, you would've been doing it all these years.

quiet, respectful bastard... you hate love him.

now, he's moaning your name as you swallow him whole, throat soft and pliable for his cock to sit. it's uncomfortable at first, but so is everything, and he sounds so pretty sighing over you.

perhaps you get a bit overzealous, pumping your head hastily, hollowing your cheeks and whining vibrations over him, because he stops you. a hand in your hair that's painful but dominant and unapologetic makes you blink up at him.

"feels so good, but i may die if I cum too hard."

so, you take your time without further thought. he guides your head up and down his length, swallowing back nothing every time he glances down at your filthy reflection.

he warns you when he's about to cum, digging your face in his small trail of pubic hair. "baby, 'm so sorry, baby, I can't pull out."

then, he cums, gloriously crying your name and clawing at the edge of the tub. all of the tension he held melts away into nothingness, and once he comes down he whispers:

"thank you. love you so much."