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baibeebrii · 5 months ago

Text

obsession •

stepson!anakin x stepmom!reader

mdni 18+ ~~~~

word count - 3k+

warnings- reader met anakin when he was a minor, age gap, stepson/stepmother, perv!anakin, unprotected piv, praise, sub!anakin/dom!reader, breeding kink, overstimulation, forcing, multiple orgasms (anakin), oral (f recieving), cheating

info - marrying a skywalker definitely wasn’t on your things to do, but when working led you to meet kahn skywalker. your life changed.

until his perv of a son lets you know just how much you mean to him.

not proofread.

dating kahn was fun, you guys have been casually seeing each other for about two months now. nothing serious. just a fling you thought. until kahn mentioned how he wanted you to meet his son, you were taken aback.

"kahn are you serious?" you question.

he smiles, "yes, i want him to know the woman i'm going to marry."

you felt odd, you guys have only been together for maybe two months, this wasn't appropriate.

"kahn, maybe it's too soon" you trail off, peeling at the hangnail on your pointer finger.

kahn's smile falters, "oh" he looks down at his lap, "i'm sorry i didn't think"

you feel bad, he obviously cares about you, and for him to want you to meet his son. he must think of you as special.

you start to smile, "okay, i'll meet him. when do you want to do it?"

kahn lifts his head up, smile plastering his face, "right now?" he says.

again, shock hits your face, "my son should be home from his mothers house any minute now"

you couldn't believe it, he was going to make you meet this kid no matter your answer.

you were mad, rightfully so, but before you could say anything this door swings open.

"dad i'm home"

"anakin, my boy, how are you?" kahn jumps up to greet his son with a hug, releasing the hug kahn turns to a very red faced you sitting on the couch. in a not so "meet the son" outfit.

you had on some short shorts and a tight baby tee.

you were mortified.

"anakin this is the woman i've been telling you about, y/n this is anakin" kahn says not seemingly to notice the discomfort on your face.

you stand to shake the boys hand, not ignoring the fact his eyes rake over your entire body, taking in every curve and arch.

if you weren't embarrassed before, you sure were now.

it's been about three months since meeting anakin, and he's been nothing but friendly. you're happy the meeting went so well. you've been spending more time with him. coming over after work when he texts he's having trouble with his calculus homework.

being a 17 year old in high school is hard, he'll say the entire time you try and explain an equation to him.

you would laugh and tell him to focus and get it over with. he'd laugh and turn his attention back to his homework, not forgetting to glance over his arm to watch as your chest moves when you slouch back into the dining room chair.

"ani, im home" kahn's voice is heard from the entry way, "oh honey, i didn't know you'd be here" he says kissing the top of your head.

"little ani here needed help with some homework"

you said, turning to look back at anakin and you swear you saw the grip on his pencil tighten after hearing you use his nickname.

"well, i'll get started on dinner for three. rather then two" kahn says walking back to the kitchen. setting his keys on the island.

anakin finishes his last problem before putting everything away, you get up and start walking to the kitchen to be with your boyfriend before feeling a slight touch in your wrist, turning you face anakin.

his eyes are on the floor, fidgeting with his fingers, "can you come upstairs? i want to show you something" he says with a whisper.

you nod and follow him to his bedroom, the farthest room from the stairs.

stepping inside you take notice to all the knick knacks placed around the room, all the scattered clothes and papers.

you step in first, heading to sit on the end of his bed.

"what's up ani?" you question as he doesn't turn from the door.

you're confused, and question the boy again.

he finally turns to you, eyes a darker shade of blue, something you haven't seen before.

"ani?" you say quietly, but loud enough he hears.

a small groan escapes his throat, "say it again"

"what? anakin what is going on?" you're confused, this isn't typical anakin behavior.

he grabs your hands, rubbing his thumbs across your own.

"please say it again mommy" anakin says just above a whisper, hands gripping just a bit tighter on yours.

you're shocked, in utter disbelief. never once has anakin called you mom, never have you asked him either. this shouldn't be happening.

"ani? what are you talking about?" a soft moan leaves his mouth when you say his nickname again.

"you do crazy things to me" he says, eyes still not meeting yours.

you don't say anything, too confused and shocked to even think of words at this moment, anakin takes notice

"i'm sorry" he says, tears brimming his eyes, looking to the floor

"hey anakin, it's okay, come here." you say bringing him into a hug.

you feel unsettled by what just happened, but to an extent you understand. he's a horny teenager.

"i won't tell your dad, okay?" you say grabbing his chin to make him look at you. his eyes are filled with tears as his face is completely red. tears threatening to fall, "thank you" he says pulling you into another hug, inhaling deeply to never forget your scent.

the wedding was beautiful, you never expected to get married to someone so quickly, but kahn skywalker just has that effect. he proposed to you during your seventh month together. getting married very soon after that.

honeymoon was amazing. you and kahn travelled all through greece for a month, before returning to your shared home, with your now stepson.

as soon as you guys stepped in the door, anakin was there to greet you guys, not hiding the fact he went to hug you first. despite his fathers arms out, wrapping your arms around anakins shoulders, you can feel him squeeze slightly as he inhaled deeply.

"missed you so much" he whispers into the crook of your neck, before pulling away and hugging his dad.

you didn't want to admit it, but the butterflies in your stomach was something you enjoyed.

anakins birthday came and went and you had an 18 year old in the house.

he was still the same anakin, sweet and shy, tending to follow you around the house like a lost puppy.

"ani, im gonna shower, i'll make dinner when i'm done" you say to the boy on the couch in front of the tv. he gives a sound so you know he heard you and you went upstairs.

walking to the bathroom, with a change of clothes, and a towel. turning the shower on and stepping in.

you needed this shower after the day you had, work was hell, your manager was berating you all day. you couldn't seem to do anything right.

thirty minutes into the shower you decided it was enough and got out. getting dressed and doing all your nightly routines. you got to grab you dirty laundry, something missing from the pile.

you look around everywhere for the pink pair of panties you were just wearing, were you wearing them?" you question as they are seemingly gone.

not wanting to keep anakin waiting any longer for dinner you throw your clothes in the hamper and head downstairs. anakin gone from his spot on the couch.

cooking dinner was easy, you decided on something quick tonight. some chicken alfredo noodles.

dinner was done, warming on the stove to keep warm until kahn got home from work.

you haven't heard anything from anakin in the time it took you to cook. you go to look for him.

stepping to his door, reaching for the handle. you stop.

moans and whimpers fall quickly, you're about to walk away, not wanting to disrupt, when you heard you name fall from the boys lips.

you stop, frozen.

"nghh y/n mommy please" can be heard, your name being said like it's a prayer.

your thighs press together, this is wrong you think to yourself, yet you don't move. placing an ear to the door to hear better.

more moans and whimpers are fallen from the red and swollen lips of anakin. your name being repeated over and over again as he rubs his leaking cock with your used panties.

you listen for a few more minutes before the sound of his hand grow louder and more erratic, whimpers falling from his lips as it gets harder for him to be quiet while reaching his climax.

few seconds later and your name is being said as all motion stops.

he came to the thought of you while using your dirty underwear.

you quickly rush from the door, down the stairs to the kitchen to finish plating diner as kahn should be getting in any minute.

do you tell your husband what you heard?

you couldn't, you didn't want to get anakin in trouble.

dinner was good, beside the fact all you could feel was anakins eyes on you, and the feeling in your stomach.

this is so wrong.

you needed to stop this.

you decided the week kahn would be on a business trip was the best to confront anakin, better to have his dad away so he doesn't find out.

it's a little past 9pm when you walk to anakins door, knocking slightly.

"ani? can i come in?"

your met with some shuffling before the door is open, and a tired looking face greets you with a small smile.

"oh did i wake you?"

"no, was just laying in bed. what do you need?"

"can i come in and talk?"

he moves from the doorway to allow you in, you walk towards his bed. him following after shutting his door.

the only light in the room is his bedside lamp, illuminating a nice orange hue.

"ani, i need to talk to you about something"

he nods

"a week ago, i came up here to grab you for dinner but i stopped when i heard noises coming from your room." you started.

anakins face instantly grew red, and his face dropped to the floor.

"i went to walk away, but then i heard my name, ani you can't be having these thoughts about me"

you stopped talking, giving anakin a second, you just embarrassed him.

he doesn't speak, so you continue "i'm your dads wife. this isn't appropriate"

he looks up at you, teary eyed, " 'm sorry " he slurs out, obviously fighting back crying.

your heart broke, you didn't want him to feel bad for what he did, "hey, anakin. it's okay, im not mad at you" you say grabbing his cheek, wiping his tears.

he leans into your touch, with a slight whimper.

"i'm sorry, please don't leave me" he says, grabbing your wrists.

"i'm not gonna leave you ani, please calm down"

he's still crying, "i just love you so much, i need you" he's now practically in your lap, your rubbing your fingers through his hair.

"ani, i'm your step mother"

he cries more, grabbing at anything he could.

"mommy" he sobs out, bringing his head up to look at you, he's broken. face red and puffy with tears.

your heart breaks, you little ani feeling this bad, "ani it's okay, stop shhh" you try and soothe him.

you lay him back on the bed, letting him rest on you as you cuddle him.

thirty minutes pass, he's calmed. hiccuping in your lap now.

"wanna talk?" you say running your fingers through his hair. he nods and sits up to face you.

"i'm so sorry y/n" he says, grabbing your hands, "please don't hate me"

"i could never hate you, it's okay"

he stares at you, eyes wide, so innocent.

"please let me be a good boy for you"

you tilt your head, "ani no, this isn't appropriate"

"i hear the way you moan with my dad, how fake it sounds, let me show you how much you mean to me" he says, his once blue eyes, dark and lidded.

he listens when you and his dad have sex?

such a naughty boy.

his hands go up your arms to your shoulders, "please let me be good for you mommy"

you can't deny the heat forming, this shouldn't turn you on.

but to have anakin, sitting in front of you. BEGGING for you, crying for you, it's something you'd never imagine.

"ani.."

he stops you, "please, i've loved you since i met you, look" he jumps up to grab his camera off his desk.

he flips through all the pictures, you doing normal things, you cooking, you showering, and worst of all. you sprawled out in your bed, dildo in hand pleasuring yourself.

fuck

this is insane, you thought. this is wrong. he's been watching you??

he wasn't done, he pulled a box out from under his bed.

all your missing underwear, you knew the washer wasn't eating that many.

"see, i want you. i crave you"

he says. on his knees, infront of the bed.

you can't deny the throbbing in between your legs, this was disgusting.

but you loved every second of it.

you knew anakin was attracted to you but you didn't think he was a pervert.

"such a dirty boy anakin, what do you do with all this?"

he moaned, "i touch myself" he says shyly.

how can he be so shy after showing this to you.

you loved it.

"show me"

his head jerks up, confusion on his face. but your serious. sitting back to make room for him on the bed.

"be a good boy anakin, show mommy" he waste no time in undoing the strings to his pants, pulling them down and climbing on the bed.

god he was big, much bigger then your husband.

"oh ani, you're so pretty baby"

you moans, before grabbing his throbbing cock, red angry tip leaking precum. just for you.

his pace is slow, agonizing, he's wanting this to last for ever.

"baby you can do better then that, i want you to cum for me. think you can do it?" you say running your fingers through his hair before reaching the base and jerking.

the moan that fell from his lips, was nothing but sinful. the pace on his cock increasing, rubbing himself raw.

you say nothing but praises, letting the boy know how well he's doing, and how you're so proud.

you can tell he's getting close when your movements become sloppy and erratic. whimpers escaping his mouth, before his release shakes his entire body.

you help him through it, kissing his head and rubbing your hands on him to help ground him.

he's on cloud 9, he feels so good and to have your hands on him. he's soft cock, slowly getting bigger again, the thought of your sweet pussy engulfs his mind.

the sweet smell he's gotten from your panties, he wants the real thing.

"m-mommy need your pussy, please" the redness on his cheeks, the mess he's made on his stomach. is all too much for you to keep your composure.

"since you've been such a good boy, you can eat mommy out"

you barely finished your sentence before your pants and underwear are being thrown off and his head his between your legs, lapping up all your sweet juices, inhaling your scent.

he takes you clit into his mouth, sucking harshly, inflicting a harsh groan from your throat.

he's eager and eating like this is his last meal, he starved. wanting nothing more then your pussy in his face.

"oh ani, you're so good to me" you moan out cause him to rut against his mattress. he’s pussy drunk, letting his tongue touch every inch of your soaking pussy, you’ve never felt this good.

you didn’t think it get better, until you feel a warm finger entering you. your back arches, god he is making you crazy.

“anakin, oh my god” the right coil in your stomach burning. anakin continues his actions, curling his finger as his lips are attached to your clit.

“ani, im gonna cum, keep going, don’t st-“ you were cut off by your own orgasm, ripping through your entire body. you’ve never came this hard.

anakin moans, face soaked with all your juices, lapping up what he could.

“mommy did i do good?” he asks with innocence in his eyes, you brush his blonde curls out of his face, “so good baby”

he climbs up to lay with you, cock still painfully erect, taking notice, you reach down and touch him so gently. he moans and thrusts into your hand.

“should mommy help you baby?” his head nods frantically, hoping you’d give him what he wants.

“lay down on your back” you say pushing his chest till he’s laid flat. climbing up to hover above him. his cock so close to you, he could feel the heat radiating from you.

moaning as you grab him, guiding the tip through your folds, pushing it slowly into you as you sink all the way to the base.

he stretched you so well, reaching every part of your body. loving how full you felt.

he looked beautiful under you, absolutely stunning. hair all disheveled, lips red and puffy, tears staining his face, you wanted to ruin him.

lifting yourself so slowly, feeling every inch of his beautiful cock, humming as you sing back down, with more force.

picking up pace, bouncing so heavenly on his cock, anakins brain cannot think straight. his mouth agape as the only thing falling from it is moans, sweet boy can’t even think straight.

fucking yourself, using anakin as if he was just some fuck toy, he loved it. his hands finding your waist gripping it so hard you’re sure there’ll be bruises. loving the thought of him leaving marks on you drove you to bounce harder wanting to reach your climax.

anakin became frantic, “mommy gonna cum, inside please, fill you up” he’s ranting.

“hold it anakin, not yet” not wanting to lose your own orgasm. fucking your self harder, ignoring his pleas.

anakin cums, cums hard inside you. filling you up, making such a mess. his eyes open wide, “mommy, im so-“

“disobeying mommy, what a bad boy” you say still with his cock buried deep inside you, rocking back and fourth.

“too much mommy” anakin says, lightly pushing you. you hold yourself firm on him, “baby mommy’s not done, mommy wants to cum around your pretty cock. you’ll do that for me right?”

his head shakes, wanting nothing more then to please his beautiful mommy. “yes yes let me make you feel good” you feel his cock twitch inside of you.

you slowly pull off, and lay down at the head of the bed, “come here baby, make me feel good” motioning with your hands.

he climbs on top of you, eager to please, you spread your legs so he fits so perfectly. you nod your head, giving him permission to re-enter you.

he does so with a fast thrust, beginning his relentless pace, wanting nothing more then to make you cum around him. feel as your pussy flutters, squeezing his cock.

“mommy” he rambles, “so good so good”

you’re in bliss, he’s fucking you so good. your husband long forgotten. he’s never made you feel this good, you never knew this much pleasure was possible.

“oh baby, you make mommy feel so good” he moans into the crook of your neck, loving hearing how good he’s doing. making you feel so good. he lives for it.

your close, the way his cock is abusing that spot inside you, has your toes curling. you tell him how close you are, he’s holding out for you, you can tell how he so badly wants, no needs to cum.

“such a dirty boy, fucking his mommy like a bitch in heat” you couldn’t help but toy with him. edging him on.

few more thrusts and he’s coming again, filling you up for a second time.

“ ‘m sorry mommy” anakin says, slowly thrusting into you, not wanting to upset you.

“baby, it’s okay, we can stop-“

“no, need your cum”

he thrusts back into you, cock rock hard.

how does this sweet boy have this much in him, you didn’t question it when he started pounding that one spot, with his hand moving to you clit rubbing it in slow circles.

“ani” you moan out. “please like that”

he just moans as he continues his rapid pace, bringing you to your climax, squeezing down on his cock as your juices spill making a mess of his bed.

his fourth orgasm isn’t long after, chanting about filling you with his cum.

he slumps down on your chest, soft cock still inside.

“such a good boy for mommy, you did so good baby” you say while rubbing circles on his back.

he sits up, and pulls his cock out, watching all his cum ooze out of you. mesmerized in how you squeeze down on nothing.

he takes his finger and pushes his cum back inside of you, leaning his head on your shoulder, “want you pregnant with my baby” he whispers into your ear

who knew he could be so dirty.

he lays next to you, cuddling into your side, arm wrapped around your waist.

“i love you mommy”

you smile, dragging your fingers through his hair, “i love you too baby”

“i made you feel better then my dad?”

“yes, god yes”

you could feel the smirk on your skin, “is this a one time thing?” he asks so shyly. as if he wasn’t just pounding your pussy with such disrespect.

“no baby, you’re mine forever. understand? you’re all mine.”

he smiles, pleased with your response.

“what about dad”

you completely forgot about your husband, what the fuck were you gonna do?? your just fucked your stepson.

his cum still leaking out of you, you realize how fucked you were gonna be.

“guess this has to be our secret, okay?”

anakin nodded, half asleep. absolutely exhausted from his multiple orgasms.

you sighed, pulling the blanket over the two of you, drifting to sleep yourself.

wishing that hopefully, your husband never finds out so you can keep fucking his sweet innocent son.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

a/n :

WOAH

first post, please tell me what you think.

i just love the thought of anakin being so whipped for you, he’s so submissive.

#anakin skywalker #star wars anakin #anakin x reader #anakin smut #sub!anakin #perv!anakin #stepson #stepmom #smut #hayden christensen

430 notes · View notes

luveline · 1 year ago

Text

kisses before dinner —the harrington family gets ready for a dinner party. mom!reader, 3k

"...and I told mommy she needed my help but your mom doesn't like listening to me anymore," Steve says, eyebrows pulled together, "because of that one time I told her the side of the refrigerator was supposed to feel warm and it broke. But I'm usually right."

Wren blinks at him dopily where she lies in the dip of his thighs. Steve has his knees up, back flat on the couch and head propped by a pink fluffy heart pillow from Bethie's bed to speak to her face to face.

"I promise you'll understand when you're older. I'm a genius." He strokes her little forehead. Steve's youngest daughter is too baby to look like anybody, but he's starting to think she looks like him anyway. "And now mom has to run the washing machine again when we were already super duper busy."

"Shut up!" you yell from the kitchen.

Bethie giggles from the same place, seemingly, raising her voice to join in, "Yeah, daddy! Shut up!"

"That's so not nice." Steve shakes his head at Wren in dramatic disbelief. She smiles at him. "Isn't that mean? Don't you think that's sick?"

"You're being a know-it-all again!" you continue. "And we'd be less busy if you were helping me!"

"I'm sick of helping," Steve says conversationally. "I help all day long."

Wren gurgles and lifts one of her hands toward him. Steve holds it in his, rubbing at her palm with a gentle thumb. She totally gets what he's saying, agrees with him no doubt, breathing out heavily as Steve gives her hand a wave up and down.

"Steve," you say, dropping the angry act to pull him in, "please, sweetheart, I really do need your help."

"How am I supposed to say no to that?" Steve whispers. "Does she guilt trip you that way?"

Wren doesn't giggle, but the breathy, happy sound she makes as he crunches forward to kiss her forehead is close enough to make Steve laugh himself. He moves her carefully into the curve of his arm and stands, wishing he could stretch, exhausted by another long week but undeniably happy. "Let's go see what they want," he murmurs to Wren.

You and Bethie are in the kitchen by the stove. She's wearing oven mitts too big for her, and you're crouched behind her offering steady instructions. "Don't touch the sides, my love. Only the baking tray. If it feels warm and you're not happy, tell me, and I'll take it straight away." You wear your own oven gloves.

"I can do it," Beth insists, squaring her features.

Beth takes the baking tray and its cookies into her hands, walking with short steps to the counter, where she slides the tray up high. You lean over her to make sure it's settled before closing the oven and dashing a kiss into her cheek. "Well done, gorgeous girl," you say, scratching lightly at her shoulder as she preens under the praise. "One day you'll be making cookies all by yourself."

"But not for a while?" she asks, startled.

You kiss her again. "Not for a long, long time."

"Did you need my help or my approval?" Steve asks, his hand making a small thump with each pat he taps into Wren's back. "A taste tester, right?"

"I need you to find your other daughters. I have no idea where they are," you say with a rueful smile.

"Okay." Steve has carried babies. He's carried them for years, tiny ones and ones too big to need it, carried nonetheless. But something about Wren in all her newness makes him nervous. He hates carrying her up and down the stairs, too aware of the times he's missed a step or tripped up. "Can you take her?"

"Yes!" Bethie says, running to her unofficial chair at the dining table and holding out her mitted arms as she sits.

You nod at him and take the seat next to her. Steve hands Wren over into her sister's waiting hold, more than confident you're still there to take over if things get overwhelming. Wren looks comically large in Bethie's lap.

"I have her, dad." Beth leans down to touch her nose to Wren's. "Hi, Wren. Hello, hello," she says softly.

Steve gives your cheek a swift but loving stroke and leaves in search of the other kids. He can hear Dove in her room talking to herself in make believe, but Avery, the oldest, isn't with her, nor is she in her bedroom. Steve knocks on the bathroom door.

"Are you in there, Ave?"

No answer. Steve raises his voice. "I'm coming in."

He peeks inside slowly but she's not there. Eyebrows raised, Steve asks, "Avery, where are you?" Nothing. "Avery Harrington, don't make me worry! Please."

He lets his head drift to one side, listening for an answer. Avery rarely gets told off and she hates it; she'd jump to tell him where she was if she were up here.

Or so he thinks. Just as he's taking the stairs again to look for her someplace he must have missed, he hears sniffling coming from the master bedroom.

Idiot, he thinks, relief taking tight hold. He doesn't like not knowing where the girls are. He should've checked your room to begin with.

"Ave?" he says, opening his bedroom door. "You in here?"

"I'm here, dad," she says, peering up from the space between the top of the bed and his nightstand, kneeling on the carpeted floor.

"What are you doing down there? We gotta get ready for Aunt Robin's party."

Her cheeks shine in the slice of light from the open door. Steve closes it behind him and flicks on the big light, rounding the end of the bed to help her up. He hooks his hands under her arms and pulls her into his chest, bed springs creaking as their joined weight lands.

"Why are you crying?" he asks, cuddling her to his front. "What's wrong? Why didn't you come and find me? You can't stay here crying all by yourself, that's not cool. How am I supposed to make it better if I don't know what's wrong?"

"Dove bit me."

Steve gasps. "Again?"

"On my hand, dad." She holds up her wrist. "It hurts."

He presses his cheek to the top of her head, taking her arm tenderly to analyse the bite. It's a nasty thing, not bleeding but cruel and stark. "I'm sorry," he says.

"You said I can't be mean–"

"No, you can't–"

"But it was really mean."

"I know," he murmurs, "but I just don't… we can't be mean to Dove when she bites because she doesn't know it's wrong, okay? She doesn't remember. She knows it's the wrong thing to do, but by the time I tell her she doesn't know what she did." What Steve means is that the first time Dove bit Avery, Avery reacted on impulse and slapped her sister in the stomach. There isn't a bridge yet to connect to Dove why she might have received such a thing (though Steve teaches all the girls that hitting is never okay no matter what), so Dove just thought she was being hit. It was a very tense half hour of tears.

Steve rubs Avery's back as she starts to cry in earnest. "I will tell her not to bite you, honey. I swear, I won't let her be mean to you. I'll tell her until she understands."

He's been trying to teach Dove not to bite, but saying 'no' doesn't seem to do anything. Positive incentives don't last, and taking her toys wouldn't make much sense, because again, she doesn't get it.

"You know," Steve says, wiping her cheeks tenderly, "I'll tell her again and again and again until she stops, and it'll work, because it worked with you."

"What?"

"You used to bite me sometimes, but you used to bite mom all the time."

Avery looks at him in horror. "I did?"

He puts her down onto her feet and takes her hand. He'd like to tell her this story while sitting down, but Robin's house beckons and time is running short. "Mom would come home from work and you'd be very happy to see her, but she would ask you what you did today and where we went and you'd bite her."

He peeks into Dove's room and finds her missing. Downstairs, you say, "No! No, no, babe!" and he assumes she's been found.

"Why would I do that?"

Steve holds her hand buoyed between them as he descends the stairs. "We decided it was because you missed her. When your Dove's age you don't know how to say that. You don't even know what that is. I'm a thousand years old and I don't even know what I'm feeling half the time. So mom stopped hugging you after work for a bit until you calmed down."

"But I don't go to work, dad. Why did Dove bite me?"

"What were you doing?"

"We were playing with Mr Scruffles and the care bears and she just bit me for no reason!"

Steve stops at the bottom of the stairs. "Were you being a bossy boots?"

Avery glares at him. "I just told her to stop taking Funshine bear."

"Well," Steve says, smiling at her in apology, "maybe, next time, you can come and tell me, and then I'll tell her to stop taking Funshine bear, and then when she wants to bite someone she bites me instead of you. That could work, yeah?" He would much prefer it.

Steve takes Avery to the kitchen, where you've transferred Wren into her bassinet while Bethie eats a cookie, her cheeks messy with chocolate, and Dove languishes in your arms, small hands touching your hair curiously.

"Dove, will you look at this?" he asks, showing her Avery's bite mark. "You see that, honey? That's what you did when you bit your sister. We don't bite."

You gasp. "No!" you say, stern but far from cruel. "We don't bite. We only bite when we want to eat something."

Dove frowns.

"When you bite," Steve says, trying to appeal to her smarts. It'll stick eventually. "You give Avery an owie. That's why we can't bite, okay?"

Dove can tell she's being chided even if she doesn't totally get why. "No," she says unhappily.

"Can you say sorry to Avery?" you ask, reassuring her with a gentle squeeze. "Say, I'm sorry, Avery."

"Sorry, Ave'y," she mumbles.

Avery can't glare for long. She doesn't hold a grudge, not like her dad. "It's okay. You didn't mean to."

You beam at Avery like she's hung the moon. "You're so nice, my big girl. Can I have a look at your wrist? Did that hurt?"

Her mother's concern draws fresh tears. You swap children, and Dove quickly forgets what happened as Avery cries in little sniffles on the countertop. Steve brims with a familiar brand of pride as you comfort her, kissing and offering treats to help her feel better. I picked the right one might be applicable, only Steve didn't choose you so much as he happened upon you one day like a miracle, and then begged to keep you. Luckily for him, you've always been very agreeable on that front.

(As in, you love him more than can be said in any one language.)

"What are you upto?" Steve asks Bethie.

She shows him her food-covered hands. He nods like this is awesome, but in reality chocolate stains her t-shirt and she's going to have to change before they leave. Dove rams herself against his leg and looks up with her eyes widened.

"What?" he asks.

"Um…"

"What do you want?" he asks, softer. She starts to frown again. Steve bends. "Drink? Crackers?" No dice. "What about some pear slices?"

Dove loves pears more than anything, the sticky, sugary sliced kind from the can. Her frown disappears and she walks off, thankful to be understood. Steve's just grateful he wasn't bitten.

"What else did you need?" Steve asks, winding around you where you're cleaning Avery's cheeks. A damp washcloth drips down your arm.

"More time. Have any?"

"Wren's bag is done, bottles done, Bethie's dinner." He whispers the last part. Bethie is a picky eater and she grows pickier with time, and Robin knows this, but she's not a parent (as sweet and caring as she might be for the girls). Only something you or Steve have made is something Bethie will deign to eat, and she's insecure about it despite having no reason to be. "Beth needs a new top. Your blouse needs to go in the dryer, and I can't find my nice pants. Avery?"

"I don't need anything."

"You sure? You have Mr Scruffles?"

She wraps her arms around your neck. "Just want a hug."

"Then I guess I'm busy while daddy does all my chores," you tease Steve lightly, your touch similarly soft where it tracks up and down Avery's arm. "I'm sorry Dove bit you again. It's not fair. Not fair at all. Maybe we should only have you playing downstairs until me and dad figure it out, okay? I don't want her to keep taking bits of you."

Steve clears the checklist. Not to brag or anything, but he's a pro. You both are. Life is hectic as always and you knew getting out the door would be a process, so you planned accordingly, and you arrive at Robin's with time to spare, though Dove smells strongly of sugary pears and Bethie's new shirt has fingerprints on the back.

"Hi, crew!" Robin greets. "It's my favourite Harringtons!"

"We're your only Harringtons."

"That's not true, I went to college with a Harrington." Robin ushers the girls inside. They want one thing and one thing alone —hugs. Dove is the most insistent, dropping your hand to offer Robin her arms. She picks the small girl up and smiles at her with a monumental amount of love. Robin doesn't have favourites but Dove demands it, sometimes. Avery says, "Hello, Aunt Robin," and hugs her stomach, while Bethie puts her arm behind Avery and hugs them both.

Steve's arm shakes. "Any chance I can get through? This is a really heavy baby."

"Hi," Robin says, ignoring him without guilt. "You guys are the best part about having a best friend."

Steve logs that one for later revenge and eases around the mass of bodies to take Wren into the living room. "Holy fuck," he says, "I thought you weren't coming?"

Eddie rolls his eyes. "I wanted to see the girls. It has nothing to do with you."

They hug and pat each other on the back, and then Eddie drops to his knees in front of Wren's car seat to smile at her. "I love her so much. Can I have this one? Y'already have so many."

"No you absolutely cannot. Where's Dustin?"

"They're all in the backyard. Mora's teaching them how to make grass flutes, or something."

"How'd you get out of that?"

Eddie shrugs. "She doesn't like me. Doesn't make any sense, goth and metal are like brothers."

"Is she goth? I thought we settled on hippie who wears dark clothing."

"You guys are such losers!" Robin says, like a tree adorned in girl-shaped ornaments. "Don't bitch about Mora."

"Don't swear in front of my kids!"

You, having taken off your shoes and coat, unlike Steve, shimmy around the table. "He said 'fucking bitch' in front of Bethie the other day," you gossip, sitting by your friend's side. Eddie gives you a quick hug. You're undoubtedly his favourite Harrington.

"He's a disgusting man who shouldn't have kids."

You gasp and elbow him. "How dare you."

"Can we go play with Stinky?" Avery asks Robin.

Robin puts Dove down, short hair flying every which way, "If you can find him. But be nice, okay? He's agitated today. Mora says it's something about the supermoon."

Avery laughs and Dove races to follow her sister up the stairs. "Ave, remember what I said, okay?" Steve calls after her. "Come and tell me if she's being bad! And no going in the bathroom!"

Bethie remains, oddly. Though it's obvious why she's stayed the longer she lingers, her gaze flickering between you and Eddie.

He holds his arms out. "Hello, Beth. You want a bro hug?"

Bethie laughs and meanders into his waiting arms, where he pat-pat-pats her back like he did to Steve, eliciting a wave of happy giggles. "You've gotten so big again!" Eddie says, moving her away kindly. "Woah!"

"I'm glad people have stopped saying that to me," you joke.

Steve's delighted, laughing loud and sudden, and you're always pleased to have made him laugh, practically collapsing in his direction. He pulls at you until you're arm's reach.

"What does that mean, Eddie?" Bethie whispers.

Eddie pulls her into his lap. "It means your mom is happy about baby Wren being born."

"I'm really happy too."

"I bet you are! Your dad told me you're like his little helper, is that true?"

Steve turns into your cheek. A quick stolen moment before he kisses under your ear and pulls away. "Wow," he says, smiling at you, "could we, like, actually have a conversation right now? A full one?"

You beam. "What do you wanna talk about?"

Steve could happily talk about everything and nothing with you. Before bed you guys are usually tired but excited enough to be alone together that you'll talk about the colour of the new dish soap or Avery's broken pinky nail. "Seen any good movies lately?"

You give him the look. He practically invented it, that sticky, gooey eyed love as you murmur, "Mm, no. Don't think so. How about you?"

He leans in for a kiss.

"Yikes," Eddie says, covering a giggling Bethie's eyes with his hands. "Robin, house rules, please!"

Steve drops his arms heavily over your shoulders for a warm hug. "He's just jealous," he whispers.

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blog-o-meter · 5 days ago

Text

Balcony Daydreams - Nicholas Alexander Chavez x fem!reader

summary: (Y/N) ogles her neighbor, Nicholas, as he mows his yard in the July heat and offers him a glass of lemonade.

warnings: 18+, unprotected p in v

required listening: West Coast by Lana Del Rey

word count: 4, 350

a/n: I’ve had west coast on repeat and then they dropped that photo of Nicholas and I HAD to write this

reblogs, likes, and replies are greatly appreciated and let me know if you'd like to see more!

The humid July air was heavy with the scent of freshly cut grass, the low drone of the lawnmower blending with the distant chirp of cicadas. From my balcony, I watched as my neighbor Nicholas worked below, completely in his element.

He wore a fitted white tank top that clung to his broad back, streaked with flecks of grass and dirt, the evidence of his labor etched into the fabric. The way his shoulders moved — strong, deliberate, fluid — held me captive in a way I couldn’t quite justify. His hair was damp, curling slightly at the nape of his neck, the sun catching in its messy waves.

He paused for a moment, resting his hands on the mower’s handle as he gazed over the yard, his back still turned to me. The lines of his muscles were sharp under the tight stretch of his shirt, the faint outline of his shoulder blades shifting as he breathed deeply. A silver chain caught the light against his tan skin, sitting just at the curve of his neck, and I found myself wondering who had given it to him — or if it was something he wore for himself, a quiet, unspoken piece of who he was.

The heat of the day had painted a sheen of sweat along his arms, making his skin almost luminous. He reached up to swipe his forearm across his forehead, muscles flexing with the motion, and I had to grip the edge of my chair to stop myself from staring too long. But even as I told myself to look away, my eyes betrayed me, roaming over the way his shirt clung to his frame and the subtle, careless smudges of dirt on his skin.

The air seemed heavier with him out there, as though his presence alone had turned up the heat by a few degrees. My heart beat a little faster, a soft ache settling in my chest at the sheer effortlessness of him. I romanticized him without permission — this quiet moment of his, as though he were a character written into the script of my life just for me to observe. Nicholas, my too-good-to-be-true neighbor, the kind of man who moved through life like it was his own stage, unknowingly drawing all the light toward him.

And then, as though he could feel the weight of my gaze, he glanced up. My breath caught. His dark brown eyes lifted to meet mine, and even from a distance, the spark of recognition was unmistakable. For a second, I thought I might’ve imagined the way his lips curved into a crooked smile, soft yet teasing, but the heat rising to my cheeks told me otherwise.

Caught, I froze, clutching my glass of lemonade tighter than necessary. I thought he might say something, but instead, Nicholas ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, turned back to the mower, and kept going. That smile lingered, though, etched in my mind like a secret meant just for me.

The moment stretched as I sat there, trying to collect myself. His smile — crooked, teasing, like he knew what I was thinking — had set every nerve in my body alight. I swallowed hard, willing myself to calm down, but the next thing I knew, I was on my feet, grabbing the pitcher of lemonade I’d made. My hands trembled slightly as I poured a glass, the ice clinking against the sides.

I didn’t let myself overthink it. Before I could talk myself out of it, I stepped off the balcony, down the stairs, and across my yard toward him.

Nicholas had just finished another pass with the mower, his movements slowing as he noticed me approaching. His brows lifted slightly in surprise, and then that same lazy grin spread across his face. God, he was dangerous like that — so at ease, like he had all the time in the world and I was the only thing worth focusing on.

“Thought you might want a break,” I said, holding out the glass to him over the short white picket fence separating our yards. My voice sounded steady, but inside, my pulse was a riot.

He switched off the mower, leaning against it casually as he reached for the glass. “Well, aren’t you sweet?” he said, his slightly raspy voice wrapping around the words. His fingers brushed mine as he took the glass, and even that small contact sent a jolt straight through me.

Nicholas took a long sip, his throat working as he swallowed. A bead of condensation slipped down the side of the glass, mirroring the drop of sweat trailing down his neck. I forced myself not to stare, but he didn’t make it easy. When he finished, he let out a satisfied sigh, holding the glass up in a mock toast. “Best lemonade I’ve ever had.”

“Flatterer,” I teased, though my voice was softer than I’d intended. He chuckled, setting the glass down on the mower before turning those dark brown eyes back to me. Up close, they were even more mesmerizing — warm, rich, and impossibly intense, like he could see right through me.

“Seriously,” he said, his tone dropping, quieter now. “Thanks for this. I owe you.”

I shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Just being neighborly.”

His grin widened, and he stepped a little closer, closing the already small space between us. “Neighborly, huh?” His voice was teasing, but there was a heat in his gaze now, something heavier, more deliberate. “That why you’ve been watching me from your balcony all afternoon?”

I froze, the blush spreading from my cheeks all the way down my neck. “I wasn’t—”

“You were,” he interrupted, his smile softening. “It’s okay, baby. I don’t mind.”

The way he said it — baby — with just the faintest edge of amusement, sent a shiver through me. My breath hitched as he reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair away from my face. His hand lingered, his fingers just barely grazing my cheek, and I couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but stand there and fall apart under his touch.

“Tell me if I’m wrong,” he murmured, his voice low, almost a growl. His eyes searched mine, waiting, giving me an out.

But I didn’t want an out.

“You’re not wrong,” I whispered.

That was all he needed.

Nicholas closed the distance between us, his lips crashing against mine in a kiss that was anything but tentative. His hands found my waist, pulling me against him, and I melted into him, my fingers gripping the fabric of his tank top as if I needed to hold on or risk losing myself entirely. He tasted like lemonade and something darker, headier, and I was dizzy with it, drunk on the way he made me feel.

He broke the kiss just long enough to murmur, “Inside?”

I nodded, breathless, and he crossed the picket fence over to my side. I took him by the hand, leading him toward the door of my house. The mower, the heat, the rest of the world — all of it faded as we stepped inside, the cool air of the kitchen doing little to calm the fire building between us.

Nicholas didn’t waste any time. The second the door shut behind us, he spun me around, pressing me against it as his lips found mine again. This time, the kiss was slower, deeper, his hands roaming my sides as though he wanted to memorize every inch of me. His touch was firm yet careful, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of my shirt to trace the bare skin of my waist.

“You’ve been driving me crazy, you know that?” he muttered against my lips, his voice thick with want. “Sitting up there, looking so damn perfect…”

I couldn’t help but laugh softly, the sound catching in my throat as his lips moved to my neck. “I wasn’t trying to…”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, his teeth grazing my skin in a way that made my knees weak. “You did.”

My protests dissolved into a gasp as he lifted me effortlessly, setting me on the counter. His hands splayed on my thighs, spreading warmth everywhere they touched, and I was gone — completely and utterly his.

The cool marble of the counter was a sharp contrast to the heat of his touch, but it only heightened the sensation, grounding me in the moment. Nicholas stood between my legs, his hands sliding up my thighs with deliberate slowness, his thumbs brushing against the hem of my dress. He paused there, his eyes dark with intent as he looked at me, waiting for a sign to keep going.

I leaned forward, threading my fingers through his messy, damp hair and pulling him closer. That was all he needed. His lips claimed mine again, hungrier this time, his kiss searing and unapologetic. He tasted like summer, sweet and heady, and I couldn’t get enough. My hands trailed down his back, feeling the way his muscles shifted beneath my touch, still warm and slick from the sun. He groaned softly at the contact, his fingers gripping my waist tighter as though he couldn’t get close enough.

The kitchen was bathed in golden light, the curtains billowing softly in the warm breeze. Outside, the world went on — the cicadas still sang, the sun still shone — but inside, time seemed to stop, the two of us lost in this perfect, reckless moment.

Nicholas tugged at the hem of my dress, his fingertips brushing the bare skin of my thighs. “Is this okay?” he asked, his voice low and rough, his dark eyes searching mine.

“Yes,” I breathed, nodding, my heart hammering in my chest. “Yes.”

His hands moved with more certainty then, sliding the fabric higher until it pooled around my hips. His gaze roamed over me, lingering just long enough to make my cheeks flush, but he didn’t give me time to feel self-conscious. He leaned in, his lips trailing down my jaw and along my neck, leaving a path of fire in their wake. Every kiss, every touch was deliberate, like he was savoring me, like he’d been waiting for this moment as long as I had.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice a soft rumble that sent shivers down my spine.

I couldn’t think, couldn’t speak — all I could do was feel. The press of his body against mine, the heat of his breath on my skin, the way his lips curved into a satisfied smile against my collarbone when he found the spot that made me gasp.

Nicholas’s hands were firm, calloused from his work, their roughness dragging against the soft skin of my thighs. His tank top, streaked with dirt and sweat, clung to his body as if it were a second skin, and I couldn’t stop myself from running my hands up under the fabric, exploring the planes of his back. He was hot to the touch, his muscles taut and shifting beneath my fingertips as though he’d been built for this — for me.

He growled low in his throat when I traced my nails lightly down his spine, his body reacting instinctively. His lips crashed against mine again, demanding and fervent, and I met him with the same hunger, clutching him to me like he might disappear if I let go. The faint, salty tang of sweat on his skin only added to the overwhelming heat between us. It was intoxicating, dizzying, and I wanted more.

The tension in the room was electric, the sticky summer heat still clinging to both of us even in the cool air of the kitchen. Nicholas pressed me harder against the counter, his hands roaming over me as though he couldn’t decide where to touch next. When his lips left mine to trail along my jaw and down my neck, I gasped, my head tilting back to give him better access. His breath was hot against my skin, and I shivered at the contrast of it against the cool sweat still drying on my chest.

I pulled him closer, my nails digging into his shoulders as he worked his way back up to my lips. “Nicholas…” I whispered his name, and he answered with a kiss that stole my breath away.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting this,” he murmured against the hollow of my throat, his voice rough and unsteady, like he was barely holding himself together. His teeth grazed the delicate skin there, and I let out a soft cry, my hands tangling in his damp hair.

“Then stop holding back,” I whispered, the words spilling out before I could stop them. My voice was breathless, trembling, but I didn’t care. I wanted him to know how badly I needed him, how much I had craved this moment.

His head snapped up, his dark brown eyes locking onto mine. They were heavy-lidded with desire, but there was a flicker of amusement there too, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. “Careful, baby,” he warned, his voice low and teasing, but the heat in his gaze told me he’d taken my words as a challenge. “I might just take you up on that.”

Before I could respond, his hands gripped my hips, tugging me closer to the edge of the counter. My legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, pulling him against me, and I felt the hard lines of his body press into mine. There was no space left between us now, only the unbearable heat and friction as his hands slid under my thighs to lift me effortlessly.

He carried me like I weighed nothing, his strength undeniable and utterly captivating. The sweaty tank top clung to him, streaked with green smudges from the freshly cut grass, the dirt on his skin rubbing off onto mine. I didn’t care — it only made the moment more real, more raw.

Nicholas set me down on the kitchen table, his lips finding mine again with a hunger that matched the storm building between us. My hands roamed over his chest, pushing up the hem of his tank top until I finally peeled it off of him. His skin was slick with sweat, the salty tang of it lingering on my lips as I kissed my way down his neck and across his collarbone. My fingers traced the outline of the faint tan line where his chain rested, and I couldn’t stop myself from tugging him closer, greedy for every inch of him.

“You’re making a mess,” I teased breathlessly, glancing at the streaks of dirt and grass clinging to his skin, now smeared across my thighs and the edge of the table.

Nicholas smirked, his hands gripping my waist. “You complaining?” he shot back as he fiddled with the button of his grass-stained jeans, his voice low and gravelly, the heat in his gaze making my stomach flip.

“Not even a little,” I murmured, the words slipping out before I could think. My chest heaved as I tried to catch my breath, but Nicholas wasn’t giving me a moment’s reprieve. His smirk deepened, and with one smooth motion, he pulled his sweat-soaked tank top over his head and tossed it onto the floor.

The sight of him made my heart stutter. His body, glistening with sweat, was a masterpiece — all defined muscle and raw power, streaked with dirt and flecks of grass from his work outside. The chain around his neck gleamed in the golden light streaming through the kitchen window, and I couldn’t stop my eyes from trailing down, taking in every line, every shadow, every inch of him.

“Like what you see?” he teased, his voice low and gravelly, as he stepped closer, his hands finding my thighs again. His thumbs brushed over the dirt-streaked skin there, his touch deliberate and almost possessive.

“Maybe,” I managed to reply, though my voice betrayed just how much he had me unraveled.

“Maybe?” he echoed, his dark brown eyes locking onto mine as his fingers tightened their grip on my legs, pulling me closer to the edge of the table. “Baby, don’t kid yourself.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but his lips were on mine before I could form a word, silencing any protest. His kiss was intense, his hands gripping my hips to keep me in place as he pressed himself against me, his bare chest warm and damp from the sun. The faint, salty tang of his sweat mingled with the taste of lemonade still on my lips, and I couldn’t hold back the soft moan that escaped me.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmured against my mouth, his voice thick with satisfaction. His hands slid higher, fingers curling around the hem of my dress. The fabric bunched under his grip, and he pulled it higher, his knuckles grazing my skin as he exposed more of me.

The tension in the air was suffocating, the heat between us impossible to ignore. My fingers tangled in his messy, damp hair, pulling him closer as he trailed kisses down my neck, the faint patches of stubble scratching deliciously against my skin. I could feel the strength in his body, the way his muscles flexed as he lifted me slightly, adjusting me against him like I weighed nothing at all. The wood creaked faintly beneath my weight, but neither of us paid it any mind. My legs tightened around his waist, pulling him flush against me, and his lips claimed mine again, heated and unrelenting.

The sweat on his skin mixed with the streaks of dirt that clung to both of us, smearing against the table as he leaned over me. His chain dangled just above my chest, catching the fading sunlight that poured through the window. My fingers curled around it, tugging him closer, and a low growl escaped from deep in his throat, vibrating against my lips.

“Nicholas,” I murmured, his name falling from my lips like a plea. He pulled back slightly, just enough to meet my gaze, his dark brown eyes heavy-lidded with desire. There was a teasing glint in them, but also something more — something raw and unspoken.

“You like saying my name, don’t you?” he muttered, his voice rough, a husky edge of amusement threading through it. His hands trailed up my thighs, slow and deliberate, spreading warmth everywhere they touched. “Say it again.”

“Nicholas,” I whispered, my breath hitching as his hands moved higher, his fingers skimming the sensitive skin just beneath the hem of my dress, tugging my underwear down and letting it fall at my ankles.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his lips finding the hollow of my throat as his hands splayed against my hips, holding me firmly in place. The way he touched me, with a mix of roughness and care, sent a jolt straight through me, igniting every nerve in my body. I arched into him, my nails dragging down his back, leaving faint, deliberate marks against his sweat-slicked skin.

His mouth moved lower, leaving a trail of fire along my collarbone and down the curve of my neck. Each kiss, each graze of his teeth, felt like a carefully placed spark, threatening to consume me entirely. My hands tangled in his messy, damp hair, tugging him closer as his name slipped from my lips again, softer this time, almost a sigh.

His hands gripped my waist as he finally undid the zipper of his pants and pulled the layers of fabric down, pulling me further toward the edge of the table until there was nothing but him holding me steady. I couldn’t form words; all I could do was feel — feel the strength in his arms as he steadied me, feel the heat of his body pressed against mine, feel the way every inch of him seemed to mold to me like we were meant for this, for each other.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he said, his tone softer now, his lips brushing against my ear as his hands held me in place. “I don’t want to—”

“It’s not,” I interrupted, breathless and trembling beneath his touch. My voice was shaky but certain. “It’s not too much.”

That was all he needed. Nicholas’s mouth covered mine again, deeper this time, more consuming. His hands gripped my hips tightly, his fingers digging into my skin just enough to anchor me to him as he slipped his length inside me and started to move against me, his body strong and deliberate. The dining table creaked beneath us, the sound blending with our gasps and the faint hum of cicadas outside.

Time blurred, each moment stretching into the next, until all I knew was him — his heat, his strength, the way he whispered my name like it was something sacred. My head fell back, and his lips found the curve of my jaw.

The tension built steadily, each movement more deliberate than the last. Nicholas’s hands gripped my hips firmly, guiding me against him as though we were moving to a rhythm only the two of us could hear. His lips trailed along my neck, his stubble scraping my skin just enough to heighten every sensation. I gasped, my fingers digging into the slick, sweat-dampened muscles of his back as he filled me completely, each motion driving me closer to the edge.

“God,” he murmured, his voice rough and ragged, his forehead pressing against mine as he paused for a moment to catch his breath. His chain grazed my skin, cool against the heat of our bodies, and I couldn’t stop myself from tugging him closer, desperate to feel every inch of him.

“Don’t stop,” I whispered, my voice trembling as I wrapped my legs tighter around his waist. The words spilled out before I could think, unfiltered and needy, but I didn’t care. All I wanted was him—closer, deeper, more. “Please.”

Nicholas’s dark eyes met mine, and the way he looked at me made my breath catch. His lips curved into a crooked grin, and he pressed a kiss to my temple before murmuring, “I wasn’t planning to.”

He shifted slightly, changing the angle, and I cried out, my back arching off the table as a wave of pleasure crashed through me. His hands gripped my thighs, holding me steady as he moved again, slower this time, deliberate in the way he pressed into me. The table creaked beneath us louder, the sound barely registering over the pounding of my heart and the soft moans spilling from my lips.

The sunlight filtering through the window painted golden patterns across his skin, accentuating the way his muscles flexed with every movement. His chest rose and fell with labored breaths, a thin sheen of sweat making his tan skin glisten. The faint streaks of dirt and grass on his arms and shoulders transferred onto my skin, grounding me in the reality of him.

“Look at me,” he whispered, his voice low and rough as his hands slid up to cup my face. His thumbs brushed gently against my cheeks, a stark contrast to the intensity of his movements. “I want to see you.”

I opened my eyes, meeting his gaze, and the raw emotion I saw there — the hunger, the need, the unspoken connection between us — was enough to send me spiraling. My hands slid up his arms, gripping his shoulders as I gave in completely, letting him take me higher and higher.

“Nicholas,” I gasped, his name falling from my lips like a prayer. He groaned softly in response, his head dipping to press a kiss to the hollow of my throat as his pace quickened, the tension between us reaching its breaking point.

“God, you feel so good,” he muttered against my skin, his voice thick with need. His hands gripped my waist tightly, anchoring me to him as he thrust into me, his movements growing more desperate.

My world narrowed to the feel of him, the heat of his body against mine, the way his voice wrapped around me like a tether. The tension coiled tighter and tighter, the edge drawing nearer with every deliberate motion until finally, the world seemed to shatter around us.

My body arched against his, a broken moan spilling from my lips as the pleasure overtook me, wave after wave crashing through me. Nicholas followed moments later, his grip on my hips tightening as he buried his face in the crook of my neck, a low, guttural sound escaping him as he came undone. My fingers clung to his shoulders, my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath, and he warm breath brushed against my skin.

For a long moment, neither of us moved, the soft hum of the cicadas and the faint rustle of the curtains the only sounds filling the space around us. His hands slid up my sides, gentler now, and he pressed a soft kiss to my shoulder, his lips lingering there like he wasn’t quite ready to let go.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice quieter now, almost tender.

“Yeah,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper as I nodded, my fingers still tangled in his hair.

He leaned back slightly, just enough to look at me, and the crooked grin I’d come to know so well spread across his face. “Good,” he said, his voice still low, though there was a playful edge to it now. He reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face, his thumb lingering against my cheek.

“Anytime you need me to come over and mow your lawn…” He paused, his grin widening as his dark brown eyes flicked down to my lips before meeting mine again. “You just let me know, baby.”

I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped me, soft and breathless, as I shook my head. “I think I’ll take you up on that,” I said, my voice teasing but full of promise.

“I’ll be waiting,” he said, leaning in to press one last kiss to my lips, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to make sure I’d remember it.

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chancloud8 · 1 day ago

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Christmas Love

Pairing: bf!skz x reader Tags: fluff, sugestive ~ gift giving based on this fake texts smau

part 1: chan, hyunjin, jisung, changbin

Bang Chan - Red Lacy Lingerie

It's Christmas eve and you're waiting for your boyfriend to drag himself away from his home studio. You're hoping the delicious smell of your home cooked dinner will lure him down as well as the promise of finally getting his present.

It doesn't take long before you hear his footsteps coming down the stairs and you quickly get up from the couch and straighten the fabric of your black dress.

'Something smells amazing, baby,' Chan says from the hallway, making you smile.

When he walks into the living room your breath catches in your throat. He looks absolutely mouth watering in his black slacks and white button up. The sleeves are rolled up to show off his strong arms and the fabric is tight around his biceps and shoulders.

'Don't you look delicious,' you tease, letting your eyes wander over his frame.

Chan doesn't seem to hear you, his eyes fixated on your body where your little black dress hugs every curve. You purposely chose a dress with a very low neckline too, showing off not only the swell of your breast, but also a peek of red lace from your bra, the one you get especially for him.

'Like what you see, honey?' You giggle, stepping closer to him.

He snaps out of it when your hands touch his chest and he lets out a noise that sounds suspiciously like a moan. A bit like the background noises on his new song Railway.

'God, you look like a dream,' he mutters, his hands coming up to touch your sides.

'Says you,' you smile, standing on your tippy toes to press a sweet kiss to his lips.

Chan immediately pulls you closer to his body, his big hands moving from your side to you back and then down to your ass.

'Do I get to open my present before or after dinner?' He asks, gliding his nose down to your neck until his lips reach your collarbone, leaving a trail of kisses as he goes.

You arch your back, pressing your chest against his own while interlocking your arms around his neck.

'Hmm since the present is me in nothing but my lacy red lingerie,' you muse in a whisper.

Chan looks up at you with big hopeful eyes, a smirk already on his lips.

'Yeah, I think after dinner,' you say, giving him your sweetest smile before letting go of him.

Chan's mouth drops open and for a moment he just stands there, but just when you're about to sit down at the table, he grabs your wrist and pulls you back.

'Chan!' You squeal as he lifts you up and throws you over his shoulder.

He just slaps your ass and moves towards the chair.

'Dinner will have to wait babygirl, I'm starving for something different.'

Hyunjin - Paint

'Uhm baby?' You call out for your boyfriend, your eyes on the enormous pile of gifts underneath the Christmas tree.

You've only left him alone for an hour and a half to deliver home baked goodies and some presents for the children to the community center in town, while he cooked dinner.

'Yes, love?' Hyunjin walks into the living room with two glasses of wine in his hands.

'What happened here?' You ask, gesturing to the presents underneath the tree.

'I finally wrapped my present for you,' Hyunjin smiles, handing you a glass and pressing a kiss on your cheek before moving to sit on the couch. 'Why? Is something wrong?'

You snort and take a sip of wine. 'You don't think you went a little overboard?'

Hyunjin lets out a dramatic gasp and he clutches his chest with his free hand.

'Are you saying I can't spoil my lovely girlfriend for Christmas?'

Rolling your eyes you sit down next to him, pulling up your knees to get comfortable. Your dress hitches up a bit when you move and Hyunjin glances at the exposed skin before taking a big sip of his wine.

'If I remember correctly, you told me you wanted to have a painting date,' he says, setting down his glass. 'I just got everything I thought we needed for that.'

'So the whole arts and crafts store?' You giggle, once more gesturing to the mountain of presents.

Hyunjin pouts at you and you can't help but lean forward to kiss his soft and pouty lips. When you pull back his eyes are still closed and he smiles.

'Okay, okay, let's see what you got,' you say, quickly stealing one more kiss.

Hyunjin gets up excitedly and for the next hour you unpack dozens of art supplies. The ground is covered in wrapping paper, multiple sketching books, paintbrushes, pencils, different kinds of paint and literally everything you could ever want if you're into art.

‘I might have gone a little overboard,’ Hyunjin admits when you unwrap the last present.

‘You think so?’ you giggle, adding the small canvas to the pile of other supplies. ‘I really love it though, baby.’

‘Yeah?’ Hyunjin looks up to you from under his eyelashes.

‘Mhm,’ you nod, crawling through the wrapping paper to sit on his lap. ‘Very much.’

Hyunjin wraps his arms around you and nuzzles his face into your neck.

‘What about your gift to me?’ he asks, his lips tickling against the skin of your neck as he talks. ‘Am I getting it tonight or do I have to wait till tomorrow?’

‘Whenever you want, as long as I get to paint you naked too afterwards.’

Jisung - Hats and a surprise guest

‘My lady,’ Jisung holds out his hand to you. ‘May I have this dance.’

Giggling you accept and let him pull you up from your spot on the floor where you’ve just been exchanging presents.

‘Of course, good sir,’ you say in a funny voice, curtsying.

Jisung pulls you into a makeshift ballroom hold and the two of you twirl around the living room in a fit of giggles while your christmas playlist softly plays in the background.

‘Thank you for my presents, baby,’ Jisung whispers in your ear when you slow down the twirling and just sway in each other's arms for a bit. ‘I love my new hat and guitar picks.’

You pull back a little to look at him. ‘What if I said I have one more gift for you?’

Jisung tilts his head in curiosity. ‘You do?’

‘Mhm,’ you hum and lean forward to press a kiss on the tip of his nose. ‘I do.’

‘Well, what is it?’

Just then, the doorbell rings and you mentally clap Minho on the back for his impeccable timing.

‘Let’s go see, shall we,’ you smile, interlacing your fingers with Jisungs to pull him with you to the front door.

‘Is that my gift?’ Jisung squeals, excitement clear in his voice.

You open the door to reveal Minho. He’s bundled up in a red Christmas sweater, a santa hat and around his neck he’s wearing a golden scarf that’s covered in twinkling lights.

‘Hyung!’ Jisung calls out in surprise. ‘What are you doing here?’

Minho rolls his eyes at him. ‘I believe I’m part of your Christmas gift, Jagi.’

‘You are?’ Jisung looks between you and Minho with big eyes, a smile already curling on his lips.

‘Yes, baby, now let the man in,’ you chuckle, stepping back to make room for Minho.

Jisung immediately clings onto Minho’s arm and drags him into the living room to show him his presents. Minho just lets him, kicking off his shoes as he walks and sending you an apologetic look when they hit you in the shin.

The rest of the evening is spent drinking hot chocolate with marshmallows, playing games, dancing around the living room and just genuinely enjoying each other’s company.

‘This is the best,’ Jisung says when the three of you cuddle up on the couch after another random dance party. ‘Thank you, baby.’

You smile up at him and he presses a kiss on your forehead before turning to Minho on his other side and doing the same.

‘And thank you as well my other baby.’

Changbin - Gymdate & Blueberry muffins

Being at the gym on Christmas day was not how you ever thought you’d spent the holiday, but here you are, dressed in dark green yoga pants and a sports bra.

‘You better appreciate this gift, babe,’ you pant at Changbin as you run next to him on the treadmill to warm up.

Your boyfriend lets his eyes travel up and down your body and grins at you. ‘I already do and we only just got started.’

You groan and make a face at him, already hating yourself for agreeing to this. You loathe working out. Thank god you brought your homemade blueberry muffins to the gym with you, so the minute you get out of the shower you get to have a reward.

‘Come on baby, let’s move to the mats,’ Changbin says after ten more minutes of torture on the treadmil.

You’re already sweating, your hair is sticking to your neck and you know your face must be red as well. Changbin doesn’t seem to care, he simply holds out his hand for you and leads you over to the corner of the gym where the mats are.

‘Lay down for me, we’ll start with some crunches,’

‘I really hate you,’ you mumble, getting down on your knees to get in position.

Changbin stops you then, his fingers wrapping around your wrist. You look up at him in confusion. He must know by now that you could never hate him, no matter how much he kicked your ass in the gym.

‘Baby, you know you don’t have to do this for me, right?’ he asks softly, his other hand comes up to wipe a loose strand of hair out of your face. ‘I won’t mind if you sit in the lounge or we can even go home.’

Gosh, he’s the sweetest boyfriend in the world.

‘I’m not going anywhere, I committed to this and I want to work out together,’ you say cupping his face. ‘No matter how much I curse at you.’

He chuckles and leans into your touch. ‘If you’re sure?’

You nod and lean forward to kiss him, his lips soft and gentle under yours.

‘Besides, there’s blueberry muffins waiting for us when we’re done,’ you say when you pull back.

‘Well, you better get down on your back then,’ Changbin laughs, motioning to the mat.

‘Oh I will,’ you wiggle your eyebrows. ‘And I might again when we get home.’

Changbin abruptly gets up then, hoisting you up with him like you weigh nothing at all. He lifts you in his arms and folds your legs around his waist so you cling onto his torso like a koala.

‘Binnie,’ you laugh. ‘I thought we were doing exercises on the mat.’

‘Nope, not anymore. I know a much better workout we can do together from the comfort of our own home,’ Changbin grins, his hands moving to squeeze your butt.

‘But what about–,’ you start to argue, but Changbin is already walking towards the locker rooms.

a/n: MERRY CHRISTMAS! this was soooo much fun to write! I hope you enjoyed this little fluffy chirstmas gift from me to you hehe <3 part 2 with felix, minho, seungmin and jeongin will be up tomorrow hopefully! taglist: @jaeminie-cricket @jeonginsbaee @staylovesmiley @newbbystay @cashtonsbetch @mariahxrrera @kaleigh-2002 @silencionyx @smileykiddie08 @my-neurodivergent-world @yaorzu-blog @yoongiismylove2018 @staytinyluv @bookswillfindyouaway @queen-thiccness @notastraykid @ateez-atiny380 @estella-novella @furfoxsake22 @hyunjinhoexxx @insomnjen @hannahisnotblue @vivilovesuu @velvetmoonlght @skz8love @corgilover20 @littlelostdemonofthelight @stephanieeeyang @zulie-and-cats @chanshugsaretherapy @pizzalove5000

#stray kids fanfic #stray kids x reader #bf!skz #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #bang chan x reader #hyunjin x reader #jisung x reader #changbin x reader #stray kids fluff #stray kids christmas #chancloud8 writes

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peggyao3 · 6 months ago

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Night Crawler - Pt. 2

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x f!reader / can be read as OC

SUMMARY: Feyd's companion is forced to witness an unfair spectacle and utilizes the means he gave to her to sway the situation.

WORD COUNT: 2,341

TAGS: 18+, smut, graphic descriptions of violence, lactation kink 🍼‼️, pseudo pregnancy, breastfeeding (no baby involved only a big sexy egg man), public breastfeeding, public sex ❗, subby Feyd, she/her reader, AFAB reader, ambiguous relationship status, non-consenting drug use, dark undertones, stockholm syndrome-ish, dubious consent, vaginal sex

Reposted from my Ao3 💕| Masterlist under construction ⚠️

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Part 1, Part 2 ↓, Part 3

The human head lands wetly on the stairs and rolls down with a thud thud thud until it comes to rest by the knees of the next supplicant, a middle aged man with thin lips whose muscles are so tense, a vein coils visibly around the curve of his bald head.

“Next!” Feyd-Rautha inspects the blade of his kukri; the edge has lost some of its sharpness in the past hour after splintering spine after spine. Servants scurry by quickly and grab the corpse by the armpits to drag it to the pile where a dozen already lie.

Meanwhile, Feyd’s companion hovers invisibly behind the na-Baron’s chair, observing this unjust spectacle of slaughter. This audience with the na-Baron is a farce. These people walked in the court room thinking they have a fair chance, but the entire function is a killing game. The only who live are those who will die anyway, no matter if their request is granted or not.

“Lord na-Baron.” The thin-lipped man kneels and his badly tailored suit wrinkles around his back. “I am here to humbly request… P-Paid leave from the factory. O-Only for two months, na-Baron.”

“Hmm.” Feyd pretends to ponder and a wave of cautious laughter rolls through the spectators, noblemen and women who draw amusement from the na-Baron’s cruel judgment of the poorer folk. “And what kind of factory would that be, civilian?”

“Bhergshimar Corps, Lord na-Baron. We p-produce supplements for medical products”

“So what do you do there? Stir up some ointments? Is that too hard of a job for you?” More laughter swells in the stands of spectators who are lined up against the walls of the elongated court chamber, framing a corridor of hubris around the waiting line of supplicants.

Feyd’s companion regards the scene with growing unease and sickness in her chest that has nothing to do with her condition. She holds her slightly distended stomach which is a product of the amniotic fluids that gather in her womb despite carrying nothing in there. Another side effect of the drug the Harkonnen Suk Doctor injects her frequently upon Feyd-Rautha’s wish. The faux condition serves no purpose besides his pleasure.

The quivering man elaborates: “C-Certainly not, Lord na-Baron! I would never ask if it weren’t necessary and I haven’t taken a single holiday for the past twenty years, except for your Holy Birthday, of course. I’m a diligent worker. But now my wife has fallen ill and I-” The man struggles for words.

“How touching,” the na-Baron sneers and tightens his grip around the kukri handle. His companion quietly shakes her head. Feyd-Rautha is a megalomaniac child, playfully cruel. Empathy could never find a grip on his black, slippery heart. An evil soul beyond redemption.

A trickle of warm blood from the corpse pile at the top runs steadily down the stairs and suddenly touches her bare foot. Disgusted, she pulls her toes away, ankle-length skirts swishing. Bile rises in her throat and she cannot suppress the retching sound as she presses a hand further up on her stomach. Feyd turns in his throne-like chair and regards her scrutinizingly, a tilt to his pale head.

“Are you unwell, my darling?”

A rustle rolls through the crowd and every gaze is set on her, one hundred and fifty pairs of coal-black eyes in white-skinned alien skulls. She takes a deep, shaky breath that lifts her plump bosom. Feyd’s gaze dips to her cleavage and a dreamy filter settles over his eyes for but a moment.

“Actually, I am.” She tries to lower her voice to a whisper, but the silence renders the court room into something of an echo chamber.

“What’s wrong?”

“I-” She must tread carefully. He brings her to these court hearings to teach her something about politics and she knows he enjoys the horror in her eyes. Her dread will be no sufficient reason to make him stop. For a second, she meets the pleading gaze of the thin-lipped man. Sweat glistens on his forehead and his fingers are twisted into his palms. She makes the decision then, and it is surprisingly easy. “It has to do with my condition, my Lord.”

Feyd’s ears perk up and he scans her all over. “Would you like to sit?” The crowd whispers and stirs.

“I would… appreciate it.

“Come here then.” Feyd-Rautha reaches out his hand and she feels the callouses on his palms when she takes it, letting him guide her around the chair and between his legs which he spreads so she can sit on his thigh and lean her side against his chest. “Don’t be shy,” he whispers quietly in her ear and a shiver rolls down her spine. “Get used to the view.”

She settles in his lap, controlling the cringe that creeps up her skeleton when Feyd’s arm slides around her waist and he rubs over her slightly distended belly.

“Now back to you, pathetic civilian.” The na-Baron sneers with midnight teeth. He has shifted the blade to his non-dominant hand, as the dominant one is splayed over her stomach. The poor man’s face pales with dread and he glances at the woman like she is his only hope. His fear hangs over them both like a suffocating veil and she takes a shaky breath.

“Actually, Feyd…?” She whispers quietly to the na-Baron whose gaze sways back to her, a wary edge to his jaws and eyes which can look so pretty in the right light. “I’m so uncomfortable.” She glances down at her own breasts. She doesn’t ask him often. Most of the time it is he who takes, he who crawls over her body and nips at her from ankles to chest until his lips latch around her nipple, no matter if she wants it.

Naturally, his plump lips part at her suggestion and his lashes cast long shadows down his pale cheeks as they lower.

“Now?” He presses his lips back together, briefly glancing towards the spectators. Distinctly, she feels his cock hardening against her thigh.

“Yes. Now.” It is not a request and she confidently unlaces the front of her dress to reveal her left breast. A many-voiced gasp runs through the crowd, but who are they to say a word? Or laugh or leave? This is Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, the beloved na-Baron of Giedi Prime. If he wishes to drink from a woman’s breast, he will, and his reputation will not be harmed.

By some miracle, Feyd obeys without further question. In front of many eyes, he bows down to her chest and gives into the sweet temptation of humiliation. Hotly, the shame sinks into his pelvis and he subtly bucks against her thigh, moaning quietly when he latches onto her nipple and the first droplets of colostrum spill on his tongue.

Everyone feels the power shift, when the na-Baron’s head bows to reach her breast.

The woman glances over the crowd, noble spectators and lower class supplicants who all see her bare chest. It takes grace to disgrace oneself so fully. She breathes deeply, wincing just slightly because of how greedily Feyd-Rautha suckles. His taller, muscular frame twitches and he reminds her of a prehistoric reptile whose maws are latched onto a carcass. She gives him a minute.

“Don't neglect court, they're waiting for you.” She feigns nervousness and pinches his chin, taking the calculated risk to try and urge him away from her breast. Feyd, as expected, snarls in response and pinches her nipple with his teeth, probably by accident. A slight tremor possesses his jaws as he drinks.

She gives a watery, apologetic smile at the gathered people, and curls her hand around Feyd’s head, scraping her fingers softly over his smooth scalp. Another minute goes by and she knows a certain sleepiness will soon settle in his bones. Cooing softly, she caresses his scalp until her left breast is as good as empty. Carefully, she detaches his mouth from her teat before they reach the stage when she is really empty, which usually sparks anger in Feyd-Rautha until he moves on to the other breast.

With only a little effort, she pries his face away from her chest and smiles at his dreamy black eyes. His features look entirely soft, jaws relaxed. His lashes serm a little damp, which happens from time to time. She’s never commented on it. Feyd-Rautha slowly swivels his head back towards the crowd. A trickle of milk runs down his chin.

“You…” He points at the waiting supplicant. “What was it?”

“T-Two months of paid leave, my Lord.” The man bows deep.

“Only two months? Fine then. Next."

“Thank you, my Lord, oh thank you. Thank you!”

A guard grabs him by the arm and shoves him aside, where the exit gate is. “The na-Baron said next.”

Perplexed, the man stumbles into freedom and still wordlessly mouths ‘thank you’, eyes locked with the woman in Feyd-Rautha’s lap. Yes, we understand each other, she thinks and sees the man off with an earnest smile.

While she still has milk in her right breast, three more people make it out the exit gate, most of them dismissed with a lazy wave of the hand. She can tell he has lost interest in the supplicants, his little killing game no longer fun. He has even discarded the blood-stained kukri on the side of the seat, so he can grope at his companion better. She can also tell he’s growing needy, the hard ridge of his cock humping against her thigh quicker and more urgently.

Oh well, she thinks as Feyd sifts through her skirts and tugs down his trousers. The crowd may not see how his cock head breaches her and sinks into her pink center that is unprepared save for the slick which always gathers when he drinks from her, but they can very clearly tell from the way he lifts her and her features scrunch up with pain.

It could be much worse. These people could be dead. Briefly he releases her nipple and cups her breast so any spilled droplets land in his palm.

“Next!” Feyd barks, then softly rumbles in her ear. “Ride me, woman.”

How? She is awkwardly seated diagonally in his lap, facing the crowd, barely a way to use her knees or feet for leverage. Still, she tries to please him, more grinding than riding him, but he seems satisfied nonetheless while he continues suckling on her teat. Her cunt is able to relax around Feyd’s obscene girth and more wetness trickles down past her folds and gathers on his trousers.

A knot of arousal somehow grows in her belly and it could either be the compound of artificial hormones or the power she knows she holds over him from inside her gilded prison. Her right breast is empty and Feyd’s hips buck up in frustration, cock slamming against her cervix. She hisses loudly and the sound reverberates from the chamber walls.

“I’ll have more in the evening, you greedy-, ahh!” Black teeth bite her sore nipple and draw a bead of blood. “You just drank all that and dare bite me?!” She hisses quietly, but a few guards in the vicinity can hear her certainly. A grey blush breaks out on Feyd’s cheeks and ears upon being chided. Oh, he should cut her up for that, his kukri lies right there.

But the milk is heavy in his tummy and he is too lazy to move. So, he just nips at her throat, just above the bejeweled metal collar. His bite is softer there, almost apologetic.

Since there is no more milk, she attempts to pull her dress up, but the na-Baron sloppily covers her breast with his hand instead, absentmindedly kneading and pinching the sensitive nubs while his hips thrust upwards with quick rhythm. With his feet planted on the floor, he has the momentum she is missing.

“Don’t cum until we’ve made it through this line.” She gestures at the waiting supplicants who all try to wall up their hopefulness behind a stoic facade, staring at their shuffling feet.

“Why?”

“Because I’m angry at you.”

“Why?!”

“You bit me and it hurt.”

Feyd lets out a rabid snarl and kisses her shoulder, black eyes peering around her neck at the waiting men and women. There are about two dozen left and his hands are wrapped around his Lady, kneading her hip and her breasts. He can make it through two dozen. How long might that take? Five minutes if they speak quickly?

The Lady smiles quietly to herself as supplicant after supplicant leaves through the exit gate and the blade remains untouched, Feyd’s hands busy on her body. She too has a hard time keeping her composure, walls squeezing Feyd-Rautha’s cock until he can barely control the pitch of his voice.

The last supplicant states his humble request and Feyd lets out an unintelligible sound, teeth sinking into her shoulder. His cock throbs palpably against her walls and his hips squirm, a stifled moan in his throat as he holds back.

The supplicant pleadingly looks at the Lady. “What was that?” He asks.

“The na-Baron said yes, your request is granted.” She speaks in Feyd-Rautha’s name and in the same moment the na-Baron climaxes, drooling all over her shoulder as his cock releases inky semen that luckily has no effect on her altered body.

By the time the last supplicant has staggered out of the audience chamber, happy and alive, the Lady has almost gotten used to the view.

Panting, Feyd mouths against her neck and shoulder, pushing a hand under her dress to catch some of the leaking cum and smear it over her bundle of nerves. Her skirts are partially ridden up. A few noblemen and women might just see her bare cunt and how it still hugs the na-Baron’s cock but for some reason she is not ashamed. It only takes a minute until she comes undone, her reward, because victories don’t have to feel dirty if you accept them with grace

#feyd #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd x reader #feyd x you #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #feyd x oc #feyd rautha x oc #dune fanfiction #feyd fanfiction #feyd imagine #feyd rautha imagine #dune part two #dune part 2 #house harkonnen #austin butler #austin butler fanfiction #peggysuave fanfics

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independentlivingsolutionsinc · 2 months ago

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#refurbished chair lifts #used curved stair lift for sale

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cmdrfupa · 5 days ago

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Home For The Holidays

I’ve been working on the last chapter but Tis the season! I hope the holiday is kind to you all. Love you much 💞💞🎄🎁

Stand alone but part of the Upheaval AU.

Post Shibuya Nanami x Reader

The faint scent of cinnamon reached him first, pulling him from restless dreams. He blinked up at the ceiling, the familiar texture barely visible in the soft morning light. Kento was home now—after months in the hospital, the sterile white walls and endless beeping monitors were behind him. And yet, the weight of it hadn’t lifted.

Shifting carefully, he pushed himself upright, wincing as the tightness in his arms and chest reminded him of the scars. They were always reminding him. The knit cardigan you’d left on the chair caught his eye, its loose fabric promising some comfort, even if it couldn’t hide everything. He slipped it only slowly, careful of the settling grafts that were integrating with the skin.

The smell grew stronger as he made his way to the door, one slow step at a time. His hand brushed the wall for balance, the cool plaster grounding him. Cinnamon… and something else. Pine, maybe? “Honey?”

When he reached the top of the stairs, he froze.

Golden light danced across the walls, spilling into the hallway from the living room below. He gripped the banister, leaning forward to catch a glimpse, and what he saw made his breath hitch.

The room was transformed. A tree stood in the corner, its branches draped with twinkling lights and ornaments he remembered from years past. Stockings hung from the mantle, both your names stitched in soft loops.

His eyes landed on the small chalkboard near the stockings, the words written in your careful hand: *Welcome Home.*

The warmth of it all—so gentle, so thoughtful—made his chest tighten. But it wasn’t comfort he felt. It was guilt, rising fast and sharp. You had done this for him, spent hours creating this perfect scene after tending to him at every turn and for what? He hadn’t even wanted to leave the bedroom this morning, let alone face a holiday that felt so far removed from who he was now.

He took another step down, hesitating halfway as the sound of movement came from the kitchen. You appeared, a smudge of flour on your cheek with a small stack of waffles already forming on the counter near you.

You stopped when you saw him, lips curving into a small, hesitant smile.

“You’re awake,” you spoke softly, setting down the whisk you’d been holding. Your gaze flicked to the tree and the lights in the living room, then back to him. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be up for it, but…” you trailed off, gesturing toward the room.

Kento opened his mouth but found his voice caught somewhere in his throat. He shook his head. “You didn’t have to do all this,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended.

“I know, I know..” you replied, stepping closer. “But I wanted to. And we’ve gotta eat so…”

He looked at you, at the effort you’d poured into every detail, and the guilt twisted deeper. “I don’t… I don’t deserve this, dove.” His voice cracked, and he looked away. “Not after—”

“Stop.” You voiced, soft but firm, pulling his gaze back to you.

You stepped closer, your heart breaking at the pain etched across Kento’s face. His scars were visible, yes, but it was the ones inside that worried you most.

“Kento,” you said gently, reaching out to brush your fingers against his hand. He flinched at first, but you didn’t pull away. “This isn’t about deserving anything. This is about celebrating the holiday. Celebrating the ending of another year while welcoming a new one. It’s about us.”

His eyes searched yours, guarded and uncertain, but you didn’t look away. “I know this isn’t easy,” you continued, your voice steady. “But this is still our home. You’re still you. And no matter how much you might feel like things have changed, there are some things that are remaining the same.”

The silence between you stretched, but it wasn’t empty. Slowly, his hand relaxed beneath yours, his grip tentative but real. You squeezed lightly, a silent reassurance. “I have cookies baked and ready for munching. Waffles are hot and ready for your favorite berry syrup and when you’re ready, the French press is set up in the living room for a strong cup. Okay?”

Kento quietly led you to the couch and sat you down before sitting next to you.

The glow of the tree wrapped around you like a soft embrace. He picked up the santa mug and smiled. “If you don’t mind.”

You poured his coffee, watching as he held it carefully, his shoulders beginning to ease. The faint scent of cinnamon lingered in the air, blending with the quiet sound of the lights humming on the tree.

It wasn’t perfect, and it didn’t need to be. For now, this was enough.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #nanami kento #jjk nanami #nanami drabbles #nanami x you #nanami x reader #jjk x reader

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zer0pm · 2 years ago

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Imagine waking up with Luis sleeping on top of you while you both take shelter from the storm.

Warning: suggestive content 🤫

A/N: editted for mistakes and added upon by just a little for your reading pleasure ;) thanks for your time

“Think it’s safe?”

“Only one way to find out. ¡Vamos! Into certain danger we go!”

You pinch the bridge of your nose and groan. This man’s optimism was breathtaking, confident in his strides towards the abandoned looking house that you two discovered. You follow behind him, careful in your own steps and had your gun drawn at the ready in case of any unfriendly encounters. Thankfully, your entrance went unanswered and after a thorough search of the building, you both confirm that the coast is clear. Finally, a safe space to squat and wait out the storm.

Sighing in relief, you didn’t realize how exhausted you were until you took a seat on a rickety wooden chair in what you assumed to be the remains of a dining area. Running around avoiding countless plaga in the pouring rain took a lot of your energy and your weary state did not go unnoticed.

Luis speaks addresses you. “Why don’t you take a rest, my friend? There is a bed upstairs. I do not think the owners will mind it.”

Your brow lifts upon reflex, tempted by the idea of laying on something soft after hours of running for your life. However, the consideration of well-being for your present company outweighed your desire to address your own. So you counter him, “And what about you? You look just as bad as I do.”

The man dismisses your suggestion with a wave of his hand, “I’ll keep watch. Make sure no scary monsters come bumping in the night. No te preocupes, I’ll be fine.”

Always the gentleman this one.

Still, you weren’t going to let him get away with it. Especially at the sight of the dark circles beneath his eyes. Chivalry be damned. You take a moment to absorb your dusty surroundings and listen closely to the weather. The two of you were lucky to even find this place amidst the pouring rain and you were certain there wouldn’t be any uninvited guests coming in to hack you both into pieces anytime soon with how bad this storm is raging.

“Pretty sure we’re safe here, Luis. Can’t see anything in this damn rain and place looks like it hasn’t been occupied in ages. Plus, with Leon Kennedy roaming about, think Saddler is commanding his minions to focus more on him than us.” You wave your finger around the air, figuratively drawing the argument back at him. “So if you need some shut-eye too, I was told there’s a bed upstairs.”

Luis chuckles breathlessly, evidently amused at how you effectively countered him. He then hums aloud, seemingly taking your reasoning with careful consideration before a coy smile curves upon his handsome face.

“Qué lindo. So stubborn just to get me to lie with you.”

The color drains from your face in an instant.

“Now hold on a minute-“

The man cuts you off with a rambunctious laugh. “You’re much too easy to tease, my friend. Very well, then. You win!” he says with an affirmative clap before making his way to the stairs. Halfway up, he stops in his tracks to look down at you. “Well? You coming?”

You wait to see if he would follow up with further teasing. When he didn’t, you wordlessly got up from the chair and joined him. As he said, there is indeed a bed on the far wall of the room. Like the rest of the house, it looks like it had seen better days but neither of you were in a position to be picky especially when sleep was beckoning. You approach the bed and lift the sheets off, dusting as much as you can before setting it back down and doing the same for the pillows. The bed was big enough for two people, so it should be fine to share without worrying about bumping into one another in your sleep.

“There,” you huff, satisfied with how you prepared the bed. “Is there a side you prefe-“

Your voice catches in your throat when you turn around and take in the sight of Luis’ bare back. It was only when you see him fidgeting with the zipper of his pants did you find it again.

“What are you doing?!” you practically screech.

The dark-haired man glances casually at you over his broad shoulder, not at all bothered by your sharp tone.

“What does it look like? I’m making myself comfortable,” shrugs Luis. “I suggest you do the same. You’ll get sick if you sleep in wet clothes.”

The desire to argue for the sake of arguing was strong, but you found yourself distracted by his physique. For a man who claims to be just a “simple researcher”, he is pretty cut. The definitions of his muscles are both impressive and pleasing to the eye. It didn’t help that the man is devilishly good-looking as well, not that you will ever say that out loud. The man’s ego was big enough as it is.

If you were taking too long to speak up, Luis didn’t say. He turned his head away from your direction. “I won’t look, prometo. And I’ll take the left side. Muchas gracias.”

A man of his word, Luis did not once look your way as he wordlessly went to his side of the bed and slips himself beneath the sheets. After a moment of inner conflict, you heed his advice and strip yourself down to your underwear as well, taking your clothes and his to hang off the stair railing. Finally reaching the bed, you see that Luis was still lying on his side. The heavy breathing your ears pick up suggests that he’s fast asleep. Although your heart was beating frantically, you settle under the covers as well. Your form mirroring his with your back towards him. Sleep came quickly.

You’re not sure how much time has passed when you woke up, you only know that it is still storming outside… and Luis Serra is on top of you.

His whole body is practically draped over yours. He partially lied with his chest both against the bed and on your side. The heavy weight of his right arm was wrapped around your middle with his hand resting almost possessively on your hip. You can feel his breath fan against your neck, leaving warm, lingering tingles upon your skin. It suddenly felt impossibly hot in this chilly room.

You didn’t need to see the man’s face to know he is still sleeping, snoring soundly against your ear. Careful not to wake him, you tried to move away. However, the moment you fidgeted, Lus stirs and his hand moves from your hip to your shoulder, effectively keeping you in place.

Well, then. This is awkward.

The idea of waking him up came to mind but you thought better against it. Why embarrass you both and deny the other some meaningful rest? That was the excuse you came up with as you feel the man nuzzle against your neck and shoulder. The scratch of his facial hair feeling wonderful against your skin. An involuntary sigh of pleasure escapes your mouth and you had to bite your bottom lip to stop more from coming out. You needed to pull yourself together. The man is sleeping, for god’s sake, and here you were, getting hot and bothered.

Just as you were about to accept your situation with grace, you feel Luis move once more. Followed by a lethargic groan, he twists until he is on his back, withdrawing his hand from your person until it rested on his sculpted abdomen. His eyes are still closed. His expression is peaceful, absent of the coquettish mask he usually wears. The man looks impossibly beautiful like this and you found yourself reaching a curious hand towards his face. You manage to stop right before his cheek, mesmerized by his sleeping form. If lives weren’t on the line, you’d watch him forever.

“How long have you been awake?”

The sound of his thick accent made you jolt, retreating your hand back to your side. You almost thought you were imagining Luis’ voice until your eyes catch the flutter of his lashes. Grey eyes peeking in your direction.

Unable to think of anything better to say, you candidly answer back, “How long have you?”

The Spaniard grins wryly. “Tocado. Point taken.”

He turns his head, his expression telling that the man is well-rested and now focused entirely on you. There was something in his eyes that you cannot place. Or more accurately, there was an emotion within them that you recognized all too well as you were certain you had the same burning in yours but dared not to acknowledge our loud. You mimic his movements, ensnared by his magnetic gaze. When he turned his body so that he was completely facing you, you did the same. Neither of you have broken eye contact. In the corner of your vision, you see him lift his hand until it hovered over your hip at the exact same spot it was before. Luis doesn’t lower it, however, his eyes silently asking for your permission. A slight nod from you was the sign he was waiting for and you are graced by his warm touch once more.

His thumb caresses soft patterns against your hip bone, teasing the skin beneath the band of your underwear. Your breath hitches, his subtle touches already stirring something fierce inside you.

“¡Mierda! Don’t make that face.” the man growls, wearing a serious, pained expression. You blink in confusion. Instead of elaborating right away, Luis earnestly squeezes your hip, earning a wanton gasp from your mouth, and pulls you in against him by the curve of your back.

“If you keep looking at me like that, mi amor,” he says through gritted teeth, his hot breath mingling with yours. “I won’t be able to savor you slowly.”

That undid you.

You weren’t sure which of you two closed the distance. While the storm was pouring freezing rain outside, you and Luis kept one another plenty warm inside.

A/N: Thanks for reading. You can find the next (Rated M) part here ;)

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420days · 3 months ago

Text

CODY RHODES | GALA NIGHT

"Baby!"

"Can you come zip this dress for me?" Giselle called out to her husband as she finished applying her makeup.

"You look beautiful. This is the dress I brought you?" He asked as she turned around to face him.

"Mmh, this is the one you surprised me with in Paris. I can't believe how much my body has filled in so much." She smiled and rubbed her small stomach that was visible in the dress.

"The weight looks good on you babe." He told her before stepping back and allowing her to look into the mirror.

She ran her hands over the smooth material of the emerald green dress that clung to her body. She loved how the bottom of the dress was hemmed to show off her toned legs.

"These the shoes you're wearing? I don’t wanna hear you feet are hurting Giselle." He pointed towards the four inch silver strapped heels that sat on the vanity chest.

"Yeah, and I'm going to be sitting the whole time so that's fine!" She said as he lifted up her dress and placed her foot on his lap.

"Stop! You always wanna get something started!" She lightly pushed his arm as he rubbed up her thighs and back down to her foot.

"It's not my fault you look all good, skin all glistening and smooth." He sucked his teeth and strapped her heels for her.

"Is Gianna dressed? Do they need my help getting her ready?" She asked referring to their personal styling crew.

"They got her babe, but go ahead and help anyways because I know how you are."

“And be careful on those stairs.” He told her.

Slowly walking down the steps Giselle held onto the banister and made her way into the glam room where Gianna was sitting in a mini pink directors style chair getting her toes painted.

"Mommy, you look so pretty! Like a princess!" The girl gasped at her mom making everyone turn towards her.

"Thank you baby. You look pretty too." She leaned down the best she could and kissed her cheek.

Gianna Dream Rhodes was the couples oldest child and she was a literal spilting image of her mom. From her smooth chocolate skin to her huge almond shaped eyes and perfect teeth, she was the mini version of Giselle.

At times Giselle hated how much they were alike because her attitude reminded her too much of her own.She hated scolding her for it because she could almost understand her attitude but wouldn't tolerate the disrespect.

"Are we leaving soon?" She asked.

"Mmh, as soon as your toes dry." Giselle nodded her head and took a seat in one of the empty chairs.

Tonight Cody was receiving an award for all the work he's done for the community and the foundation threw him a huge gala event to celebrate.

Every year during the holidays the couple would do huge food drives and give people in need everything they needed to be satisfied for the upcoming holiday.

There was a variety of things they did for others because it extremely important to give back to the community in their eyes.

"Hi TT!" Gianna yell making Giselle look up from her phone and see Cody’s sister, Tara walking into the room.

"Hey Auntie's girl, you look so pretty." She smiled done at her before making her way over to Giselle.

"Giselle, how are you?"

"I'm doing alright T. You look pretty.” She smiled while looking over her appearance. Her blonde hair was styled in an updo allowing her slender face to be shown. She was dressed in a baby blue dress that came just above her knees and fitted her small curves.

“Thank you sister.”

"Look all my favorites in one room." Cody walked in and placed a kiss on his sisters cheek before picking up Gianna.

"You like my polish daddy?" She asked him.

"Of course, it looks beautiful." He kissed her cheek once more before placing her on the ground.

"Y'all ready to go?"

"Mmh, come on Gigi."

Gianna grabbed her hand as they exited the house and walked down the stairs to the metal gate where the car was waiting for them.

"Thank you." She spoke to chauffeur as he held the door open and allowed Giana to climb inside, her puffy taking up extra space as she sat down.

"Everyone alright back there?" Cody turned to face us from the passenger seat.

"Yup, we're good babe." She nodded.

A few hours later

"Y'all look just alike when y'all are tired." Tara said as she looked over at us with a laugh.

"You know we can't hang sis." Giselle laughed before letting out a yawn and rubbing her hand over Gianna's hair.

"Gigi, you tired baby?

It was about ten at night and the family had been at the gala event for a few hours now. Cody gave his speech and also donated a good amount of money to the Children's Foundation which was an organization close to their hearts.

They walked around with Cody after the speech and spoke to a few of their closest friends and family members before Cody mingled around and thanked everyone.

Gigi and Giselle decided to sit down because Giselle’s feet were killing her and Gigi was tired of talking to people she didn't know.

"Mmh." She mumbled tiredly before letting out a yawn, laying her head on her mothers arm again.

"Okay, let's go find daddy." Giselle said as she grabbed her hand. Eventually they found him talking to a few of his friends and people who put the event together.

"What's up G?" Randy, his best friend spoke as they walked over to them.

"Hey Randy, I see you got it going on with this suit." I motioned towards his crisp and perfectly tailored suit.

"You know I gotta be clean at all times. Gianna youre not gonna say hi to me?" He joked while clacking her beads together making her she push his hand playfully.

"Stop it." She whined.

"She's tired." Giselle laughed as she let go of her hand and let her walk over to Cody. If she wasn't sleepy she would be all over Randy because he was her favorite person. She loved her godfather more than anything.

"Daddy." Gianna mumbled and reached her arms out for him to pick her up.

"Y'all okay?" He asked while picking her up like she wanted him to. She was beyond a daddy's girl and could win him over whenever she wanted.

"I mean we're fine but a little tired." Giselle said letting a yawn slip out and he laughed.

"Let me thank these people and we can go." He rubbed his wife’s back before making his way over to the microphone still holding Gianna. Both Giselle and Tara offered to take her but he brushed them off and said it was fine.

"I would just like to thank all of you for coming out and celebrating this achievement with me. It's an honor to be accepting this award for all my hard work." He started off saying.

"Most importantly I would like to thank my beautiful wife for being there every step of the way because none of this would be possible with her." He said and she smiled as everyone clapped their hands.

"Once again thank you everyone for being here but as you can see it's about time for me to go." He pointed towards a sleeping Gianna making some people coo and others laugh as he held his baby girl.

"Help yourselves to the refreshments and enjoy the rest of your night." He spoke before handing someone the microphone. He made sure to speak to Randy before making his way over to his family.

"You did amazing babe." Giselle kissed his lips.

"Thank you baby." He smiled.

#black fanfic writer #black writers #black fanfiction #black oc #black fem reader #black female writers #cody rhodes #american nightmare #cody rhodes imagine #wwe fluff #wwe imagine #wwe one shot #wwe smackdown

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suguruwithabow · 6 months ago

Text

pics are from pinterest, dm me for credits/remove

𝗶𝗳 𝗶𝘁'𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗹, 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗶'𝗹𝗹 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝘆, yuri satosugu

☆ ; female¡gojo satoru × female¡geto suguru (4,7k)

☆ ; where suguru is an illustrator and satoru is a famous yaoi manga writer.

☆ ; CW mature content , bad language , yuri satosugu , lesbian sex , rule63 , nipple stucking , oral , fingering , scissoring , idiots in love , friends/colleagues to lovers

☆ ; TW body dismorphya (might trigger an ed)

☆ ; ao3 | wattpad (eng) | wattpad (ita)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT | +18 enjoy ! 🎀

Suguru likes to draw women. She likes the movements of the pencil on paper, how the dark stroke follows the fluid line of her hand and materializes the soft curve of the hips, the breast’s groove, the arch of the back.

She likes to draw showy clothes, with lace and ruffles, delicate silk bows that bloom like moonflowers at the center of the chest, on that thin boundary between what is modest and what is lewd.

She draws transparent stockings that climb up the legs almost to the thigh root, which in reality would tear like tissue paper and constantly slip down the legs, but which actually stay up on paper by magic. She draws mini dresses and shorts that might not even be commercially available, too impractical to wear, she draws voluminous and extravagant hairstyles, with pigtails, curls, and shiny clips.

She draws girls with beautiful doll-like faces, with long eyelashes and heart-shaped lips, their skin is as perfect as porcelain, their eyes are large and full of wonder, or mischief. They have slender necks and wrists, thin arms, and flat bellies, their full breasts are without stretch marks, their thighs are thick and soft, never seeming too large, never fat or unwieldy.

But it's just a drawing. Suguru lowers her gaze to her legs, sitting on the metal chair in front of the café while waiting for her colleague, looks at how the flesh seems squashed against the plastic, how the hem of her jean shorts prominently marks her tanned skin. She adjusts herself, lifts her heels so her thighs appear slimmer, takes a deep breath, and returns to her drawing, forcing herself not to think about it anymore.

Suguru wishes she were one of the girls in her drawings, or one of those models she sees on Instagram. She wants to look at her reflection in shop windows and not have to remind herself to have better posture, she wants to take a selfie with her phone without using conspicuous beauty filters she doesn't recognize herself in.

Suguru likes beauty but doesn't believe she is part of it.

There’s a girl sitting a few tables ahead, talking on the phone and sipping a colorful smoothie. She is beautiful in her light red dress, her hair is perfectly straight and shiny, her skin is flawless, and her makeup highlights the harmony of her facial features. She is slim, petite, pale, the kind of girl you would hold the door open for, the kind you would offer a hand to help her down the stairs. Suguru is almost six feet tall, has strong arms, athletic legs, she doesn't seem like the kind of girl you’d want to help, or simply be kind to.

Suguru draws that girl, the sketch takes shape on the white paper, even if incomplete, it perfectly captures the moment like a photograph: a crowded café, a beautiful and ethereal girl who attracts attention effortlessly, a classic beauty Suguru could admire for hours.

«That's beautiful, Suguru, you’re really talented.» Suguru jumps and the pencil falls from her hand. The tip breaks. She immediately covers the paper with her arm and turns to look at Satoru towering over her. «You scared me to death, Satoru. It's not nice to sneak up on people.»

The moment Gojo Satoru enters the café, all eyes are on her, and who can blame them? Satoru is the most beautiful girl you will ever see in your life if you ever have the chance to meet her. She is tall, even taller than Suguru, has big blue eyes that envy the sky, white hair soft as snow that falls disorderly on her shoulders, and the most regular facial proportions Suguru has ever seen. She wouldn't even be able to draw a person more beautiful than Satoru.

She has a pretty cherry-colored gloss on her lips, quirky-shape sunglasses, and baggy jeans with a ridiculously low waist. Suguru thinks she could never wear jeans like that, Satoru always complains about getting bloated after lunch, but that doesn't stop her from dressing as she prefers. Suguru, on the other hand, always wears loose and covering clothes, she doesn't like exposing so much skin, it makes her feel watched, inadequate.

Satoru laughs, showing off a row of perfectly-straight pearly white teeth. She lifts her glasses onto her head and sits down in front of Suguru. «Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. Have you ordered yet?» «No, not yet,» the girl replies, turning the page and leaving the previous sketch unfinished.

Satoru calls the waiter, they order an iced coffee for Suguru and a strawberry matcha for Satoru, who also orders a slice of chocolate cake for herself, but when she asks if Suguru wants it too, she declines the offer.

Satoru starts pulling colorful notebooks and fresh printer paper out of her bag, opens the notes app on her phone, and begins scrolling through files; she is an eclectic writer, writing on any surface available.

Once, at a business dinner, Suguru had seen her scribbling on a napkin.

«I have two new ideas to work on, a classic soft BL set in school, and then something less mainstream. I haven't talked to the editors about it yet, I wanted to hear your opinion first, I'm sure they'll let me publish the first one in a collection of five or six volumes, but I have doubts about the second one, at most they'll consent to making it a graphic novel.»

Satoru and Suguru work in the adult manga industry, Satoru is a renowned yaoi manga writer under the pen name Hikari Mugen. She has only been writing for their publishing house for a few years, but was already very active on forums and fanfiction websites with the username limitlesscribe, where she was a prolific writer during her teenage years.

Suguru is happy to work with Satoru, she likes her extroverted and lively personality, which contrasts with her own reserved and introverted nature. Satoru gives Suguru free rein on organizing the panels to draw for their mangas, on the design of many characters and on the details of the setting. In the past, in fact, she often had to work with writers who wanted to dictate everything, even the smallest details.

Satoru provides general but accurate directives about the atmosphere she wants to create in her stories. She continuously makes boards on Pinterest, searches for books, movies, and even video games that might be useful, and sends everything to Suguru, who does her best to meet her desires, generally succeeding because Satoru is very enthusiastic about her job.

However, it's also true that Satoru is a full-time job: she talks incessantly and seems to lack an off switch. Sometimes she calls Suguru in the middle of the night with a new story idea, and during work meetings, it's not uncommon for her to zone out and write outlines and plots in her notebook. Finding inspiration in everything is her gift, but it's probably also a curse for those around her.

When their orders arrive, Satoru is already explaining the plot details she has in mind to Suguru, but she gets confused, rambles, changes the subject while talking, tells Suguru about a horror movie she watched on TV a few days ago that inspired a character, explains how she tried baking chocolate chips cookies providing details, a step-by-step guide and baking times, and mentions that her neighbors had a furious fight and the wife threatened to leave the husband.

Suguru struggles a bit to keep up, but she's happy to listen. After almost three years of collaboration, she's become very adept at discerning the plot of her stories from the events of Satoru's daily life.

The first story is very simple, almost trivial, she would dare say, a BL set in a high school featuring two academic rivals who become lovers. Nothing exceptional, a lot of introspection, teenage problems, internalized homophobia, and barely hinted sexuality – nothing too explicit, considering the teenage target audience.

Suguru has to admit, though, that Satoru is great with this shit. Her mangas sell like hotcakes, top the charts, and she's considered a real institution in the field, despite being only twenty-six years old. Suguru also deserves some credit for this; her style is highly appreciated by fans of the genre, with her attention to detail and intentionally unrealistic, almost angelic, character designs.

There are two types of people in the world: those who enjoy watching the expression of a beautiful boy while he cums, and those who lie.

In short, Suguru has her own good share of fans, and various other artists claim to have been inspired by Yami-chan (her pen name) for some of their mangas.

The second story Satoru proposes is very different from the first and, as she said, if her publisher ever allows her to publish it, it will probably be at most a one-shot or perhaps a graphic novel.

The protagonists are two Champions’ League soccer players. The younger one is the best soccer player in Europe, half French, half Brazilian, handsome, talented, born into a wealthy family, and disgustingly arrogant. His love interest, on the other hand, is a South Korean guy who moved to Europe to play on the same team; he is disciplined, from humble origins, but incredibly good at soccer. It’s not hard to imagine how things will turn out.

Naturally, the second story is the most fascinating, and while they talk, Suguru starts jotting down some character design ideas to show Satoru. They search Pinterest for images of "dread braids" for the Brazilian mc’s hairstyle and need to research the roles of soccer players because neither of them knows anything about that sport.

When they’re done, the sun is almost setting, and Suguru has had enough coffee to stay awake until Christmas. They tidy up the papers scattered on the table, Suguru puts all the sketches aside and promises to start working on the drafts that very evening. Satoru offers to pay for both of their orders and, after some resistance, Suguru accepts.

Leaving the café, they walk together towards the station. Satoru doesn’t live far from there and will walk home, but she insists on accompanying Suguru because, according to her, she feels more at ease that way.

As they approach the stairs, Satoru stops and reaches out her hand. «Watch out, someone must have spilled a smoothie.» A colored stain spreads, dripping on the steps. Suguru avoids it and grabs Satoru’s hand without even thinking.

When they are finally on the platform, the train arrives sooner than expected. Suguru waves goodbye to her friend and watches her through the sliding doors.

Satoru doesn't leave. She waits for the train to depart and disappear from her sight. Suguru feels a strange warmth in the pit of her stomach but she doesn't say anything and forces herself not to think about it.

***

A week later, Suguru is sitting on the couch in Satoru’s apartment. They had worked all day and Satoru wanted to be in a place that made her feel comfortable, so Suguru ended up invading her apartment and colonizing the living room.

They had been working on the storyboard all day. Of course, their editors approved the first of Satoru's two ideas – it's a safe investment, given that that genre of manga sells like hotcakes, especially if signed with the name Hikari Mugen – while they hesitated on the second one. Satoru is preparing a vision board to try to convince their bosses that the idea could work; she even wants to turn it into a series, not just a one-shot.

«Damn, I’m exhausted.» says Satoru, stretching lazily. She had been sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table the entire time because she wanted to leave the couch to Suguru.

«Come on, Satoru, we’re almost done and the deadline is tomorrow.» the artist encourages her, though she has to admit she is also struggling to concentrate now.

«But we’ve worked all day. Let’s take a break.» complains the girl, resting her chin on Suguru's thigh, looking up at her.

«The sooner we finish, the sooner you can rest.» admonishes Suguru, who just wants to finish this work and go home for a nice warm bath.

Satoru climbs onto the couch and sprawls across Suguru like a child throwing a tantrum. Suguru doesn’t complain or push her away; in fact, there’s something comforting about feeling Satoru’s weight pressing on her, so much so that she reaches out a hand and starts gently untangling the knots in her messy wolfcut.

Satoru moans softly and wraps her arms around Suguru’s waist, her head resting on her chest. «Let’s take a nap before continuing.»

Suguru chuckles and removes her hand from Satoru’s hair. «Come on, be serious. If we stop now, we won’t want to continue later.»

Satoru doesn’t reply, only letting out a half grunt of disapproval, and takes Suguru’s sketchbook to flip through it a bit.

Among various characters they worked on together – failed initial designs, sketches for official illustrations and some manga covers – there are many other drawings unrelated to mangas.

They are mostly women, some seem to be entirely made up by Suguru, like video game characters dressed in skimpy and adorable outfits, while others appear to be real-life sketches, drawn on the subway, in the park, or at a bar.

«Wow, Suguru. You practically only draw girls.» Satoru says, not taking her eyes off the sketchbook.

«Mh?» Suguru asks, looking at her – Satoru is still half-lying on top of her. If it had been anyone else snooping through her drawings, she probably would have been angry, but since it’s only Satoru, she goes back to her work without giving it any thought. «Well, I don’t have many opportunities to draw women, so in my free time I like to keep in practice.»

Since Satoru only writes BL, Suguru doesn’t often draw female characters, and when she does, they’re usually side characters who appear very little in the manga. Before working with Satoru, she had illustrated a hentai manga, but the character design imposed for the female protagonist was so boring and trite that she ended up hating it. She doesn’t count it among her best works.

«Really? Well, I’ll write a yuri just so you can illustrate it then. Maybe set in an all-girls school, so you can draw all the female characters you want.»

Suguru chuckles again. «Thanks, that’s very kind of you, Satoru.»

«You’re welcome. Wow, this one’s beautiful! Though she’s a bit too flat-chested for my tastes.»

«Satoru!»

«What?»

«You can’t say things like that.»

«Why not?»

«Ever heard of body shaming?»

«What does that have to do with it? I didn’t say she’s ugly. I just said she’s flat; I like big boobs, it’s not a crime!»

«Gosh, you’re no better than a man.»

«No, indeed. I like big boobs; you have big boobs, you’re so lucky. I wish mine were bigger too.»

«Your boobs are perfect just the way they are, Satoru.»

«Do you really think so?»

«Yes, you’re so slim, if your boobs were bigger, they’d be disproportionate.»

Satoru sits up, cups her breasts in her hands and starts examining them, as if to verify Suguru’s words. Suguru watches her, unable to look away; it’s true they are very close friends, but certainly not so close as to grope each other’s breasts in each other's presence. Satoru has been wearing a summer pajamas all day, white shorts and a tank top with strawberries printed on it, so thin that Suguru can see the shape of her nipples terribly clearly.

She blushes furiously and hides behind her iPad. «Get back to work, don’t overthink it.» she says to cover her embarrassment.

Luckily, Satoru is easily distracted and reaches for some papers left on the coffee table in front of them. The fact that she remained straddling Suguru’s lap, however, doesn’t help.

«Look, I’ve sketched out some ideas for the sex scene in the soccer manga. Tell me what you think and then I’ll leave you alone.»

Suguru agrees and puts aside her iPad to look at Satoru’s sketches. God, that girl has a gift for writing, but she’s completely hopeless at drawing.

«I’m sure it’s amazing, but I can’t understand anything from these drawings. God, Satoru, an elementary school kid would draw better than you.»

«Hey! How rude!» Satoru laughs, snatching the paper from her hand. «What’s not clear? It seems pretty obvious to me.»

Suguru sits up; now they’re face to face and Satoru’s knees are planted on either side of her hips.

«I can’t even tell what position they’re in in this scene.» Suguru complains, pointing to what looks more like a doodle than anything else.

«What? You're exaggerating, it's so obvious, look.» and it happens much faster than Suguru can perceive. She's pushed onto her back laying on the couch, Satoru's warm hands slipping under her thighs as she keeps her in place. If Satoru were a man, her cock would be pressing right against Suguru's entrance.

«They’re in this position. The top holds the bottom down and rubs his cock on his ass.»

«Okay! I get it now, that's enough! The demonstration is exhaustive.» Suguru exclaims as she puts her hands forward, she feels her cheeks on fire as Satoru presses against her and holds her legs open. She is so focused, taking care to best show the position she intended.

Then Satoru starts to rotate her hips, the imprint of her pussy is clearly visible through the thin fabric of her shorts and Suguru is also only wearing a pair of gym shorts.

The contact is electrifying and the drop in her stomach makes her dizzy. Even through the layers of clothing, the friction between their intimacies is so pleasant that it becomes difficult try not to move to seek her release.

Satoru is more and more concentrated, a wet spot becomes visible in the center of the imprint of her count, but she continues to drag with terrifying slowness on Suguru's most sensitive point. The girl covers her mouth with her hand, partially because it's something they shouldn't do – they're colleagues, after all –, partially because she's seriously afraid of letting out some compromising sound.

Satoru's hands leave Suguru's thighs and move to her waist. Suguru is so curvy and her waist is so supple and tight that it seems to be made to be grabbed by Satoru's hands. Her ass often does nothing but draw attention to her unreal proportions.

«God, I wish so badly I had a cock right now.» Satoru murmurs with a smirk on her lips, more to herself than to Suguru, but she can hear it anyway and her eyes widen – she wants to say she's shocked, but Satoru's words only send an electric shock straight to her lower abdomen. «I would fuck you so hard for hours.»

She leans over her. They are close, Satoru's white hair tickles Sugur’s face and her eyes look like a mirror on the sea. She smells of coconut and vanilla like her favorite body wash from Victoria's Secret and her lips are so red and inviting that Suguru has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from tasting them.

«Suguru.» she whispers, and she doesn't seem to be able to say anything else. Satoru kisses her cheek, her jaw, her cheekbones and her chin, she places a feather-light kiss on her lips and the lighter her touch the more the fire inside Suguru blazes as if fueled by gasoline. Satoru is so intoxicating that she makes her feeling sick and stuck between desire, lust and paralysis due to fear and anticipation.

They kiss slowly, but for a long time. Satoru takes her time exploring Suguru's mouth, sucking her tongue, intertwining it with hers, alternating deep make-out sessions with small pecks on her swollen lips.

«You are so beautiful, you are so beautiful.» she repeats as her hands slip under her shirt, she caresses her breasts, Suguru's tits are so big that Satoru can't squeeze them with one hand, she also finds out that they are terribly sensitive, so she kisses her neck while pinching her nipples gently.

«Satoru, Satoru.» Suguru moans. She’s melted like a candle, sweat beading on her forehead and she feels like she's going to die every time Satoru moans against her skin.

«I've waited so long for you, Suguru.» she tells her in a breath. «Can I take off your clothes?»

Suguru wants to cry, because she really doesn't feel like one of the girls she draws: she's not petite, she's not skinny, but Satoru treats her like she's made of crystal, her delicate hands draw maps that lead to unknown places. It's the first time she feels like a little doll under someone's attention, she's always been the one to take the lead in other situations, so she nods desperately.

«Yes, yes.» she tells her. Satoru takes off her shirt, interrupting their kisses only to take it off her head. She looks at her like no one has ever looked at her before, tenderly, with respect and desire. Satoru wants to devour everything, and she knows Suguru will let her do it.

She covers her boobs with her hand because she feels shy under Satoru's ethereal gaze, but the girl only becomes even sweeter, more gentle, she moves her hands away and kisses her bare chest again, until her nipples are swollen, red and shiny with saliva, and the bite marks on the flesh do not throb painfully in anticipation.

She takes off her shorts along with her underwear, exposing her wet pussy that seems so eager for attention. Suguru isn't a virgin, but she's never done it with someone keeping the lights on. She much preferred the comfort of the dim light, the certainty that no one could see her.

But now Satoru is holding her legs open, her hot breath crashes against her opening, her wetness, and Suguru feels she can come like this, simply with Satoru caressing her pearl with the fingertip of her finger.

«You like it like that?» she asks her. Suguru squirms in response, trying to meet her light touch with her movements. It's nice, but it's not enough, not even close.

When Satoru puts her lips on her cunt, Suguru sees stars. She devours her so passionately, sinking her fingers into the soft flesh of her thighs, her tongue expertly teasing Sugur's most sensitive spot, gradually increasing the speed and intensity of her lapping. When Suguru fusses, Satoru moans shaking her with the vibrations coming from the back of her throat, and when she adds a finger that slides in and out of her opening it's Suguru's turn to moan out loud.

«Satoru… oh god, Satoru!» she screams out, entwining her fingers in the girl's snow-colored hair. She gasps as she is hit by the most violent orgasm she has ever had, her sweat slides down her neck, her legs tremble and her eyes fill with tears.

Satoru gives her a cat-like look with those impossible eyes as he continues to kiss the inside of her thighs and gently lick her most sensitive spots, making her arch her back from overstimulation. Satoru, however, is stronger than she seems and, no matter how much Suguru fidgets, the writer's pale and thin arms keep her firmly in place.

«You're so cute, like a little perfect doll.» «I'm not– I'm not a little doll, Satoru.» the girl goes reaches to her starting a passionate kiss, all tongue and lips making her feel as if a cloud of crazy butterflies were fluttering in her stomach. Satoru places one hand on her jaw, the other planted on her ass as she squeezes it tight, so much so that perhaps a mark will pop up the next day.

«You can't look at me with those doe eyes and tell me you're not like a perfect little doll, Suguru.» her name sounds so melodious coming from Satoru’s mouth, everything about her is so unreal, as if it belonged to an angel. Maybe that's why Suguru feels so good, so satisfied, with the perfect smile that blooms on Satoru's lips when she calls her name, or with the longing way she has of looking at her as if she were the most beautiful woman in the world.

Satoru doesn't see what Suguru sees, she doesn't find the stretch marks on her thighs disgusting, nor does she thinks her boobs are vulgar. She strokes her hips with her fingertips and tucks her dark, tousled hair behind her ears, continuing to tell her how beautiful she is.

She also takes off her own shorts, remaining completely naked, and Suguru was right about her: Satoru has the body of a supermodel. She didn't even believe that people like that existed in real life and yet apparently there they are, looking at her Suguru thinks that an angel has fallen to earth and that she has chosen to occupy her mortal days writing yaoi manga as a hobby. This is Gojo Satoru.

Satoru's pussy is covered in thin white hairs that Suguru finds incredibly adorable, everything about Satoru is honeyed and delicate – with the only exception of her personality –, which is why she is the first to make a move, rubbing her cunt against the other girl’s, and after a couple of playful thrusts it doesn't take long before the movements of their hips starts becoming more passionate.

Suguru discovers many things that night. She finds out that Gojo Satoru is hot as hell as he rolls her hips, eyes closed, cheeks red from the effort and mouth open letting out uncontrolled moans. She watches her hypnotized as she arches her back and pursues her pleasure by rubbing her clit against Suguru's. Suguru puts her hands around her waist, pulls her closer, Satoru's arms give out and she slumps against the arm of the couch, Suguru takes the lead.

It takes Satoru only three minutes to cum, but Suguru doesn't stop and doesn't even give her time to recover. Satoru squeals, but she's too weak to do anything, so she just lets Suguru fuck her like that until she comes a second time.

Suguru also finds out that Satoru likes to kiss her neck and chest, that she loves to cuddle up to her while stroking her hair and that she prefers light kisses like feathers because she finds them more intimate, more romantic, even if this seems a bit like a nonsense since she was stucking her tongue down Suguru’s throat just moments before.

«I'll think about the plot of a yuri manga.» Satoru tells her after a good half hour spent lying with their legs crossed kissing every single part of each other's bodies. «Then I’ll give the main character your appearance and I’ll fuck you every night in front of a mirror, so you can draw yourself.»

«It seems like a rather ambitious project to me. But I doubt people will like it.» «The hell? That's such a nonsense, everyone would love it. But maybe you're right, now that I think about it I hate the idea of someone else seeing you like this.»

She smiles, pressing a kiss on Suguru's lips. She blushes and looks down at their clinging bodies. She wants to stay like this a little longer.

«What do we do with tomorrow's meeting? The panels must be ready by half past nine.» the designer says, remembering the papers scattered all over the living room.

«I’ll call Tachibana and ask him to move the meeting to the afternoon. Sleep over, we'll finish working on it together tomorrow morning.»

Suguru smiles and nods, letting Satoru caress her stomach drawing imaginary shapes with her fingers, they talk about everything and nothing and then they fall asleep in the same bed, in each other's arms. For the first time they are not alone.

Fin.

#gojo satoru #satosugu #satosugu smut #satoru gojo #jjk gojo #geto suguru #suguru geto #gojo satoru smut #geto suguru smut #yuri satosugu #female geto suguru #female gojo satoru #lesbian satosugu #gojo x geto #gojo satoru x geto suguru #lesbian satosugu smut #yuri #yuri satosugu smut

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qosbaez · 4 months ago

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Date night || Rhea Ripley x Roman Reigns

Summary: Roman has planned the perfect date night. Unfortunately, he and Rhea don’t even make it through dinner before they’re upstairs in the bedroom, Rhea’s dress long forgotten, discarded at the top of the stairs.

Rhea Ripley and Roman Reigns had planned the perfect date night at home. It wasn’t often that their schedules aligned enough for them to enjoy an evening together without the pressures of their hectic lives. Tonight, they were determined to make the most of it.

Roman had spent the better part of the afternoon preparing dinner, wanting everything to be perfect for Rhea. He knew how much she loved the simple, intimate moments they could steal away from the chaos of their lives. So, he had gone all out—cooking her favorite meal, setting the table with candles, and making sure the house was in order.

Rhea, for her part, had decided to dress up for the occasion. She had picked out a sleek black dress that hugged her curves in all the right places, paired it with her favorite heels, and even did her makeup—something she didn’t always bother with when it was just the two of them at home. But tonight felt special, and she wanted to make an effort.

When she walked into the dining room, Roman was just finishing up, setting the last of the dishes on the table. He looked up as she entered, and his eyes darkened with appreciation as he took in her appearance.

“Wow,” he said, a slow smile spreading across his face. “You look incredible.”

Rhea felt a warm flush creep up her neck at his words. She wasn’t used to feeling shy, but Roman had a way of making her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world with just one look.

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” she replied, her voice teasing but with a soft edge.

Roman had dressed up too, wearing a button-down shirt that fit him perfectly, highlighting his broad shoulders and strong arms. Rhea couldn’t help but admire how handsome he looked, the image of strength and confidence.

They sat down at the table, the flickering candlelight casting a warm glow over the room. Roman reached across the table to take her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze as he looked into her eyes.

“I’m glad we could do this,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “It feels like it’s been forever since we had a night to ourselves.”

Rhea smiled, her thumb brushing over his knuckles. “Me too. I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”

They started to eat, but it wasn’t long before the conversation and the connection between them began to take over. Rhea found herself laughing at one of Roman’s jokes, and when she leaned over to playfully swat his arm, he caught her wrist and pulled her closer.

The next thing she knew, his lips were on hers, and everything else faded away. The taste of wine still lingered on his lips, and the warmth of his breath sent shivers down her spine. Rhea responded instinctively, her fingers threading through his hair as she deepened the kiss.

Roman’s hand slid down to her waist, pulling her out of her chair and onto his lap. The kiss grew more intense, more urgent, and all thoughts of dinner were forgotten as they lost themselves in each other.

Rhea could feel Roman’s heart beating rapidly against her chest, mirroring her own racing pulse. The electricity between them was undeniable, and it wasn’t long before they both knew where this was heading.

Roman broke the kiss just long enough to stand up, lifting Rhea effortlessly in his arms. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck, and they made their way upstairs, their lips never straying far from each other’s.

By the time they reached the top of the stairs, Rhea’s dress was already half undone, the fabric slipping off her shoulders. It hit the floor with a soft thud, completely forgotten as Roman carried her into the bedroom.

The rest of the evening was a blur of passion and heat, the kind that left them both breathless and completely intertwined in each other’s embrace. The world outside ceased to exist, and all that mattered was the way Roman made Rhea feel—cherished, desired, and completely consumed by his love.

Hours later, they lay tangled together in bed, the remnants of their earlier meal long forgotten downstairs. Rhea rested her head on Roman’s chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns over his skin as she listened to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“I guess we got a little distracted,” Roman murmured, a hint of amusement in his voice as he looked down at her.

Rhea chuckled softly, lifting her head to meet his gaze. “Just a little. But I’m not complaining.”

Roman’s hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing over her lips in a tender gesture. “Me neither,” he said, his voice soft and filled with affection.

They stayed like that for a while, basking in the afterglow of their love, content in the silence that spoke volumes about the connection they shared. Eventually, Roman shifted slightly, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to Rhea’s forehead.

“Stay here,” he whispered, his breath warm against her skin. “I’ll go get us some food.”

Rhea nodded, watching as Roman slipped out of bed and disappeared down the stairs. She curled up under the covers, feeling a sense of peace and contentment wash over her.

When Roman returned with a tray of food, they sat together in bed, sharing the meal in comfortable silence. There was something intimate, something incredibly special about the way they could be so close, so connected, without needing words to express what they felt.

As the night wore on and the candles flickered out downstairs, Rhea knew that this was exactly where she was meant to be—wrapped up in Roman’s arms, loved and cherished in a way that made her feel like the luckiest woman in the world.

#wwe #wwe imagine #wwe fanfiction #wwe raw #wwe smackdown #rhea ripley x roman reigns #rhea ripley fanfiction #roman reigns fanfiction #rhea ripley #roman reigns

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fleet-of-fiction · 1 year ago

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Josh Kiszka x Female Reader POV

Summary: You've had enough and want to go home. He's been gone for weeks, and you're desperate to enjoy your new house with your long-term love. You just want Josh all to yourself.

Warnings: Drugs. Alcohol. Dirty talk. Fingering. Oral sex female receiving. Edging. Oral sex male receiving. Rough penetration. Degradation. Choking. Throat play.

(Original post here)

"You wanna go home, get high and fuck?"

Josh slammed his glass down onto the table and scanned the bar for anyone who might have heard you.

"Are you fucking serious?" He asked, raking a hand through his facial hair.

You begin to pout. "You know tequila makes me horny."

He nods in agreeance, almost pleased with himself for insisting on slammers instead of sensible 'welcome home' drinks.

"I fucking love it when you're all tequila horny." He whispered, grabbing his jacket off the back of his bar stool.

It wasn't just the tequila, though. Josh had been gone for weeks, serving his time as everybody else's object of desire. You'd been willing yourself to wait until he returned before giving in to your own desires, not even touching yourself in the shower until he was back where he belonged. In the fixer upper you were still working on, despite moving in months ago.

There were still boxes waiting to be unpacked in the open spaces, pictures leaning against walls you hadn't nailed them to yet. Plants sat waiting to be watered on the stairs, and a kitchen that needed bringing into the current century.

As you opened the front door, greeted by your slow progress, Josh peeled off his jacket and threw it down on the unpacked boxes. Neither if you seemed to care that there was so much to do, not when you could meander through the chaos and do what you wanted instead of what you needed.

He slinked out of his emerald green jumpsuit as he made his way towards the back of the house, you following him with equal desire to be rid of your clothes. Dropping your white skirt and halter neck on the floor. On tip toes you grabbed two beers from the fridge, Josh padding around the cupboards with his bad posture and flat feet.

You couldn't stand it when he moved around like that. In his tight little boxer shorts, waving his arms around as he tried to remember where he'd put his stash. Almost like a little old man, so endearing and yet the shape of his body made you quiver. The way his stomach planed out at the waist, every breath straining against the elastic of his underwear. His chest soft and toned, casting shadows down his torso as he switched the kitchen lamp on. Those curved arms lifting behind his head as he stopped to think. His teeth gripping his lower lip, you could feel yourself lilting towards fucking him before getting high.

His eyes came to rest on your naked breasts and the tiny pair of lace panties that sat snugly against your thighs. He recalled buying them for you and a shit eating smirk began to curl on his upper lip.

"You wanna skip to the fuck part?" You asked, feeling the chill of the beer bottles against your skin.

He shook his head, errant curls falling around his face.

"I wanna get you in that frame of mind, first." He replied, opening the cupboard nearest and peering inside. "That one where you don't give a shit about anything and just let go."

You watched him click his fingers as he reached into the back of the cupboard, pulling out a bag of weed you hadn't even known was there. Benny and the Jets coming through the speaker on shuffle.

"Don't I always welcome you home like this?" You said rhetorically, rolling your eyes before tip-toeing over to the sun room, taking Benny and the Bluetooth speaker with you.

It was the only room you'd completed. Lined with glass panes from floor to ceiling, it had been the thing which made you beg Josh to buy the house. Pleading with him. Baby, I need this... knowing he would eventually see things from your perspective. And he had, when you'd introduced the slipper chairs and day bed. The low, warm lighting and church candles. The little mosaic table where you kept all your grinders and papers. And the fact that all the windows reflected the way you fucked him in the dark.

You popped open the beers and leaned back into one of the chairs, your knees up and toes gripping the edge of the green velvet. Josh sat opposite, deftly working to build a joint as you sipped on your beer, spectating.

"Every fucking night, I had to roll a joint just to sleep in that fucking bunk." He complained, easing himself back into home life. "Listening to Jake on the phone all night, all because he refuses to sleep until dawn."

You rested the head of the beer bottle on your lip and extended your foot out, caressing your pointed toes through his hair. He looked up at you as he rolled, his line of vision coming to rest on the material covering your pussy lips. As he licked the papers and twisted them shut, you nudged his cheek with the side of your foot playfully.

"You're home now, baby." You said softly, in the sort of voice you reserved for placating his worries.

He was so sweet to you, especially when he was fresh from the road. Desperate for his comforts and your body. You never grew tired of it, that feeling of longing for him coming to an end. Like an orgasm after being choked. He lit the joint and pursed his lips around it, exhaling upwards as you watched his throat flex.

"You wanna know a secret?" You asked, taking a long swig from your bottle.

"Always." He responded, passing you the joint so that he could take care of his own beer.

"I haven't even masturbated while you were gone." You said casually, pressing the joint to your lips and pulling hard.

He raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair to appraise you. Mouth rounded at the hilt of his beer bottle, trying to think of a worthy response to something he knew you had done to make his homecoming fuck all the sweeter.

"Was that all for me?" He asked, edging the possibility that it wasn't.

You passed the joint back to him. "Just like every fuckin' thing else."

He laughed as he took the smoke back, a white cloud billowing out of his mouth as he tempered your humour with his own. He loved it when you teased him, when you played him as your king and you were at his service.

"You could have slipped a few fingers in while we were on the phone." He chuckled, "I really wouldn't have minded."

You could feel yourself begin to vibrate. That tingle on your skin and your vision beginning to flow like a painting as you moved your head. Your pussy was already throbbing, a tangible sensation of your body responding to the weed and to your beautiful boyfriend watching you closely.

"And miss seeing the way you're looking at me right now, I don't think so." You replied, locking his gaze with yours. "What you thinkin' about?"

"Putting my fingers inside you." He replied, taking a deep breath as he dashed the joint in the ashtray and sunk his beer.

He was hard underneath his boxers. He adjusted himself with the palm of his free hand as it sat against his thigh, thick and pulsating with the thoughts running through his head.

"Whatever you want." You sighed, feeling the heat of knowing how it felt inside you as you watched the tip peek out from the edge of the material.

His eyes were half closed, his mouth open to a pout. Everything felt slow when you were like this, even the words that slipped out his mouth sounded slow. When he was stoned it was like a part of his brain awoke from slumber, and you loved how he eloquently spoke of things he wouldn't dare say when he made love to you. He was still your sweet boy, but that demon which was yours whenever he came home took it's moment to shine.

"I want your pussy juice on my fingers." He said without hesitation, shoving the table aside in one swift movement.

He cleared the space between you, on his knees by the foot of your chair. He wasted no time in pushing your legs wide apart, revealing the wet crutch between the woven lace. He slipped it aside and his eyes widened. He moaned softly at the sight of it, your glistening lips freshly waxed and smooth.

"Sweet fucking jesus." He said breathlessly, cocking his head to the side as he took in the view. "You've been neglecting her."

You looked down at him between your legs, dizzy and aching for him to touch you.

"Pay her some attention, baby. Go on..." You urged, your voice a needy whimper.

The tip of his index finger flew down your wet slit, eliciting from your lips a primal moan that was all relief. You kept your eyes on him as he slipped his finger inside, the wetness of your cunt making a beautiful sloppy sound that made him hold his breath.

"I fucking love that sound." He told you, his voice almost breaking as he slipped a second finger inside and watched your entire body shake. "Yeah, you like that?"

Your bottom lip was planted firmly beneath your teeth, your resolve hanging there as you nodded and felt your toes curl over the edge of the velvet seat. You were dripping onto it, ruining the material but you couldn't stop yourself.

"I fucking love it, baby. Don't stop." You were begging now, feeling your arousal drag you into the pits of depravity. "You like how my pussy feels?"

He smirks at the way you check in with him, leaning up to kiss you while his fingers continue to pound into you. You feel his tongue glide into your mouth, his soft lips open against yours. You allow him to venture deep, your own tongue brushing back. He only kissed you like this when he was lost to his arousal. When he was so deeply turned on, all inhibitions were smoked away.

"So tight and warm." He replied, dragging his mouth away for a moment before returning to you with more force. "And so fucking wet..."

You were grinding into his hand now. "Put your tongue on it baby, please...do that thing I like..."

You could feel yourself wilt beneath his touch. As he pulled away from your mouth, his eyes watching your tongue rest against your lip he wore the face you loved the most. The serious one where his jaw was clenched.

"You want me to sing on your pussy?" He asked, drawing a gasp from you as he pulled out his fingers.

"Josh..." You breathed his name, tasting yourself as he inched his fingertips into your mouth. "Sing on it, please..."

He knew what you meant. Your hands flew to his curls as he buried his face between your open legs. Pushing your lips apart with juiced fingers, he pressed the flat of his tongue against your clit and began humming softly. Using the vocal techniques he had learned to keep his high notes belting out for longer, you felt his tongue begin to shudder against you.

He understood what you needed. Padding his vibrating tongue against your swollen clit, his voice rich and low as he moaned against your sweet cunt. Ever since he'd been taught how to carry his voice, he'd known it would translate well when his mouth was on you. It never failed to reduce you into a quivering wreck, your knees shaking wildly as his head moved back and forth. Your mouth breathing silent pleas you couldn't speak. The sound of him swallowing your wetness making you audibly whine.

"Talk to me, baby." He grunted between swills of his tongue probing inside your entrance.

You snapped your head back and felt his soft, warm flickering increase. "Damn it, Josh! You fucking know what you're doing to me..."

Rivulets of sweat trickled down your chest into your heaving cleavage. Your skin becoming sleek with it as you moved your hips against his working mouth. The swells of orgasm threatening to end you, sweeping up from your clit into your stomach.

Instinctively, you push him back with a careful foot. His body reeling, his face covered in your juice. His breathing is laboured, a look of devilish satisfaction painted across his face as he swallowed hard.

"You were gonna make me cum in your mouth, weren't you?" You surmised, catching the way he looked down at the mess he had made.

"I'm thirsty." He replied solemnly, raking his thumb over your clit to keep you edged. "But I can see you're in the mood for something a little darker."

"I missed you." You purred, "I want to make it last..."

He nodded sweetly, in that way he had about him. Josh moved so fluidly, his mannerisms almost like a dance. Even if he was being subtle, moving from one position to the next. As he began to rise, you were greeted with his bulge as he reached in and pulled his cock out of his boxer shorts. You leaned forward, helping him to pull them down as the tip of his penis brushed against your cheek.

He tapped it against your lips. "Why don't you open that pretty little mouth of yours and show me how much you missed me?"

You shuffled to the edge of the chair, your incessantly wet cunt drenching the velvet now. You hissed at the sensation of your clit against the soft upholstery. Gripping the base of Josh's cock as you rocked your hips against the edge of the seat.

Opening wide, you looked up at him. Through the valley of the trail of hair that reached up towards his navel, finding the way he looked back down at you almost more than you could take. He was wearing that clenched jaw again.

"I missed you too." He said, almost as an afterthought, tapping his head against the flat of your tongue. "Now, let me in...be my dirty girl for just a little longer."

Josh was deceivingly big. A secret only you carried. The way he carried himself belied the truth of his girth. You often watched him when he didn't know you were looking, imagining the size of his cock when it was hard as he carried out mundane tasks.

You stared down the length of it, marvelling at the blood coursing through the veins. The pinkness of his head as you sucked on it gently. Easing him into your mouth slowly, so that you could prepare your throat for the pounding you knew would come. Because that's the way Josh liked it when he was high. When he was overstimulated. When the filthy, intrusive thoughts spilled out.

He leaned down as you nibbled at his tip, grazing your teeth against the edge. it sent a shiver down his spine as he picked up the joint and lighter, reigniting it as you began working his base with your hand and sucking down on the end of his cock with your mouth.

Tilting his head back, he exhaled a plume of smoke as you rocked your head back and forth. He almost coughed on it as your nails brushed up against his balls. You knew his weakness, and he knew you were heading towards it as you lifted up his erection and pressed it against his stomach. Your tongue bearing down between his balls, slipping beneath to run up his taint.

"Oh, you little fucker...." He growled, taking a knot of your hair in his fist. "Dirty little bitch."

Bitch was reserved for moments like these. When he wasn't quite himself. When he was a version that was so far removed from who he was in the cold light of day sometimes it felt like you were fucking his alter-ego. The one he used to grace the stage. The one who manifested himself in rage fucks when something had pissed him off. And when he came home to you and got high, he was still the man you loved. But with an edge to him that excited you so completely still, to this day.

You're well versed in the girth and ridges of his cock that feel like home to you. All the versions of Josh that spill out of his mouth don't matter when you can feel the familiarity of him sliding down your throat. You hear a familiar sigh, a low and gutteral sound that lets you know he's lost for words.

A string of saliva connects your mouth to his cock as you pull away, rubbing your spit up and down his shaft.

"Say it again." You venture, jerking him so hard his entire body shakes.

There was something about him speaking to you like that which planted a seed in your psyche. You were safe with Josh. He took another drag of the joint, raising his head to blow out the smoke as he realised what you meant.

"Oh, you are in the mood for something a little darker tonight, aren't you?" He said, that same shit eating smirk from earlier returning to his mouth. "Get your mouth back on my cock right now, you filthy little whore."

You did as you were told, a high pitched moan escaping your lips before he rutted into your open mouth. He dropped the joint back in the ashtray, completely consumed by your request. His hands pushing your head into his crotch, determined to choke you until you begged for air.

You could feel him leaking down your throat. His salty, smooth pre-cum dripping down the back of your tongue. Your eyes were watering and your pussy throbbing so hard at the name he had called you. Whore... It made you feel as if you could ruin him.

"Take it down." He ordered, keeping your head locked with his entire cock buried inside your mouth. "That's my filthy little bitch whore, right there..."

When he released you, the air rushed to your lungs and you gasped for it. He stood back and watched your hands fly to your chest. He knelt down, wiping the tears that fell down your cheeks. Palpable panic in the place of arousal.

"Shit, baby..." He fussed, "I took it too far, didn't I?"

It took a moment to regain your composure, but when you did there was a reluctance to give up the darkness. His worry dissipated as you smiled, mouth covered in saliva and pre-cum. He ran his thumb across it, sealing a kiss as he pulled you off the chair completely.

Both of you languished on your knees, the rug pressed hard into your bony flesh. You picked up the joint from the ashtray and took the last few drags of it, blowing the smoke into Josh's waiting mouth. Sharing it, savouring it. Sinking into a kiss that was soft and pleasing.

"Fuck me nasty, Daddy..." You said with a wink, knowing it was the first time you'd ever called him that.

He clamoured at what to say. Almost stammering. "Fuck... you are something else tonight."

"Maybe I should abstain while you're gone more often." You suggested, trailing a finger tip down his chest.

There was no teasing in the way he needed you now. He rounded the back of your neck with his palm, pulling you in to another soft, romantic kiss. Feather light fingers guiding your waist to rest against his, his erection pressed into your stomach.

"I know you love me baby, I want this..." You reassured him. "You can fuck me as hard as you've ever wanted to."

"Yeah?" He gauged, running his hand down the side of your face.

"Haven't you ever imagined it? Holding me down until I beg? Has the thought never crossed that cavernous mind of yours?" You asked, parting the curls which fell about his forehead.

"I've imagined a great many things." He confessed, "Mostly while I'm jerking off in hotel rooms."

"If you were ever going to tell me, tonight is the night." You said, brushing his lips with the tip of your tongue, slowly edging it into his mouth and covering his lips with yours.

You gripped his cock tightly and he shuddered. Moving your hand up and down, forcing him to speak.

"Sometimes I think about fucking you in the ass from behind." He said, almost in whisper until your pace quickened at the idea of it. "And when I think about it, you cry out and beg me to fuck you harder and it always makes me cum so quick."

"Mmm'hmmm..." You continued, "Give me details."

His throat flexed as he swallowed. "Well, I just think about parting your ass cheeks and what my cock looks like all wet from being inside your pussy when I push it into your asshole. Oh god..."

You felt the warm trickle of him leaking down your curled fist.

"When I think about you, I always imagine what we're doing right now." You confessed right back. "Calling me your dirty little fuck whore, making me choke on your big fat cock."

He stifled a giggle as you described him. "The fuck did I do to deserve you, huh?"

"No, baby..."You murmured, leading him over to the day bed. "I'm the lucky one."

He placed slow, gentle kisses from your chin, down to your neck, stopping in the front of your throat to nibble gently. You may have stopped breathing, because you could no longer feel anything but his sweet caresses. A fever burned, starting in your stomach then spreading down to your core. A heat that threatened to start a fire if he didn't fuck you soon.

There was a glint of greed in his eyes as he lapped over your hard nipples with his tongue. As if he knew what he was doing, but he would have this first. Laid side by side, surrounded by soft woollen throws and embroidered cushions, he pulled your leg up to his hip and his hand flew to your throat.

"You want me to fuck you nasty?" He clarified, moving his hips so that the tip of his cock languished at your entrance.

"Just fuck me Josh, I need it..." You begged.

His hand gripped harder, fingers digging into your neck. His cock slipped inside you, stretching you after the weeks he had been parted from you. He filled you up whole, his pubic hair rubbing against your pussy lips as he thrust.

"Is this what you want is it? To be fucked like the little dirty bitch that you are?" He asked, keeping his grip on your neck as he pummelled into you.

Your entire body was jerking against him. The heat in your belly reaching out for the rest of your body, muscle and sinew, aching at what he was doing to you.

"Yes..." You cried, "Fuck me so good, Daddy please..."

Oh, he liked that. It pleased him greatly to be the one in control. You could see it in the way he couldn't stop himself from that half-smile. That cocky side-eye.

"Filthy little fuck whore..." He breathed, his pace so quick all you could hear was your own panting against the wetness and sloppy sound of him hitting your wet pussy so hard.

He countered it with a few mutterings of beautiful and love, which spurred you on just as hard as the degradation. More than that though, was his desperation. The way he thrust into you, never breaking eye contact, never releasing your throat. He moaned so melodically you could only imagine how it must have felt for him.

You told him when you were close. Your walls clenching hard against his thrusting shaft. Every inch being taken rough and hard. You could feel when he was nearing the end, too. He loosened his grip and his thrust became more deliberate. Holding his cock inside you a little longer after each one. As if baiting his own cum to spill out.

"I love you, Josh..." You whispered between his primal grunting.

He released as he said back. "Fuck....I love you, too..."

He was still pumping his cum into you as you felt yourself let go. Both of you chiming in unison as you came down. He'd never looked more fucked out and beautiful as he did then.

"So..." You said, still catching your breath. "You wanna go back to the bar?"

The End.

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