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

[secretivemessenger]

okay im way too far into brainrotting about an amputee bf that i wrote a whole thirst thing about it.

☆ cw: top m!reader , cock-warming , calling a hole 'cunt' like once , belly bulge

★ not proof-read

☆ dark nsfw content ahead

Imagine being with someone whose both legs are amputated. He's completely dependent on you as you feed him, carry him around, fuck him like a worthless slut.

Imagine him whining and thrashing around as you have him cockwarm you while you tap around on your phone. Manhandling him into your lap, easily slipping his shorts off to gain easy access since he doesn't wear any underwear, shove him down firmly on your cock and feel him tightly clench around you. His little, tiny cock would squirt pre all over his stomach as he whines and whimpers while you focus solely on your phone. Whenever he would move, you would tightly hold his waist and give a harsh smack to his ass, making him gasp and stay still as you whisper sweet words to him about how good he's doing for you.

Imagine doing your little office work to see him crawling over to you under the table, he would use his hands to help him up, but he still wouldn't be able to reach. Won't you help the poor man up? You would if it wasn't so fun watching him struggle and cry out for you to help him. Whoops, and your hard just from seeing his tears and his miserable state. You would slip down your pants and boxers all together and grab him harshly by the hair, pulling his whole body up till his mouth is just on your tip as you tell him, "Get to work; I'll help ya stay up."

Imagine his lips sloppily wrapping around the head of your cock as you hold up his body. Swirling his tongue around the tip, slurping on it like it was the most delicious dessert he ever tasted, shoving his tongue inside the foreskin and pushing it back to finally reveal the head. Using his hand to fondle your balls while he focuses solely on your head. Yes, adorable and all, but it's not enough for you. Hold his head in place and thrust into it like a sex toy, no matter how hard he cries and begs for you to slow down while your cock fucks his mouth. His small cock leaking pre would be your indicator that he's loving it. Not like you need one; you know he loves it when you fuck his throat like a cheap whore.

Imagine being unable to pay any attention to him as you're very tired; he would beg and try to seduce you into fucking him, but you can't. So you lay down and drop down your pants and tell him to do it himself. You would watch closely as he strokes and plays with your cock to get you hard and into shape, then he would use his hands to support himself onto your cock; he doesn't even have any need to prepare himself as your yesterday activities were enough to have his hole ready to take you at any time. But he still needs a bit of adjustments as he tries to slowly lower himself on your cock using his only method of support, which is his hands, although he's not very strong when you're not helping him, so you would grunt when the power in his hands fails him, making him drop balls deep on your cock. A loud scream could be heard as you felt a warm liquid on your stomach, realizing he came just by being impaled on your cock. God, you wanted to watch him struggle on your cock more, but how could you just lay there while he looked this miserable?

Imagine losing all morale at that scene, not like you had any. Just grab a hold of his waist with your hands and bounce him up and down your cock, thrusting up at the same time fucking him fast and deep. Not long, and he's cumming all over himself again. It never fails to amaze you how tight he can get, like his only purpose is to be a milking toy for your cock, a reusable 'cunt' for you to dump all your fluids into. How much time has passed? You haven't a clue, all you know is that you came so many times deep inside of him. You manhandled him into many positions, hugging his waist and fucking into him like he was a sex doll, pressing him against the mattress, fucking him hard enough that he almost fell off the egde bed, so deep inside of him his stomach bulged with your cock. Press on it and watch him cum all-over himself once again. After you were finally satisfied, you would just leave him panting and crying on the bed with a dildo almost as big as your own cock lodged inside his hole, preventing even a single drop of your cum to slip out as you went to shower, leaving him to lay in the dirty bed surrounded by his own filth.

oh man i may be going insane i need more of this, idk what happened to me but i felt the sudden urge to write this forgive me.

[slowpokecrossing]

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

[sttoru]

plsplsplspl soft intimate sex with satoru:(

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[rqnarok]

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

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

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

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

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

He’d even hate just thinking about it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Logan-n!” 

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

[chocum]

KARMA !

— brat taming the jjk men feat. choso kamo, kento nanami, toji fushiguro.

WARNINGS. femdom!reader, f!reader (she/her), brat taming, cock slaps, crying, handjob, choking, p in v, riding, overstim, lingerie, lollll slotted toji out :33, recording, finger sucking. ( 2k ) note. hellloooooo hope u all enjoy this. i had fun writing bc i loveee the idea of making big strong men crumble mhmhmhm. anywaysss reblogs are appreciated thank youuu love u all. repost bc last night it didn’t show in the tags 💔 but i edited it and added alottt so if you already saw it feel free to read again !! ty

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 CHOSO KAMO

“ma— make m— ooohh fuck. wai—wait” his voice trembled so cutely that it was barely coherent, crumbling into a pretty whine that drowns out his pathetic attempt (if you could even call it that) at being a defiant little brat, making you giggle, your slicked up thumbs pushing and rubbing down on the slit of his leaky tip, sending jolts of pain masked as pleasure up his bony spine, “make you?”

immediately he knows he’s fucked up. the air between you growing thick.

he didn’t know what came over him, really. maybe he had been watching too much porn, fantasizing too much, because the idea of getting tamed by you— god, just the thought of getting put in his place, turned him on so much. so, so much.

but having to actually disobey you, he couldn’t. he believes he was only put on this earth to serve you and please you. to be good. his head hurriedly shakes side to side, making each strand of ravened silky hair jump and dance before resting to frame his flushed face, “‘m sorry didn’t me—”

you land a heavy, hard slap to his cock, the sound pounding in his flushed ears blending with the beat of his heart, making his body tense up and jerk underneath you. his breaths come out in ragged little gasps, each one such a struggle as his fuzzy brain short circuits under your warm palms.

it really is cute, you think. cute how easy it is to break him. the pretty tears that drip down his puffed-up, blushed cheeks remind you of that. he’s choking on his sobs when you move to cup his face and kiss the corners of his eyes, and his cheeks. crying and sniffling because he hates when you’re mad. hates disappointing you.

“‘m sorry, i don’t— just wanna be so good for you. i’ll be— wanna be your good boy.”

“i know,” you coo, petting him like the pretty pet he is, “wanna try again for me, hm?”

and oh, he’s nodding so sweetly, cock throbbing for you, his big glassy eyes heart-shaped, staring up. so ready to be yours, ready to be the good boy you’ve trained him to be.

so you tell him again, “fuck my fists, make yourself cum, pretty boy. and look me in my eyes.”

his hips buck up, the salty tears on his cheeks warming and dried as he uses your sticky hands like a fleshlight, whining prettily when you tighten your grip around him, “‘m sorry” he babbles over and over, drooling out the corners of his parted puffy lips.

he’s so good. staring into the blown pupils of your pretty eyes without fault, like you told him to. because you told him to.

and his thighs burn, his legs shaking and trembling against the silky sheets as he gets closer and closer. the pain almost urging him on, “are you gonna cum for me? baby? gonna give it all to me hm?”

“yes, ple— please. please, can i cum can—”

you pull your hands off him.

drawing out the prettiest whine to ever be heard. like a song of the angels. his head falling back against the wooden headboard, hips bucking up in search of something to ease the ache that overwhelms in his tummy. those hot tears making a special reappearance.

“aww baby,” you hum, feigning sympathy, massaging his warm— full, heavy balls, “did you really think you’d get to cum after that, hm? did you?”

his eyes widen in desperation, disappointment. he tries to speak, to plead, to beg, but all that comes out are broken little sobs and whimpers.

the look on his face is almost pitiful. furrowed brows, pout, and his mouth hangs open.

you bend to lean in closer, your breath so warm against the shell of his sensitive ear, “you have to earn it, baby. good boys get rewarded. brats get punished.”

for you, he nods weakly, his voice barely a whisper as he chokes, “i’ll be so good, pro— promise. please, let me cum. let me show you how good i am”

so pretty. your fingers slip down to massage his aching balls, applying just enough pressure to keep him on that edge he loves to dangle over without giving him the sweet, sweet release he craves. “nuh uh, not yet,” you hum softly, your tone both firm but oh so gentle. “show me how much you want it.”

his hips buck up involuntarily, humping the air in search of your grip— relief, eyes locking onto yours, colored irises filled with adoration. he’s completely at your mercy, every nerve and ending in his body on fire, every muscle tensed up in anticipation.

and you can see the struggle in his eyes. it’s really a beautiful sight, and you savor every moment of it. “that’s it,” mumuring, “keep looking at me like that. show me how much you need it.”

his breaths come in short little, ragged gasps, his chest heaving and caving, thighs burning from fucking the air.

but finally, after what feels like an eternity, you decide to grant him some mercy, your hands moving back around his throbbing cock, stroking him just how he likes it, “cum for me, pretty boy,” you command, a soft, seductive purr. “give it all to me.”

with a strangled, gargled cry, he obeys. his body convulsing, every muscle tightening as he finally, finally finds his release, his cum spilling all over your hands in thick, hot, sticky spurts. and he’s so obedient, his eyes remaining locked on yours, even as his vision blurs and fuzes with pleasure.

“there you go,” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “such a good boy.”

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 KENTO NANAMI

the tie that usually wrapped snug around the collar of nanami’s shirt adding that signature pop of yellow to his suits now decorates his flushed neck, constricting it, the tail of it clutched tightly in your fists as you ride his cock, your hips rolling and jerking against him relentlessly.

thick cum drips down to his balls, pooling underneath him, a swirl of your mess and his. he’s cum two–no, four? he doesn’t even know how many loads he’s stuffed into your warm cunt— or how many you’ve forced and sucked out of him, his cock so sensitive it fucking hurts, every time you snap back down on him sending poky jolts of overstimulation through his entire body.

“fu—fuck, honey, please. i don’t have— ngh— don’t have anything left to give. fuckin’ drained me already— can’t—”

you tug on the silky fabric, making him choke on his words, gargling on warm, foamy spit. his hands reaching to grab at the curve of your waist, but he’s flinching, remembering how you said, no touching. remembering why he’s in the position in the first place.

because he doesn’t listen.

refused to keep his hands to himself, your body begging to be touched, in his words. as if he didn’t take you seriously, just kept grabbing at you, digging his slim fingers into your plush skin.

so, obviously, there’s some sort of misunderstanding .. some sort of disconnect. he must have forgotten who was in charge.

you don’t even give him a response, ignoring the prickly burn in your thighs to fuck him dumb. maybe then, ironically, he’ll learn how to act. each jerk of your hips move to push him further to the edge, to remind him of his place.

his body is weak, just sitting pretty, twitchy, letting you do as you please, sweetly hiccuping under your frame, “hah— please, my fucking god i— i’m sorry” he’s all gone and sucked up, cock crying, drooling pathetic tears of salty cum in your cruel walls. sweat peppering his forehead, slicking the ridges of his chest, making him glisten.

“please, i’m fucking begging i’ll— hah, won’t disobey you again. i’ll— i’ll be good. i’ll be yours”

aw, there it is.

and you hum, stilling your hips, letting his cock fill you all the way up, “mhm that’s all i needed to hear. now give me onee more load. just one. know you can do it pretty boy, give it to me”

even though his body is spent, just the true definition of exhaustion, he responds, his pretty cock twitching inside you as he drags against his own warm cum in your spongy walls. and it doesn’t take long before he’s giving into you. balls so empty, just a few little spurts drooling out, but it feels just as intense, maybe even more than any of his other orgasms. “good boy”

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 TOJI FUSHIGURO

“toj’ my pretty boy” your finger draws across the pink lacy lingerie that does a pathetic job of covering his cock. poking out, leaking and drooling all over the fabric, almost ripping through it with just how hard he is, “you look so good like this”

he grunts, blush growing across his cheeks, a deep, deep crimson, turning his head to avoid your gaze, avoid your phone brightly flashing, recording him.

“so hard too, aw” mumuring, you move closer, recording every detail of how he bulges through the set you so perfectly picked out for him. the pink complementing his tanned skin so well, truly a work of art “touch yourself for me”

another grunt escapes his lips, and he’s fidgeting, dragging his balls against the bed, rutting like a fucking dog, pulling at the ropes that hold and confine him, caging him against himself, “need your ..”

“yeah, need what?” you prompt with a smile, watching through your screen how he struggles to say it, pouting as his brows furrow up.

“need your help”

theres a wicked little glint in your eyes, pulling back at the stretchy band of the pretty underwear, letting go so it snaps back against the sensitive underside of his thick cock, making him whine, his broad body shaking and twitching, muscles clenching up.

humming, you bring your palm to his face, telling him to lick, and he listens, immediately.

licking a long stripe up your warm palm, but oh, he gets carried away. stretching to wrap his scarred lips around your fingers, bobbing his head up and down, drool dripping down from around his pursed lips, letting his tongue lay flat. “look at you, so eager”

he comes off with a pop, smirking because he knows you love when he’s so good like this for you.

you press your slick fingers against his covered perky nipples, watching as he twitched, before moving to stoke him through the pretty lingerie, “don’t fu—fucking tease”

you ignore him, let him get away with the little back talk because he just looks toooo cute, eyes all big, looking up into the flash of the camera, leaking through the lingerie like such a pretty boy. all for you.

you flick your wrist faster, leaning to spit on his clothed cock, sending thousands of shivers up the nerves on his spine, making him croon, his ass raising up off the bed to buck into your palms, giving the camera such a good show.

“gonna cum, shit— i’m so close. fuck— please”

he’s babbling, his voice all high and whiney.

“mhm go ahead, baby”

with a final, desperate thrust, he’s shooting against the fabric, babbling your name as it oozes through making a sticky little mess before you’re leaning down to lap at his clad tip. to clean him up.

then you come off him, stopping the video. and tojis looking up at you through glassy eyes as you press against your phone, smiling.

“what— hah, what are you doing”

“sending it to shiu”

[nanaslutt]

Giving boyfrined!Ino Takuma a hand(y)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[meownotgood]

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

read on ao3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Viktor twists the dial. Once, twice. 

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

"I do," You murmur, sympathetic. 

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

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

"That's when you find it." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And what is it I'm doing?" 

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

"I am not-" 

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

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

Your mouth forms a hard line. 

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

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

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

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

"It is a necessary risk." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's a reminder that you're right. 

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

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

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

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

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

He knows this body is… wilting. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's something Viktor picks up on. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh? Enlighten me." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Vik-" 

"I need to have your trust." 

Your eyes widen. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Viktor softens. 

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

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

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

[gremlingottoosilly]

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

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

[megumiluvv]

Strongest Sorcerer Virgin

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

Word Count: 1,421

Masterlist

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

〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎ ❀ 〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Satoru? Are you okay?”

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

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

“What, babycakes? I’m fiiiine.”

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

“…Okay, okayyy, I miiight’ve lied…”

“About…?”

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

“What?”

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

“…say something?” He mumbles shyly.

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

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

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

“That’s even more embarrassing…”

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

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

“Please?”

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

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

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

“You ready?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Move your hips and slip it in.”

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

“Like this…?”

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

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

“I-is this okay so far…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Satoru, so so good…”

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

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

“Do I just-”

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

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

“C-close, ‘toru, please…”

“…T-tell me what to do…”

“Just keep up like that, please…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Satoru, get off…”

“Nuh uh.”

“Come on, Satoru, we gotta shower.”

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

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

After a moment of silence, you speak up again.

“Was your first time good?”

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

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

“Your idiot.”

“Mhm, my idiot.”

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

[sweetiecutie]

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem! Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- Mig..uel, I’m-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- Love you too angel

Likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! Feedback is very important, give writers some love🩷🩷

[jeonginsleftcheek]

Soft (drabble)

pairing: hyunjin x reader

genre: fluff, just a smidge of smut

warnings: soft cock play, mentions of lovemaking

a/n: i'm sorry if this sucks, writer's block is being a bitch again! i'm working on the dolly fics and stressing myself out so i tried to just write something for comfort😭🫶🏻

~ Masterlist

A quiet afternoon spent in your lover's embrace is just what you needed after a hectic work week.

The outside world and all the anxieties it brings, slowly melt away into the background as you lay in your soft blankets, right next to Hyunjin.

Hyunjin is soft too, even though he's all muscle and prominent bones, to you he is soft because he brings you comfort.

He's sitting, his back against the pillows, one of his arms behind his head as the other holds the book he's reading.

Your head is on his chest as you hold your book, both of you lost in the fiction but still present enough to enjoy the quiet scene together.

Moments like this are priceless to the both of you, when you can escape everything and just be in your own little comforting bubble.

You put your book down after some time, closing your eyes as you place your hand on Hyunjin's stomach, gently caressing him.

He hums quietly and you look up at him, he's already looking at you with a sweet smile so you return the smile before closing your eyes again.

Hyunjin thinks you'll fall asleep and he doesn't mind, quite the opposite, he loves the fact that both of you are so comfortable together that you can fall asleep in each other's arms.

But you're not sleeping, you're admiring your lover, fingertips caressing the exposed skin of his navel, where his shirt rode up.

You play with the happy trail leading to his sweatpants and Hyunjin shivers a little but keeps reading, the hand that was behind his head is now tangled in your hair as he cards his fingers through it gently.

You love every part of Hyunjin, in any shape or form, you'd told him that a hundred times, your lips have worshipped every inch of his skin countless time as his did with yours, never tired of sharing the love you feel for each other.

You slide down further to rest your cheek against his stomach, sliding his shirt up a little before you nose at his skin and leave a few gentle kisses.

Hyunjin giggles quietly and you look up at him again.

"Just do your thing." you nod at the book and he rolls his eyes playfully before returning his attention to it.

You keep caressing his smooth skin, staring at the bulge that's visible in his sweat pants even when he isn't hard.

You know he's not wearing any boxers, you'd fallen into each other's embrace and made love this morning, and after another round in the shower, your lover didn't bother to put any underwear on.

Mindlessly, your hand slides into his pants and you grab his soft cock, squeezing it a little.

"What are you doing?" Hyunjin chuckles, his legs jolting a little.

"It's just comforting like this." you hold him, running your fingertips gently on the softness.

"Really? But it's soft..." Hyunjin looks a bit embarassed as you look up at his rosy cheeks.

"Mhm. It's cute." your fingers slide down to his balls.

"You did not just call my dick cute." Hyunjin laughs a little as you gently grab his balls and giggle.

"Stress relief." you smirk and he laughs again.

"I'm glad they help you relieve stress but if you keep doing that, it's not gonna stay soft." he smirks at you and you giggle.

"So what?" you wiggle your eyebrows, fingers wrapping around his soft cock again, feeling it twitch a little.

"You wanna go for round three?" he plays with your hair, his loving eyes filling up with lust slowly.

"Maybe." you tease, feeling him grow in your hand as you move it ever so gently.

"Come here, you little tease." he beckons you with his finger and a smirk and you roll your eyes playfully before releasing him as you scoot closer to him.

Hyunjin grabs your face gently pulling you in to crash his lips against yours, giving you a kiss full of love and desire his heart has only for you.

His arms wrap around you as he easily pulls your body on top of his.

You can feel him pressed against your thigh, now hot and hard, wanting you.

He flips you over and smirks.

"Round three it is then."

Later, when he's buried deep inside you, his tip brushing against your cervix, he will ask you if you still think his cock is cute.

You'll say yes just to tease him, and in that moment of intimacy you will laugh together, completely carefree and infatuated with each other as you exchange words of love.

At the end everything will become soft again, gentle and delicate, just like loving Hyunjin is.

-

✨Taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @laylasbunbunny @jeonginslefthand @porangporangmeong @laughatdanger @sapphirewaves @simpforleeknaur @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @painterhyunjin @starlost-mochi-x @saintcosette @ooshyana

[lilisettean]

Between Silken Sheets | Headcanons

About: How are they like when they are underneath the bed sheets with you? Random assortment of steamy headcanons.

Pairings: Xavier/Reader, Zayne/Reader, Rafayel/Reader + Bonus! Caleb/Reader

Warnings: First times, Inappropriate use of Evol (Xavier, Zayne, Caleb), No protection (Caleb), please tell me if I'm missing anything! 18+ Only please. Enjoy :)

Xavier

Timid at first, his fingers tracing your form as though convincing himself that this, that you are right before him naked, was a dream.

He isn't very experienced, if at all. But he is eager to learn all you're willing to teach him, and is a fast learner. He memorizes all your sweet spots instantly, and is quite the explorer, wanting to find more of them.

Skilled hands with thick long fingers, deft at prodding your soft spot. Combined with his observant nature, he immediately would pick up on the slight change of your pitch as you moan, mentally filing that spot he just hit into places that would drive you crazy.

His usual aloof expression is nowhere to be found, replaced with the intense focus that he reserves for missions. But instead of Wanderers being his prey, you are.

Being a hunter that is always on the move, he is always in tip top shape. His stamina is nothing to scoff about, being able to go round after round late into the night as long as you are willing.

With experience, he grows bolder and would initiate more often. His hands wandering wherever he could reach when you cuddle with him on the sofa.

He would also be more teasing, turning you into a whimpering mess before pulling away to admire his handiwork.

While not said... Imagine if his light Evol felt like it's vibrating with energy. Him creating a tiny ball of light Evol and having it stuck onto your clit before pulling away, stroking his stiff cock while watching you squirm and plead underneath him.

"You're not the only one who knows how to tease, you know." "This is payback for earlier. If you want me to continue.... Beg me."

Zayne

He had seen and touched your naked form more times than you can count. He is your primary healthcare physician after all. He had kept all those times professional as expected. So when you are in front of him, naked under an entirely different context... He froze.

It wasn't from fear, but rather from enthrallment. It was only then he realized how attracted he is to you, his eyes unable to focus on anything else but you.

Being a doctor at one of the busiest, if not the busiest, hospitals, he never had time for intimacy, much less relationships. No one had caught his eye anyway, until you came back into his life. So while inexperienced, he isn't ignorant. He knows where to touch you to make you crumble and into an incoherent mess.

He handles you like you were spun from glass at first, but with time, his touch grows rougher, leaving indents and marks on your skin as he fucks you, his pace relentless.

His cold facade is gone whenever you two are alone together. And with you underneath him, praises and filthy promises easily spill out of his mouth. Praising you for being so good to him, for taking his cock so well.

He is very cautious about his ice Evol, but imagine. His ice cold fingers thumbing over your nipples while you're blindfolded, and the next second he envelops your pert nipple in his mouth, his tongue swirling around it. It takes some time for you to convince him to use his powers this way, but once he starts, oh is he addicted.

"Nnh- You're feel so good around me..." "Relax. Tell me if it's too cold, okay? ...Good girl."

Rafayel

Being a painter, Rafayel had have many models pose naked for him before. He should have more control when it comes to you being naked for him, right? Wrong.

You offered to pose for him naked but he always denies, because he knows he wouldn't be able to focus at all. He would end up studying your body more, on what he would like to do to you, instead of what themes he want to bring out of this piece.

It's one thing to study you from afar, but it's another to have you on his lap. His face is red as it could be, his eyes on anywhere, anything, but on you. You would have to take the lead at first, his breath hitching and his heart jumping out of his throat the moment you grabbed his hands and placed them on your body.

Rafayel was not new to sex, he had plenty of offers before. But he refused them all. As curious as he was to whether sex will inspire him to create art, the act was too intimate for him to indulge. But you are different.

Your touches lit a fire under his skin, his inspiration rearing to go with every kiss. And suddenly he understood why many artists cite their lover as their muse.

As he got more comfortable with touching you, his desire to pin you to the wall like a painting grows. To immortalize your every expression and arch of your back into art.

He would treat your body as a canvas, leaving kisses and bite marks all over your skin as he buries himself deep within you, and admire his work afterwards.

Sometimes he likes it when he is in control, but other times, when things get too stressful, he prefers when you take charge. Just like you sometimes begging him to stop staring and just fuck you already, he would also sometimes plead to you to let him fuck you as he thrusted against your heat.

"Please- Mmh- Please let me fuck you-" "I want you now... Please have mercy on me..."

Caleb

Caleb had forgotten when he had started to see you as someone more than a friend. He was pretty sure it had been during high school, and when you had no outward sign of liking him back, he resigned himself to a fate of unrequited love.

His expectations were subverted however, and he thanked whatever God was out there for hearing his prayers.

His touch was gentle, reverent. As though still in disbelief that you returned his feelings and would let him touch you in ways that would drive both of you mad with want.

He would leave kisses all over your body, worshiping you and praising you all the way as he made his way down to your heat. Your moans were music to his ears, and he couldn't help but undo his belt buckle and stroke himself as his tongue lapped up all the juices flowing out of you.

He had dreamt about you more times than he could count, his cock always stiff and yearning for you the next morning. So when this fantasy of his finally came true and you were underneath him, squirming and clenching around him, he lost it.

It was embarrassing that he came inside you so quickly, but can you blame him? He had wanted you for so, so long. And now that he finally has you, he just can't help it.

You don't have to worry though. Despite having came moments prior, his cock was still hard and twitching, ready to pick up where he had left off.

You never really knew what his Evol was exactly, all you knew was that he could levitate things. He had used this against you many times, but now... Well. Sometimes he would use it to lift your skirt up. And sometimes... He would lift you up into the air and hold you there, rendering you unable to move and fight back against his teasing fingers.

"Looks like you can't move now, yeah?" "You know I won't let you down... Not until you come on my fingers first."

[spideesenses]

nsfw babble ! 18+ minors DNI

holy, are you spent

what had started off as an intimate love making kiss, turned into a tearjerking fuck.

your wrist is pinned to your back, the other hand gripping the sheets under you as miguel shoves your face into your pillow as he violently pistons his hips into yours. your muffled moans are music to his ears as you come down from your fifth orgasm of the night. you hear his grunt from behind you as your walls spasm around him. he slows down his pace, gently caressing your back. you pant and whimper at the touch. miguel pulls out of you and you shudder at the feeling.

“you okay baby?” he questions as be flips you over. your hair sticks to your face with your sweat and he chuckles before pushing your hair out of your face, peppering your face with kisses. you can’t help but press the balls of your feet into his butt cheeks, pressing him against you.

he raises his eyebrow with amusement before complying to your needs and slipping back in, watching as your face contorts in pleasure. he could watch you all day.

“mmm ‘want you to come again for me,” you plead, locking your ankles around his waist, forcing him to fill you to the brim. miguel hisses, cursing under his breath.

“i don’t think i can, my love,” he admits, chuckling at your eagerness. he’d already finished twice, and while he’d love to make you come more, the thought of his release again intrigued him.

“no?” you pout. “please?” you ignore his protests. “but i want you to.” you grip his jaw and force him to look at you. miguel loved this side of you. his little cockdrunk love. “i wanna be stuff so full of you.”

reluctantly, he slowly moves his hips, his hand resting beside your head as he gazes into your eyes. you can feel every inch of him. when you didn’t feel like he was close enough to you, you’d press your feet against his butt to make him bottom out into you and your tummy flipped in excitement when his jaw would fall, a small gasp leaving his throat.

your words in your filthy voice echoed in his head.

want you to come again.

please?

but i want you to..

miguel’s pace was painfully slow, but it was working. the sultry look in your eyes was helping him. your hand on his face, oh this was so intimate for him. your other hand gripped his bicep, squeezing it anytime he’d hit that sweet spot in you.

“you gonna come? please? i want you to come for me, yeah, fill me up,” you murmured to him like a mantra.

it hit him quicker than he thought, like a tidal wave. his hips stuttered and he moaned your name, pressing his sweaty forehead against yours. his eyes were shut tightly and your hands drew shapes against the skin on his back.

“you okay?” you repeated his question. miguel had been panting. he swore he just blacked out.

“yeah,” he huffed, opening his eyes finally. miguel kisses you feverishly. “you’re so spoiled.” he grins at you.

“and you love it.”

[devotedlyandrogynousyouth]

Subby! Jason Todd

Subby! Jason Todd who's practically drooling already after you've only just taken off your shirt. His big, calloused hands are grasping at your soft mounds of flesh like he cant get enough of them. Which, for the record, he can't.

Subby! Jason Todd who gets so squirmy as soon as you start touching him. The muscles on his stomach contract and twitch almost every time you even get close to touching his hard, leaky cock with it's precum dripping in such beautiful little beads.

Subby! Jason Todd who's chest is huffing and puffing with every soft stroke you give him. The large 'Y' shaped scar on his front side is flexing and contorting along with the rest of his skin, making the sight all the more appetizing as his head leans back against the headboard.

Subby! Jason Todd who can't help but buck his hips into your hand once you pick up the pace a little. The sight of his swollen, heavy, and trimmed balls bouncing with each move of his broad hips is almost enough to make you give in and fuck him, but you manage to hold out and play with him a little more.

"Come on, Jay... I've barely even touched you." Your tone is in such a sweet tone that its mocking, your lips forming a fake pout as you brush your thumb over his leaky slit.

"Ah-" he can't help but let out a soft, whiny moan in response, his hips and thighs twitching and aching to be closer to you. To feel more of your honey-sweet touch.

Subby! Jason Todd who nearly loses it when you sit back on his thighs and drag your sticky, weeping slit against him in a slow grind. The pressure on your clit is absolutely divine and, if you were down bad enough, you'd admit that the slightly unshaven hair on his pubic bone made it feel just that much better.

Subby! Jason Todd who has to actually focus on not cumming when you barely slide yourself onto his thick, girthy tip. The warm fluttering of your gummy walls was enough to have his head thrown back in utter ecstasy almost immediately.

Subby! Jason Todd who's already begging you to move faster and grasping at your hips so hard there may be bruises by the time the morning rolls around. He just can't help it: he wants to paint your walls with his thick, warm cum in thanks for treating him so well.

Subby! Jason Todd who is absolutely slobbering all over your breasts. He can barely even go a minute without one of your fleshy mounds bouncing around in his mouth while his tongue swirls around your perky nipple. There's saliva dripping everywhere, but the sight of Jason drooling all over himself is just too good to resist.

Subby! Jason Todd who is absolutely gone as soon as you start praising him. Sure, he was riding the edge with you bouncing on his long, thick cock as it was, but your sweet words were just too much.

"Such... Such a good boy, baby..." You're cut off occasionally by the sound of your own blissed-out moans. "Being so good and letting me ride you like this..."

"Oh, fuck-" before you know it, you can feel Jason's thick, pearly seed painting your gummy walls as his head is thrown back and his eyes screwed shut. But you don't stop your movements, and he doesn't want you to. The slapping sound of skin on skin is all the more obscene when mixed with his cum seeping between the two of you.

Subby! Jason Todd who happily goes for another round or two until you've gotten your fill of him. Hell, he still offers to eat you out afterwards as if he wasn't a babbling, drooling mess just moments ago.

Subby! Jason Todd who absolutely clings to you once you're both cleaned up and have gotten some food and water into your systems. He probably won't let go of you until the morning, but you knew that when you first begged for him to let you treat him as well as he treats you for once.

"I love you, pretty girl." He mumbles into your hair as he moves himself a little closer to you. You're both absolutely whipped and exhausted, but he still manages to find the strength to pull you that much closer. Sure, you'd both be sore and achy in the morning, but neither of you would have it any other way.

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

Masterlist

[suguann]

tags. fem!reader, the overused 'i know we're supposed to be fwb but i fell in love with you anyway' trope, confessions, gojo mentally spiraling during sex over how much he's in love with you because that's a very him thing to do [18+ only]

Gojo can’t tear his eyes off you as you move above him—riding his cock like this would be the last time you’d ever feel it inside you. That thought twists his insides, his fingers digging into your hips as if you might float away before he ever really had a chance to voice the words he’s been too scared to say.

But he couldn’t really stop you if you wanted to leave—that’s how the groundwork of uncomplicated arrangements like these work, at least in the beginning. He likes to think that a lot has changed since that night in your living room between two drunk, lonely people with nothing to lose aside from your torn underwear in his haste to get them down your soft legs and an old condom tucked away in his wallet.

The feeling sneaks up on him without his knowing, a throbbing in his chest that festers and grows over time until he can’t ignore it anymore or contain it in the proverbial cup of his hands no matter how hard he tries.

It doesn’t dampen how much he wants to mold the shape of his cock inside your tight little cunt, to ruin you for anyone else who thought they even had a chance, to have his name be the first thing you think of when you cum. He wants to make every part of you his, and he only hopes you want the same thing, too.

He groans at the thought, gripping you tight to slam his hips up into you. “Tell me who’s fucking you so good. Tell me who’s the only one that gets to make you cum.”

“You, Toru!” you sob, holding onto his biceps to keep yourself from falling against his chest. It has his balls drawing up tight, and he sucks in a breath to stop this from being over too soon.

“That’s right, pretty girl,” he grunts. “I’m the only one who gets to see you like this. I’m the only one who gets to feel this sweet princess cunt.” He leans up to suck one of your nipples into his mouth, groaning when he feels you clench down around him.

“I-I’m gonna cum,” you choke out.

“Yeah?” His fingers circle over your clit as he shoves his cock deeper inside of you to take you there faster, nipping at the swell of your breast. “Fuck, give it to me, baby. Lemme feel it.”

His name is soft and sweet on your tongue as you cum, squeezing around him until his eyes roll back from how good it feels. It has him following after you, grinding his cock as far as it can go while he pulses and fills you to the brim. There’s so much that he feels it leak out of your little hole and drip down his balls to pool in an uncomfortable wet puddle forming beneath him.

He rolls away from the mess when you both catch your breath, his softening cock still tucked away between your wet thighs. You stroke his hair, your nails lightly scratching his scalp, and he buries his face into your chest, words weighing heavy in his chest.

Maybe he should cut the bullshit already, say what he wants to say, and get let down easy while he still has a chance to recover from rejection—

“Sleep with me?” he asks, voice muffled and a shade of red high on his cheeks.

You giggle, lightly tugging on his hair. “I probably need at least—”

“No,” he cuts you off nervously, heat rising to his ears. “No sex. Just to sleep…here. With me?”

When you don’t say anything right away, he wonders if there’s any way he can take back his words and whether you’d believe him if he told you it was all a joke. But then you tug the blanket over both of you, tucking the corners in so the air from the ceiling fan doesn’t reach your cooling skin, and continue running your fingers through his hair.

There’s a warmth in his chest, which he thinks might be what love feels like.

After a moment, you say, “If you steal the blankets, I’m kicking you off the bed.”

Gojo snorts, smiling against your breast. “But it’s my bed.”

You hum. “Yes, and I’ll do it anyway.”

“Just so we’re clear, I’m still going to fuck you later.”

“Go to sleep, Satoru.” He can’t see it but knows you’re smiling, too.

Masterlist

[vampiredaisiesss]

touch me — d.w. x reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You find him all the more beautiful like this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you do.