#he was struggling REALLY hard! give him a break and all that.

[soleilpinto]

Cruising in Papaya: Private but not Secret ˚‧｡⋆🍁

“Life’s Better on Saturn ” ˙✧˖° ༘ ⋆｡˚ (Saturn, SZA)

Synopsis: Y/N Laurant, a glamorous socialite, meets Lando Norris during a race weekend, sparks fly between the two, but as their feelings deepen, they struggle to balance their secret relationship with their public lives, all while navigating the pressure of the fast-paced F1 scene.

Genre: (Some) Angst, Fluff, Romance

AU: Social Media and Written!au

Pairing: Lando x Afab!Socialite!Reader

Warnings: None

Note: Did not expect to become so busy lately, this is the final part before the actual finale so everyone buckle up 😭 Thank you all for the support once again and as always don’t forget to like + reblog as a form of support!

Cruising in Papaya Masterlist. (Prev./Next.)

@pitlanespy the way y/n and lando are handling their relationship is so refreshing. they’re not flaunting, but they’re not hiding anymore either. we love a balanced couple

@chicanechatter y/n and lando have mastered the art of keeping it private but not secret. leave them alone and let them enjoy their love!

@turn1drama ok but y/n keeping things private yet giving us hints every now and then is such a power move. the girl knows her pr

@papayaruIes well duh, she’s a socialite. she’s practically an expert

@f1gossipupdates I can’t believe Y/N and Lando are finally being open-ish. Like, she really said ‘we’re together, but y’all don’t need all the details.’ I respect it!

The short off-season break had been a rare pocket for you and Lando to relax without the rush of race weekends or the scrutiny of flashing cameras. It was a crisp afternoon in Monaco, the sun reflecting off the gentle waves as the two of you sat on the terrace of Lando’s apartment overlooking the harbor.

With steaming cups of coffee in hand and a blanket draped over your shoulders, the moment felt calm, natural—far removed from the chaotic world outside.

“Feels nice, doesn’t it?” Lando broke the silence, his voice soft. “Being able to just exist without worrying about anyone watching.”

You glanced at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “It does. I was almost starting to forget what that felt like.”

The two of you had tiptoed the fine line between privacy and secrecy, but the responses to your soft launch had been surprisingly supportive.

Fans who had once speculated endlessly about your relationship now seemed to respect the boundaries you were trying to set. It was refreshing, almost liberating.

Lando set his mug down and turned to face you fully, his expression growing more serious. “I’ve been thinking about something,” he began, hesitating just enough to make you raise an eyebrow.

“That sounds ominous,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood.

He chuckled but didn’t look away, his blue eyes searching yours.

“I don’t want us to hide anymore,” he admitted.

“I mean, I know we’ve already agreed to keep the details of our relationship private—and I want to stick to that. But I hate the thought of going to the next Grand Prix without you. It feels wrong now like I’m leaving a part of me behind.”

Your heart softened at his words, but you couldn’t help the cautious tone in your response. “Lando, you know how intense it can get. Even with the positive reactions, there will always be backlash. Are you sure you’re ready for that?”

He reached out, taking your hand in his.

“I’ve never been more sure about anything. I’ve been through enough to know that people will always have something to say, but it doesn’t matter to me. What matters is us—and I want you there with me, not just in the background but by my side. I think we can handle it together.”

You studied his face, finding nothing but sincerity in his expression. It was hard not to be moved by his resolve. You had spent so much time questioning if the two of you could make it work, but Lando’s unwavering confidence in your relationship made you want to believe it too.

“And you think it’ll make things easier if I’m there with you?” you asked, your voice teasing but soft.

He grinned, leaning closer. “I know it will. Plus, you being there might actually make all those post-race media sessions bearable.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Alright, Norris. You win. I’ll come with you to the next Grand Prix—but you’d better promise to share some of the attention.”

His face lit up with a mixture of relief and happiness, and he leaned in to kiss your forehead. “Deal.”

As the two of you sat back, the afternoon sun casting a golden glow around you, it was clear that this decision marked the start of a new chapter. No more hiding in shadows or ducking behind corners. You would face the world together, one race at a time.

The soft hum of Monte Carlo filled the space between your words as you sipped your coffee, the warmth of the mug grounding you.

Pietra leaned back into the plush armchair across you, her curiosity palpable as the sunlight bathed your living room in a golden hue.

“So,” Pietra began again, her voice playful yet genuinely inquisitive. “Are we finally getting the tea on you and Lando?”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head as you set your mug down on the table. “You’re so nosy.”

“Nosy?” she retorted, raising an eyebrow. “Please, I’ve been invested ever since that media meltdown since your birthday. There’s a difference. Now spill.”

Her lighthearted tone brought a smile to your face, but the memories of the past month made your chest tighten slightly.

Pietra had been one of your closest confidantes ever since you met Lando's close circle, one of the few who truly understood the chaos of public scrutiny and the complexities of trying to maintain a personal life within it.

If anyone could handle the details of what you’d been through, it was her.

Taking a deep breath, you began. “We’re good now,” you said, the words feeling like a balm as they left your lips. “Really good, actually. But it wasn’t always like that.”

Pietra’s expression shifted, her teasing giving way to concern. She leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on her hand. “What happened?”

You hesitated, your fingers lightly tracing the rim of your coffee mug as you gathered your thoughts.

“When everything blew up, it felt like the world was against us. The media was relentless, fans were speculating every little thing, and it felt like we couldn’t catch a break. It all came to a head, and we ended up having this huge fight.”

Her brows knitted together. “Over the media?”

“It was more than that,” you admitted. “It was the pressure, the constant hiding, the fear that we’d never be able to have something real outside of all the noise. Lando was frustrated, and I don’t blame him. But he said some things…” You trailed off, the memory still stinging.

Pietra reached over, placing a comforting hand on yours. “Things that hurt?”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Yeah. And I was so overwhelmed, I left. Went back to Saint Tropez. For a while, I thought that was it for us. I couldn’t see how we’d come back from it.”

She squeezed your hand gently, her voice soft. “But you did.”

A small smile tugged at your lips.

“We did. During the break, Lando found out I was in Monaco. He called me—said he wanted to talk, that he couldn’t leave things the way they were. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to see him, but when I did…” You paused, exhaling deeply. “It felt like the right thing to do.”

Pietra’s eyes softened, her smile encouraging you to continue.

“We had a long talk. About everything—what we want, what we’re afraid of, what we’re willing to do to make this work. It wasn’t easy, but we both realized that letting go wasn’t an option. We care about each other too much to let all the outside noise ruin what we have.”

Pietra leaned back, her smile widening. “That’s huge, Y/N. It sounds like you both really fought for this.”

You nodded, the relief of the memory settling over you. “We did. And now, we’re taking it one step at a time. He asked me to come to the next Grand Prix with him. He doesn’t want us to hide anymore, and honestly, I don’t either. But we’ve agreed to keep things private—no oversharing, no giving the media more than they need. Just us, on our terms.”

Pietra’s grin turned mischievous. “Oh, I can’t wait to see the paddock’s reaction when you show up with him again. The fans are going to lose it.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’m sure they will. But for the first time, it doesn’t feel overwhelming. It feels… manageable.”

“That’s because you’re doing it the right way,” Pietra said confidently. “You’re setting boundaries, and you’re doing this together. It’s going to be okay.”

“Thanks, Pietra,” you said, your smile grateful. “It feels good to finally have some clarity, to know that we’re in this together.”

“Absolutely,” she said, a sparkle in her eye. “But don’t think you’re off the hook. You owe me every detail about how it goes when you’re back at the Grand Prix.”

You laughed, feeling a lightness you hadn’t in weeks. “Oh, trust me, I’ll have plenty to share.”

As the conversation shifted to lighter topics, you couldn’t help but feel a renewed sense of hope. For the first time in a while, the future with Lando felt bright, and you were ready to take on whatever came next—together.

liked by mclaren, lando and others

laurant.yn off-season kick off

francisca.cgomes 😍

mclaren starting the break right 🧡

lando ❤️

@f1landolove SHE POSTED HIM. SHE REALLY POSTED HIM. Y/N AND LANDO ARE OFFICIALLY OFFICIAL. I’M SCREAMING. 😭❤️ 

@paddockqueen_ Not me refreshing my feed 100 times today just to confirm it wasn’t a fever dream. Y/N posted Lando on her MAIN. THE MAIN!!! 🔥👀

@pitstopsocialite_ Y/N really said, “Soft launch era is OVER.” That pic of Lando is giving boyfriend energy. We love to see it. 🥰

@f1overdrive Okay, but I’m lowkey jealous… Y/N Laurant is the definition of having it all. Fashion icon + F1 driver boyfriend? Goals

@neutralnora Honestly, happy for them. Y/N seems like she keeps Lando grounded, and he deserves that. 🥹

@shadypaddock I give it six months. Relationships in the spotlight rarely last. 🙄

The energy in Singapore was electric, the vibrant city buzzing with excitement as race weekend loomed closer. You stood beside Lando, your suitcase rolling quietly behind you as you both exited the airport.

The humid air wrapped around you, mingling with the chatter of fans and photographers who had already spotted you.

Flashes of cameras ignited like small bursts of lightning, and the occasional murmur of your name reached your ears. You instinctively glanced at Lando, who gave you a reassuring smile, his hand brushing against yours.

“We’re really doing this,” you said softly, your voice a mix of nerves and determination.

“Yeah, we are,” Lando replied, his eyes meeting yours with steady resolve. “No more hiding. No more letting them control the narrative. It’s just us, and we’re not apologizing for it.”

The ride to the hotel was quiet, the occasional buzz of your phone from notifications breaking the silence. You knew the media frenzy was already kicking off—pictures and videos of the two of you had likely hit social media within minutes of your arrival. But for the first time, you didn’t feel the weight of it.

As you stepped into the hotel lobby together, the atmosphere shifted. Fans waiting in the lounge glanced your way, some pulling out their phones, their whispers barely audible over the soft music playing in the background.

“People are watching,” you said under your breath, your fingers brushing against his arm.

Lando chuckled lightly. “Let them watch. We’re not doing anything wrong.”

His nonchalant attitude eased the tension in your shoulders, and you found yourself smiling despite the circumstances. The two of you checked in without a hitch, the staff professional and discreet, even as you caught sight of a few camera flashes from outside the glass doors.

Once you reached the privacy of your suite, the tension you hadn’t realized you were holding finally began to dissipate. You sank onto the plush couch, letting out a long exhale.

“That wasn’t so bad,” you said, glancing at Lando as he placed your bags by the wall.

He sat beside you, leaning back with a grin. “See? I told you. We can handle this.”

You turned to face him, your expression softening. “It’s just… surreal. To finally be here with you, not worrying about every little thing. I mean, I know the rumors and gossip won’t stop, but it feels different now.”

“It does,” Lando agreed, taking your hand in his. “Because we’re not letting it control us anymore. We’re doing this our way, on our terms.”

You nodded, the warmth of his hand grounding you. “It’s going to take some getting used to, though. I’m sure the paddock will have a lot to say.”

“Let them,” Lando said with a shrug, his tone calm but firm. “I don’t care what they think, as long as you’re with me.”

His words sent a wave of reassurance through you, and you squeezed his hand gently. “You’re really good at this whole boyfriend thing, you know that?”

He grinned, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your temple. “I try.”

The two of you spent the evening talking, discussing how you’d navigate the paddock together, and agreeing to address any questions with a united front. By the time you went to bed, you felt a sense of peace you hadn’t in months.

The Singapore paddock buzzed with excitement, the air thick with humidity and anticipation for the race weekend ahead. As you and Lando walked through the gates together, it was impossible not to notice the ripple of energy your presence caused.

Fans lining the barriers gasped, some clutching their phones tightly as they captured the moment.

“There they are!” someone whispered loudly, their voice barely audible over the collective murmurs. “It’s Y/N and Lando!”

Flashes from cameras and phones lit up around you as you kept a steady pace beside Lando. He was calm, his expression relaxed but confident, while you mirrored his composure, your hand grazing his arm lightly as if to reassure yourself.

Fans erupted into chatter, their voices mixing with the distant hum of engines.

“Oh my God, they’re actually together.” “Do you think this means they’re official-official?” “They’re not hiding anymore, but they’re still so lowkey. I love it.”

As you passed a group of fans holding up McLaren flags, Lando glanced their way with a small wave and a quick smile. You couldn’t help but grin when you heard someone squeal, “He looks so happy!”

Inside the paddock, the atmosphere was no less intense. Team members and media professionals stole glances at the two of you, some openly curious, others trying to act nonchalant.

You caught sight of a camera crew lingering near the McLaren hospitality, their lenses subtly but unmistakably trained on you and Lando.

“Ready for the circus?” Lando muttered under his breath, leaning slightly toward you.

You smirked, keeping your gaze forward. “I think I can handle it. You’re the one who’s got to focus on racing.”

He chuckled softly, his fingers brushing yours in a fleeting touch. “I’ve got that part covered. It’s the rest of this that’s new for me.”

Before either of you could say more, you spotted Lily Zneimer and Hattie Piastri approaching from the McLaren hospitality, their faces lighting up when they saw you.

“You’re here!” Lily exclaimed, her voice full of excitement as she pulled you into a quick hug. “I was wondering when you’d show up!”

Hattie grinned, giving Lando a knowing look before turning to you. “And here I thought you’d keep us guessing forever.”

You laughed, your nerves easing slightly. “I figured it was time. Can’t keep hiding forever, right?”

“Exactly,” Lily agreed, linking her arm with yours. “And you’ve got us. The paddock isn’t so bad once you’ve got the right people.”

Lando excused himself briefly to check in with his team, leaving you with Lily and Hattie. You felt the stares around you but found yourself surprisingly unbothered, their presence grounding you.

When Lando returned, he didn’t hesitate to rejoin you, his arm brushing against yours in a way that felt both casual and intimate. He didn’t seem fazed by the whispers or the cameras subtly tracking your every move.

Instead, he leaned down slightly and murmured, “Told you we’ve got this.”

You glanced up at him, the corner of your mouth lifting into a small smile. “We do.”

As the two of you walked deeper into the paddock, side by side, it was clear to everyone watching: while you weren’t laying out the details of your relationship, you weren’t hiding it anymore, either. And from the way fans’ excited chatter filled the air, it seemed they couldn’t be happier to finally see you together.

© soleilpinto 25’ -. no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any manner without the permission from the publisher.

Taglist: @bakingpiastries @linnygirl09

[marcelinenocturne]

᧙ Just a note about how great könig and *ೃ

Minors DNI! ⌑ Inspiration link (๑´`๑)

Warnings: My opinion, fluffy headcanons, König’s big body struggles

• • ┈┈┈┈ ๑ ⋅ ⋯ 🖇️ ⋯ ⋅ ๑ ┈┈┈┈ • •

When people mention that König is a big guy, some might picture a tall and lean man. But for me, that’s hard to believe. Others imagine him as a wall of pure muscle, with a physique akin to a bodybuilder, simply because it’s "visually appealing." However, this completely ignores the military context he comes from.

His body was literally trained to be resilient and strong—exactly what the army looks for. Ever seen a heavyweight lifter? You don’t need to be an expert to imagine that beneath all that gear hides a massive guy weighing roughly 100 kilos or more, who probably consumes 4,000 to 6,000 calories daily just to keep up.

To be honest, I can only picture his large, thick chest paired with broad, veiny arms, his body easily twice the size of an average man. I think about his slightly bloated belly after a buffet—because let’s be real, the restaurant probably took a loss after König kept calling the poor waiter over every two minutes.

Have you ever tried shopping for clothes for your “pet bear”? Fancy brand shirts struggle to contain him, with the buttons at the top stretched so tight they give you a sneak peek of his skin beneath. Or his massive biceps refusing to let the sleeves even make it past his arms. Meanwhile, you’re standing outside the fitting room, hearing him mutter curses in German.

If you’re brave enough to peek inside, you’ll probably catch him trapped in some poor one-size-fits-all shirt. And don’t even get me started on pants—those things always get stuck halfway up his thick, round thighs. He’ll be visibly annoyed because he really liked the pants, but alas, there’s no bigger size. Poor König. Clothes that fit his upper body end up baggy in other areas because they’re made for overweight frames rather than muscular ones.

You can try to comfort him by saying he looks better without clothes anyway, but all you’ll get in return is one of those “don’t tempt me” stares. Speaking of his struggles with clothing, König faces an even greater punishment with underwear. The elastic bands are often too tight, and while some brands accommodate “above-average” sizes in the front, nobody seems to think about guys with big butts. His underwear ends up too short in the back, leaving the edges of his perfect, round cheeks exposed like a pair of tempting melons barely contained by micro-shorts. He’d be so flustered and grumpy about it.

But having a König all to yourself has its perks! Lying on him is like lying on a breathing mattress—though sometimes the mattress might let out a cabbage-scented death cloud. Okay, that part isn’t great, but having him as your living bed still has its advantages. Especially when he’s lying on his stomach, and you can throw yourself on top of him, feeling the gradual warmth of his soft, comfy body. His behind, in particular, is irresistibly plush. If you’re the playful type, you might even pretend to “hump” him while he’s face-down. It’d be hilarious—until he flips the script and you’re the one getting wrecked.

To clarify, my take on König is neither that of a bodybuilder nor a big guy without strength or purpose. He’s the real strongman—the kind who could knock someone out with a slap, lift an 80-kilo man and snap his spine, or twist necks like he’s prepping a chicken for stew.

In short, he’s got that famous “dad bod,” but scaled up—not just tall, but wide as well, which is wonderful. No matter how big you are, you’ll always feel small next to him. That warm, soft body could break you if he hugged you too tightly, and isn’t that just perfect? <3

⌑

This post isn’t meant to criticize anyone or their preferences. I just wanted to share how I imagine König beneath the uniform. ૮₍꜆꜄ ˃ ³ ˂ ₎აApologies if I offended anyone ૮₍ ´• ˕ •` ₎ა

Remembering that I am not fluent in English so if there is any error it is the translator app's fault. ૮₍⇀‸↼‶₎ა🇧🇷➛🇺🇸

[gilverrwrites]

nah because I just tought of something.

what if while AK!Jason accidentally hurts the reader while they're..yk,like accidentally cutting then with a pocket knife too deep than intended and while taking a look actually noticing all the other damage he had done,(wich was not to underestimate)and he randomly goes all soft,and it's just confusing af

Not sure if same anon, or if two great minds are thinking alike, but more below:

AK!Jason having one night where he realizes he’s maybe gone too far with you. You made some snarky remark and he retaliated by leaving you tied to a vibrator for a little too long and comes back to find Slade ate you out and is unloading on you, but the tears on your face makes him pull Slade off of you.

He’s used to a few small tears of frustration or reluctant pleasure from you, but these are resigned, exhausted tears and he thinks he maybe hears you plead for Slade to end it in a broken little whisper.

Jason doesn’t outright say he feels guilty, but he leads you to the bathroom and washes you off with a gentle touch he forgot he was capable of. Maybe he didn’t realize quite how many bite marks he left to scar on your body or has to reckon with the fact that nothing that happened to him is actually your fault. But he doesn’t let them linger.

He simply pulls one of his thin white undershirts over your head and actually spares you a blanket. He isn’t nice about it and he makes you say thank you with his gun in your mouth, but there’s a moment where he pretends to feel your forehead so he can fib something about you having a cold to Slade…but really it’s an excuse to stroke you.

He’s very vanilla for the next week.

It's funny that the second mentioned cleaning you up because that's also where my mind went. But I was picturing him dragging you through the base with an unyielding grip on your wrist, purposefully tsking and scoffing every time you stumble over your heavy, shaking legs in an attempt to maintain the uncaring, volatile persona he's chiselled out for you. When he reaches the communal bathrooms, he kicks out any militia and locks the door, leaving the two of you alone.

He genuinely rolls his eyes at your dramatics when you gasp and hiss under the stream of hot water, but as you begin to wash away the grime and dried blood, revealing just how bruised and damaged you really are, the guilt that's been scratching at his chest really digs its claws in.

You struggle, trying to reach your back and though he wants to help, he hesitates, lingering a few feet away until you look at him pleadingly, too embarrassed to ask for help and he figures after all the damage he's done, he owes you this much without fighting or goading you.

So he strips down with you, silently massaging unscented shower gel into your aching muscles, gentle not to push too hard anywhere that's dark or swollen. Snapping at you not to look at him so he can get a good, harrowing glimpse at every cut and abrasion without having to deal with the sad expression on your face that only makes the pit in his guts feel all the more consuming.

Eventually, you're about as clean as you're ever gonna get, and he lets you dry yourself off with a scratchy communal towel before bandaging the worst of your wounds and dressing you in his undershirt,. Then he puts you over his shoulder and carries you to his chambers where he can tell you're trying to hide your excitement at the prospect of sleeping on a real bed.

When he asks if you're gonna be good, or if he's gonna have to chain you to it, you nod vigorously; promising to behave.

He's not so sure, he's been there, making promises to captors with every intent of breaking them but he leaves you be, giving you one last sceptical head-to-toe before departing to tell Slade you're out of service until further notice.

Hours later he returns, finding you curled in on yourself, every blanket and pillow you could find pulled in close,

You wake, frozen to the spot as you feel him crawling in beside you. His cold body silently nestles against yours, the hands that so frequently cause your torment follow your curves until one settles on your hip. The other tenderly brushes over the sore skin at the back of your neck where your former bindings had chaffed. You remain still and silent, not wanting to irritate or arouse him, and eventually, he falls asleep, clinging to you in a way that is both comforting and unsettling.

[amourtoken]

i can’t stop thinking about sub!luke. imagining him laid back on the couch and whimpering as you take him apart and not caring that jack could come back at any time and see the mess he can make at your hands. i also think sub!luke would love for you to spit in his mouth, he’d practically beg for it….

GODDDDD THIS IS SO GOOD FUCK

Lukey in subspace would be so fucking malleable, he'd do anything under the sun for you cause the way your tight pussy feels gripping his cock has his brain melting.

Push him back onto the couch, sit on his lap and grind your hips against his until he's literally tearing up just begging to feel you. He's so easy to break. It'd be even worse for him on the days where you make him hold his hands behind his back so he can't touch you, but today you're feeling rather generous so you allow his trembling hands to rest on your soft hips while you're in his lap.

Jack said he'd be back from the gym by 10, it's at least 9:30 but you could really care less especially since it's just starting to get good. When you finally give in to Luke's pleas and drag his sweats down just enough to free his cock he's practically worshipping you for the bare minimum, hips jerking when your hand brushes his length as you move to strip your lower half. You think he's so cute like this, but God is he pathetic. He's big, strong, tall, insanely talented and driven, adored by the Devils' fans, and here he is begging you for pussy with teary eyes. If only they knew, you think.

You'd love to just sink down on his cock right away but that'd take away from the fun of really unraveling him. instead you take your place straddling his hips again, reaching between your bodies to slowly stroke his cock and guide him right against your soaked slit. Luke's head fell back against the couch cushions but your free hand reached up to lace into his curls, tugging just enough to make him whine as you made him reconnect eye contact with you.

"Did i say you could stop? Eyes on me, Rusty"

" 'm s-sorry- f-fuck I'm sorry- p-please-"

you'd planned on teasing him a little differently but your attention had been redirected. His apologies are sweet but you'd like to see his mouth doing more work and talking way less. One of your hands stays tangled up in his hair while the other releases his cock to slide up his torso and settle at his throat. You squeeze the sides gently, feeling his soft moans vibrate against your palm as his brain goes fuzzy. God he's so pretty, in every way. Even the sounds he makes are pretty. Nothing could compare to the strangled sob that left his lips when you finally settled onto his cock though, especially when he's already struggling not to cum from just the feeling of your warm walls squeezing him just right.

Once you start bouncing on his cock he's done for. His arms tighten up around your waist to hold you close and he tries so hard to just sit and take it but he can't help the way his hips buck to meet yours halfway. You'd be lying if you said the friction wasn't nice, even if he's technically out of line. Your hands move to cradle his face and he just melts into your hold, especially when your thumb brushes his bottom lip and he takes it into his mouth. It does a pretty good job of muffling all the sounds escaping his chest but this isn't enough for you. You know he could do way more for you.

"Lukey, open. Stick your tongue out."

If there's one thing about him you appreciate it's that you never have to ask anything twice. He does exactly as you asked, not expecting you to lean over and spit in his mouth but he's not complaining. The action has him whimpering, especially when you slide your two middle fingers over the slick mess on his tongue before sliding further into his mouth. He can't tell which feelings to focus on first and he loses track, his body so overwhelmed he can't do anything but let you take over even more. He absolutely cums buried balls deep inside you while one of your hands stays settled on his throat and the other fucks his mouth. He's such a mess, drooling around your fingers and quivering so hard he's sure his legs are too weak to stand.

Youve both lost track of time and are DANGEROUSLY close to Jack walking in and seeing Luke fucked out beneath you by now.

[emryx]

When two NPCs with maybe 5 total minutes of screentime have you so obsessed you give them a child 🏃🏻

BEHOLD—my Teiago fankid, Elias de Riva (plus an info dump about him and his parents below because I’m very normal abt them but you can skip that and jus look at all the art if you want 🫣)

Realistically, it’s really hard to imagine a scenario where these two have a kid. But that’s what fanart and hcs are for 🙌 As of right now, I hc that around the time of the dialog from one of the crows abt Teia and Viago being "on again" is when he's conceived. But they don't really find out until after the ending of Veilguard. Any symptoms Teia might experience beforehand are just written off as stress or straight up ignored because of how much they have on their respective plates with the Antaam and the gods. Viago even calls her out for never going home and insists she takes a contract to “kill a vacation.” So I don't think it'd be too far fetched for her to look the other way until things are settled in Treviso again because of timeline stuff.

No clue how they react after the initial news rn but that can come later. They start being a little less childish with their back and forth break-ups at least once the seriousness of it all sinks in lol

Viago did not like the idea at first, I know that much. Mans was STRUGGLING with Elias in the early stages. Babies are loud, unpredictable, often inconsolable little heathens that he can't analyze or have a consistent system for. It would drive him nuts. A tiny human who can't yet care for itself and constantly needs to be held and directed, paired with his touch-aversion, OCD, and need for set routines? Yeahhh…Teia understands, but on one hand that woman just went through 9 months of her own hell and she's shoving that boy into his arms sometimes regardless of his bad days LMAO

It helps, in the end. Pushes him to gradually get used to it over time. Viago starts to realize there is somewhat of a system to the whole dad thing and fatherhood grows on him because I said so.

He holds a lot of resentment and hatred towards his own father. As a bastard of the king and one of his drunk mistresses, I doubt Viago’s upbringing was too great. The whole “demon teeth” comment was enough to hint as such. He wouldn't be thrilled about taking care of a baby, but the thought of entrusting his son to nannies? Strangers?? No. That's something his dad would and did do and he’s better than him. This is his kid; He doesn't care if it's gross, he'd rather feel uncomfortable sometimes for the sake of Elias’s comfort than stoop as low as the king.

On top of spite, the paranoia with poison extends to Elias in a way; one of my favorite hcs I’ve seen is Viago being exposed to assassination attempts on the king or his mistresses/servants while he was growing up before joining the crows, whether it’s via stories or witnessing first hand. The thought of entrusting Elias’s life to anyone else gives him flashbacks to being a child himself, scared to eat or drink anything prepared by anyone because of how many times others were killed that way around him. Even doing extensive checks and handpicking a trustworthy nanny is not reliable and doesn’t guarantee safety. We love a paranoid dad.

Teia on the other hand? | think she'd like a family tbh. Maybe she didn’t react well to first finding out she was pregnant, but otherwise the idea grows on her quickly compared to Viago. As an orphan, she didn't get much of a family—the crows became her family, Caterina as her "nonna" and some of the older Talons as her weird uncles. Being able to experience what she never had with a child she can ensure has a good life feels fitting for her character. Heals a bit of her own inner child too, yk? 🫠 She’s such a caring woman despite her occupation and she’d make a good mother. Scary, but good LMSKSKX

Life as a crow is harsh. Being the child of not one but two Talons?? On one hand that kid is very protected but on the other he has a huge target on his back. If Viago was worried about people thinking House de Riva and House Cantori had an alliance, I can only imagine what a wholeass child would stir up. They both would prepare him well for the future in their own ways. It’s not canon to him, but the thought of Elias being ridiculously resistant to poisons because Viago started building his immunity up so young is funny to me 😭

Anyways ramble over. Some creative liberties were taken, such as his eyes being more golden like how Teia’s are described in Tevinter Nights. I may give Elias his curls back because he looks goofy next to Teia and Viago with his emo hair JAKAMC

I love their little family…

[cecesturn]

matt SFW abc

if you like this please lmk and i’ll do a NSFW one 🫧

Affection - How affectionate are they? How do they show affection? Do they do it often?  

I feel like when you look at soft matt he’s just really cuddly with Nick and Chris and let’s honest soft matt is his true form even though he tries to act tough, I feel like he shows affection by like doing simple acts of service or just even being with his partner

Baby - Do they want a family?  

he said it before that he’s wanted kids

Confession - How would they confess their love for their partner?

I feel like Matt would be a low-key player off kind of confession. I feel like he wouldn’t straight up tell you that he likes you. I feel like you would just give subtle hints until you understand or get the hints and then he will confess it.

Domestic - Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning and taking care of themselves?  

I feel like he would settle down in his late 20s early 30s after the YouTube career is maybe over. And we know he does everyone’s laundry and we can tell he takes care of himself.

Ending - If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?  

I feel like Matt would really struggle with this, but if it’s what he wants, then he will do it. He would just try and find the nicest easiest way possible to do it kind of let them down slowly.

Fight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting? 

We’ve seen triplets fight and they give each other in seconds, but I feel like if it’s matt and a significant other I feel like he wouldn’t really be joking and he will obviously take it seriously I feel like it would also sit down after you both calm down and just talk about it instead of going to bed angry about it.

Gentle - How gentle are they with their partner?  

It’s matt and that’s all I’m gonna say he’s just one of the most gentle people on the Earth and you can tell

Honesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?  

I feel like the only secret Matt would hide from his partner is a secrets at his brothers have told them but other than that I feel like he would tell you anything

Impression - What was their first impression of their future partner?  

I have no clue what to do for this one, so I’m skipping it

Jealousy - How jealous do they get? What do they do when they're jealous?  

oh, he definitely gets jealous low-key like if you’re talking to someone that he thinks is “ better looking than him” he would definitely be jealous but try play off as if he’s not I feel like it was just act cool and calm and collected but as soon as you notice, he just starts acting off

Kiss - How do they kiss? What's their favorite type of kiss?  

Hear me out when I say this. forehead kisses. Matt just seems like the type to give forehead kiss. just like a soft gentle forehead kiss whenever wherever.

Love language - What's their love language?  

I feel like a matts love language differs between gift giving, quality time and physical touch and throw a bit of acts of service in there. Like I can just imagine this man coming to your house one day with random gifts or doing like little things for you like that you didn’t wanna do or just want to spend quality time cuddling you watching TV or something.

Marriage - Do they want to get married?

we all know Matt said he didn’t want a wedding or he only wants a small wedding

Nicknames - What do they call their s/o?  

I don’t know if this is just, I don’t fw pet names but can’t imagine any of the triplets apart from Chris their significant other pet names like the only one maybe for Matt would probably be baby

Open - When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?  

I feel like Matt would have a hard time at first opening up. I feel like there would have to be a breaking point where something happens and he just kinda lets it all out and then after that he would just tell you anything and everything about his day or what happened or if he’s overthinking

Parents - What would they be like as a parent?  

this man is a girl dad that don’t hear anything about it but apart from that, I feel like Matt would just be one of the best dads in the world like he would 100% be a soft parent 

Quizzes - How much do they remember about their s/o? do they remember every detail, or do they let details slip their mind?)  

he definitely remembers every detail like things that you even told him that the start of your relationship like the get to know sort of questions he will remember he just seems like the type of person remember every little detail about someone that is interested considering yesterday Chris said when Matt likes something he is locked in. I feel like he will know like every little detail about you and I feel like he would also know like how you’re feeling just by looking at you.

Remember - What is their favorite moment in your relationship? 

I can’t do this one either 

Security - How protective are they? how would they protect their s/o, and how would they like to be protected?  

I feel like if you’re at a concert and like the pit or a party or something somewhere where it’s crowded and like people are pushing up against you I feel like Matt would just have his arm around it like keep you next to him

Thrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice up your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?  

Again, can’t do this one because I haven’t made like a best relationship to go off

Ugly - What would be some bad habits of theirs?  

I don’t think there would be any bad relationship habit I think obviously the bad habits that Matt has would probably be biting his nails and not opening up in a relationship but they’re not really bad habits I don’t know

Value - How important is the relationship to them? What is it worth in comparison to other things in their life

this relationship would 100% be so important to matt it’s like his little getaway from Chris and Nick but also another person who can just be his complete self with. I don’t think it would be as important as Chris and Nick because obviously like a relationship will probably end but it will be one of the more important things

Wedding - what type of wedding would they want?  

I feel like obviously he would want a small wedding if he has one with only like close family and friends like he wouldn’t have random influencers or like extended extended family I feel like he would only have like immediate family and it would probably 100% be in Massachusetts or in one of the forestry areas in Vermont

X - A random Fluff Headcanon.  

Can’t do this one

Yearning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

I feel like Matt would bug Nick and Chris about missing his significant other like I feel like they wouldn’t have the end of it

ZZZ - How do they sleep? How does an s/o fit into their sleep habits?

I feel like Mr. Wrinkleton would to get his space taken but Matt would be okay with it. I feel like you guys were just cuddled to sleep and then drift off in the night like away from each other, but he would always somehow be touching you like whether his legs touching your hip or his hand is on your side. I feel like you would just be low-key clingy.

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws

[pralinesims]

The BOLD THE FACTS tag

Here comes the last one out of the 4 story mains...

Luca!

radioactive sunshine bottled into a human

[ PERSONAL ]

$ Financial: wealthy / moderate / poor / in poverty ✚ Medical: fit / moderate / sickly / disabled / disadvantaged / non applicable ✪ Class or Caste: upper / middle / working / unsure / other ✔ Education: qualified / unqualified / studying / other (expelled from school) ✖ Criminal Record: yes, for major crimes / yes, for minor crimes (hoo boy...) / no / has committed crimes, but not caught yet / yes, but charges were dismissed

[ FAMILY ]

◒ Children: had a child or children / has no children / wants children (maybe!) ◑ Relationship with Family: close with sibling(s) / not close with sibling(s) / has no siblings / sibling(s) is deceased ◔ Affiliation: orphaned / adopted / disowned / raised by birth parent / not applicable

[ TRAITS + TENDENCIES ]

♦ extroverted / introverted / in between ♦ disorganized / organized / in between ♦ close minded / open-minded / in between ♦ calm / anxious / in between ♦ disagreeable / agreeable / in between ♦ cautious / reckless / in between ♦ patient / impatient / in between ♦ outspoken / reserved / in between ♦ leader / follower / in between ♦ empathetic / vicious bastard / in between ♦ optimistic / pessimistic / in between ♦ traditional / modern / in between♦ hard-working / lazy / in between ♦ cultured / uncultured / in between / unknown ♦ loyal / disloyal / unknown ♦ faithful / unfaithful / unknown

[ BELIEFS ]

★ Faith: monotheist / polytheist / atheist / agnostic ☆ Belief in Ghosts or Spirits: yes / no / don’t know / don’t care ✮ Belief in an Afterlife: yes / no / don’t know / don’t care ✯ Belief in Reincarnation: yes / no / don’t know / don’t care ❃ Belief in Aliens: yes / no / don’t know / don’t care ✧ Religious: orthodox / liberal / in between / not religious ❀ Philosophical: yes / no

[ SEXUALITY & ROMANTIC INCLINATION ]

❤ Sexuality: heterosexual / homosexual / bisexual / asexual / pansexual ❥ Sex: sex repulsed / sex neutral / sex favorable / naive and clueless ♥ Romance: romance repulsed / romance neutral / romance favorable / naive and clueless / romance suspicious ❣ Sexually: adventurous / experienced / naive / inexperienced / curious ⚧ Potential Sexual Partners: male / female / agender / other / none / all ⚧ Potential Romantic Partners: male / female / agender / other / none / all

[ ABILITIES ]

☠ Combat Skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none ≡ Literacy Skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none ✍ Artistic Skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none ✂ Technical Skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

[ HABITS ]

☕ Drinking Alcohol: never / special occasions / sometimes / frequently / Alcoholic ☁ Smoking: tried it / trying to quit / quit / never / rarely / sometimes / frequently / Chain-smoker ✿ Recreational Drugs: never / special occasions / sometimes / frequently / addict ✌ Medicinal Drugs: never / no longer needs medication / some medication needed / frequently (he's doing most of them just for fun btw) / to excess ☻ Unhealthy Food: never / special occasions / sometimes / frequently / binge eater $ Splurge Spending: never / sometimes / frequently / shopaholic ♣ Gambling: never / rarely / sometimes / frequently / compulsive gambler

-

The Rules are simple! Tag people and name a character you want to know more about! If you want to let the person you tagged decide who to showcase, then don’t name a character and they can pick somebody. Easy! The person who is tagged will then bold the remarks below which apply to their character &, if they want to, include a picture with their reply!

Tagging @mattodore @diactrl @aliengirl @salemsimss @simkoos @nucrests @void-imp @sweetbeagaming @browntrait @aurorangen @damseljamsel @bunmou @vyxated @the-daydream-archives and everyone who's in mood to do this.

[cheekblush]

SCREAM there are rumors being spread about me at work that i have smth going on with a colleague of mine 😭😭😭😭

[tonycries]

Sl*t Me Out!

Synopsis. Sometimes, it’s so good that you can’t help but run away from it. Sometimes, he just can’t stop.

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

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, unprotected, really needy boys, creampíe, exhíbitionism (Nanami’s), bréeding, rough séx, cúmplay, pússyslappíng (Geto’s), breaking the bed, true form Sukuna, dp, o deníal (Choso’s), overstím, finger suckíng, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.8k

A/N. *Smooches your forehead* Have a good day.

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Break (you)

“You’re hah- lucky I caught you in bed, doll.” Toji pants into your open mouth. Lazily pulling aside your sopping wet pajama pants to greedily eye the mess of slick. The way your puffy folds were bulging and struggling to take him, “You’ve got no idea.”

You’re gasping as he reels back to spit, once. Twice. The steady stream of saliva hitting your sloppy hole straight on, feeling anything but lucky with how mean his fat tip was hitting your cervix. Over and over. “L-lucky?”

And oh, Toji could feel your gummy walls clenching around him like nothing before, that flimsy little outfit of yours sure to have him snapping sooner rather than later. 

“Mhmm…” he hums, nosing at your neck. Finger curling tightly around your shorts - as if to tear. To break. “Sooo fuckin’-” The sharp rip of fabric echoing in your hazy brain, just in time with the loud slam! of Toji’s hand down on the creaking headboard. “-lucky.”

Crack!

“Shit.”

And then you’re pressed against the cool wall before you can even register what’s happening. Shivers running down your spine - all the way down to where Toji was still buried in your dripping cunt. 

Ruthless. Fucking you so filthy. Big hands cupping your ass, holding you up so high where he was standing, your ankles locked around his toned waist as if on instinct. And your pants oh, tattered and drenched - thrown all the way somewhere near the broken bed. 

“Toji!” you squeal, blinking away the big fat tears in your eyes to look over his broad shoulders. Easy, with the way he was shoving you further and further up the wall with each harsh thrust. “The- the bed. You broke it.”

“What about it?” He lifts his head up to meet your glassy eyes, hips still relentless, “M’jus’ fucking you right, doll.”

Whining, “You’re so-”

And before you can give him a piece of your mind, he’s loosening his grip on your ass. Letting gravity slide you deeper and deeper down his rock-hard cock. Inch by fucking inch. All the way until your swollen folds were hitting his heavy balls. 

Keening at the sheer stretch, the addictive feeling of the curve of his dick massaging all the right spots. Like he was pushing into your stomach, your lungs, everywhere in a way that had you keening. Hips stuttering and pushing so bruisingly back, back, back-

“Oh? What’s this?” It’s that dangerous little tone of Toji’s voice that has you suddenly registering your nails clawing down his pecs, leaving angry red marks. Your feet flat against the wall like you were trying so pathetically to escape. And one look in Toji’s eyes told you that was the last thing you’d be doing. “Funny. Real funny, doll.” 

Ah, but amused was the last thing he sounded. 

That tiny scar at the corner of his mouth curling at your breathless pleas as he steps away from the wall. Leaving you completely at his mercy. 

“D-dressing like that and-” he chuckles, holding you up so easily like you’re weightless. The muscles in his arms rippling, abs burning as he bounces you so sluttily on his cock. “-acting like you can ngh- run away. Hahah, better keep this pretty cunt still, doll.” Sure to leave lewd marks all over you, his twitching balls on your cunt, fingers on your ass. “Cause if I said m’gonna fuck you right- hah- m’gonna fuck you right.”

“Please- Toji–” you squeal, like a broken record. Your legs dangling in the air, cunt sucking him all in so sloppily. “Please please please please-” 

“How cute. Yeah, beg f’me more.”

Not even bothering to think about running away now - you know you couldn’t. Instead clutching at his soft hair - his shoulders - his biceps - anything and everything to try and keep some semblance of sanity. “-please- Ngh- Please let me cum.”

And then Toji’s biting down on your beck with a strangled groan. Hard. Right above your racing pulse, like he wanted to draw blood. Or worse. Tightening, losing every scrap of sanity each time your gummy walls milked him so-

“Forget the bed.” he manages to grit out, ragged. Each word punctuated by such a heavy, mean thrust. “Cause you’re gonna fuck- feel real unlucky next to it.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - “Don’t hang up.”

It was the first thing that came out of your husband’s mouth.

As soon as he walked downstairs to you wandering the kitchen in the dead of the night, on the phone with your absolute asshat of a boss calling you to talk about your upcoming project. For the third night in a row. For what reason - you didn’t know. And Nanami didn’t care.

Because not too long later, you find yourself bent over the counter. Your boss’s droning rambles in one ear, Nanami breathing hotly against the other. Flimsy shorts pulled just enough to the side so that Nanami’s stuffing your snug cunt so sinfully full. 

Bunching up your - his - oversized button-up to fuck back your sloppy his bruisingly to meet his. Pulling you like some slut onto his swollen cock. 

“Don’t hang up, my love.” he’s running a long index down your arched spine. Already knowing the way you’d shiver loud enough that that bastard on the other end of the line would hear, “Don’t you fuckin’ dare.”

You flinch - both from the way he was spitting out profanities into your ear like sweet nothings, and from the way he bends his knees. Angling your hips to stretch out all the right spots, weeping tip alternating between bullying your cervix, your g-spot, your cervix, your-

“Hellooooo, did you hear what I said about that client’s request?”

Ah, right. 

“Y-yeah- totally-” you’re gasping, jaw sagging open as Nanami’s hips become more rigorous. Having you such a mess with the way he was getting bigger - stretching your gummy walls more sinfully - with each thrust. “T-tell them we’ll um- carry it out-”

And oh how it ticked Nanami off to see his poor girl working overtime, no matter the fact that he was the one that told you to stay on call. That furrow between his brows growing with each passing second.

“Mhm, the documents will be-” The sentence dies in your throat as Nanami reaches down to play with your ravaged clit, drawing messy, frenzied little patterns- no-

Your eyes widen, the phone almost slipping out of your hand - and it does, only later do you realize that Nanami is the gentleman that slips it into his hand. Holding up your phone for you while he fucks you on the other line like an animal.

Because shit Nanami Kento wasn’t just drawing any old pattern on your pretty clit. He was drawing a quick, methodical K-E-N-T-O-K-E-N-T-

“Shit- fuck fuck fuck-” he grunt, low and gravelly. “Squeezin’ around me so tight. So good.” Hips stuttering at the pure heaven he was feeling, ”Does my girl like this? Like being listened to?” Harder on your clit, “Ya love it, huh?”

“K-Ken…”

“Are you okay, you sound…sick.” your boss’s voice is grating against your ears.

“Y-yes I’m-” It’s too much. Nanami’s pelvis hitting your ass, spearing you so rough against his cock. So sloppily fucking away whatever’s left of his sanity - fingers just as erratic. “Fine.” You could just scream, but instead, you settle for hiking a knee up on the counter, pulling away, trying desperately to ease the relentless abuse of his hips. “Totally fine.”

And for all your years being loved by Nanami, you’d never have expected his strained, “Hah, you sure about that?” Only briefly stopping his little K-E-N-T-O-K- to loop a strong arm underneath your knee - baring your glistening pussy for him to admire from behind. “Because it looks like you’re running away. N’ I won’t be happy if you’re trying to escape your dear husband, my love.”

“N-no…”

“Is someone else there? Who are you talking to?”

Caging you. Perhaps even punishing you for taking so long on this call. And you’re not even standing at this point, being held up so easily by him. So easy for him to crane his neck over and greedily prey at the way your pretty pussy was swallowing him up. In and out in and out in and- 

“Answer him, darling.” Nanami murmurs for you, hips slowing down just enough that the slapping of his toned pelvis wouldn’t be completely heard. “Be a good lil’ wife n’ answer f’me.”

“Jus’ a…dog-” You glare at his deep, baritone huff of laughter. Face heated where he was pressing your phone screen against you, “A needy one.”

“Ah, well. I know how dogs are.” God, how you wish this could end soon - would do anything for it to end soon. “So I trust that you’ll be there sharp for the meeting with the client tomorrow?”

“Y-yeah I’ll-” your eyes are screwing shut. Throwing yourself fully and utterly helplessly to the harsh tempo of Nanami’s cock. Like he was claiming you from the inside out - all the way from your quivering cunt to your hazy response, “-come.”

And thank fuck it was Nanami holding up the phone, because it’s all you can do to not fucking throw it across the kitchen as you cum. So hard and violent, almost. “Shit- Ken- m’cumming- oh- oh my god.”

Breaking up whatever composure you’d built up for so long as you milk his cock dry, clenching so tight that it was almost difficult to fuck up into you. Nothing but Nanami on your mind now - just Nanami. As expected.

“Hello? Are you still there??”

“Sorry, but my wife won’t be working overtime. For you, at least.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Noise complaint

Geto knew that no one else was home at this time - just you and him, splayed out on your queen-sized bed. He knew that maybe he should tell you this as he splits you apart on his massive cock, eyeing the way you’re grappling at your kiss-bitten lips, trying so desperately to not let your slutty moans through. 

But why would he?

“S-Sugu-” you manage to whisper, barely even audible over the obscene sounds of your gummy walls milking the fucking soul out of him. The squelches so sloppy. So loud. Mattress creaking at the sheer force, “They’ll- ngh- hear..”

“What was that?” Geto leers down at you, lazily thumbing opening your swollen folds further, bulging and clenching around his cock. “Can’t hear you over this talkative pussy, doll. You gotta ha- speak up.”

And it’s all you can do to crack open the trembling wall of your fingers, blinking away the tears in your eyes to look up at your boyfriend pleadingly. 

“We can’t mm- fuck- w-wake the girls up.” So utterly difficult to get the sentence out when it seemed like he was fully fucking it out of your brain. Angry tip kissing all your sweet spots, hitting you after every word falling from your lips, “Hafta- ngh- be quiet.”

And fuck - the look in his eyes. Long, inky hair falling over his broad shoulders, curtaining such a dark glint in his greedy gaze.

Flitting between your desperate, fucked-out expression and down, down, down at the way your dripping cunt was swallowing him so good. Letting him disappear so easily into your heavenly cunt - so mean, that Geto doesn’t want to slow down. Not even a little bit.

“Well…” he purrs, ringed fingers cool on your throbbing clit. Coating them in your sweet sweet juices before moving to your stomach, your sensitive nipples - all the way up to your glossy, swollen lips, “Let me help you then, gorgeous.”

But something in that deep tone told you he wanted to do anything but. 

Not wasting a second more before shoving two fingers inside, pressing right at the back of your hot tongue in a way that has your gagging, tears stinging your eyes. A loud moan stuck in your throat and-

Smack!

It was sharp - fleeting, even - but your entire body is jolting at the feeling of Geto’s thick fingerpads smacking your poor cunt. Right above your ravaged clit. 

“Ngh- S-Sugu!” 

“S-Sugu!” he mocks your moans, voice higher than usual. “Thought you wanted hngh- to be quiet, gorgeous?” he grins, chuckling softly at the way you’re half-lucidly pushing at his rippling biceps - nails leaving neat little marks as you’re torn between pushing him away and wanting more more more- “How are you gonna do that if you’re like this, huh?.”

You keen as Geto chokes you on his fingers deeper, having you slobbering and drooling all over his rings, saliva dripping down the corner of your mouth. Mixing with the tears rolling down your cheek, “Pl-ease- mmpf- Sugu.” 

And God, he almost cracks right then and there at the way you’re squeezing his swollen cock so hard it was like you wanted to never let him go. Feeling him getting bigger inside you, hot tip pressing deeper into your plushy g-spot. 

“Try not to scream, then.”

One arm drags you straight across the soaked sheets, bunching up at your hips as he pulls you impossibly deeper onto his aching cock. “And don’t you dare think of running.”

Caging you as his hips become so brutal on yours, heavy balls smacking you in time with the stars in your eyes - the muffled moans falling from your mouth despite all that. Sloppy. Merciless. 

“Fuck! M’mpf so- close–” your eyes dart to the closed door, hoping - praying - that no one would walk in right now. Because if your daughters-

Smack!

“All eyes on me, gorgeous.” Distantly, you wonder whether Geto’s fingers would leave marks on your clit for tomorrow. “Such filthy filthy moans from a sweet mouth, huh?” he grunts, chest heaving with the force of his thrusts. “Right?” Pressing down on your tongue to have you nodding deliriously at him, “Heh, cute. Even cuter when you hah- try to hide your moans like-” Running quick, harsh circles on your clit. Faster. Harder. “-this.”

You don’t even realize it when you’re cumming - just that your body’s arching off the bed, like it was trying so hard to be one with Geto’s. 

Vision spotty, blood roaring in your ears, a sharp shout of “Fuck! Sugu m’cumming-” leaving you with reckless abandon.

And you couldn’t even care at this point - didn’t have the capacity to as Geto fucks you through your high, hips relentless. Playing with your pretty clit. Swirling lewd little circles at the same time as his fingers in your mouth.

“I uh- forgot by the way.” You hear him murmur through your orgasmic haze, not a shred of apology in his words. “The girls are at a sleepover.” Hips just smacking into yours, soft lips kissing the corner of your mouth - even when it drops in disbelief. “So we have alllll night to try n’ get another noise complaint from the neighbors.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - The tease

“Oh, shit-” Choso throws his head back, dark strands of hair sticking to his forehead. “Jus’ a little long- longer. Fuck, jus’ a bit more.”

And if Choso was wrecked, then it was nothing compared how fucking dumb you were being fucked. Hips all stuttering and drooling sloppily on the mattress, barely able to let out anything but incoherent little babbles of, “Ngh- please- too much.” by the third time he’s denying you your orgasm.

“Jus’ some more- fuck- baby, a bit longer.”

You cry as his pace only gets more merciless, having your snug cunt suck him up all the way till you were kissing that creamy ring around his base. “Wanna….”

“What’s what?” he’s leaning in closer, a mocking smirk playing on those kiss-bitten lips. And it’s not like Choso was expecting you to form a coherent sentence at this point - not with the way he was only bullying his cock into your gummy walls harder. More purposeful. 

“Ngh- please—” you’re dragging out your moans, words slurring as evidence of how long this has been going on. “Wanna cum.”

So, honestly, to him the fact that you could still speak was like a personal insult.

But absolutely nothing compared to the way your hand was dipping down to your poor, forgotten clit. Because you wanted - needed - so badly to cum. To finally have your soft fingertips barely just kissing at the swollen, sensitive nub - before Choso’s smacking your hand away.

“Fuck- What do you oh- fuck should be illegal for you to squeeze me that way- what do you think you’re doing, baby?”

And the only response he gets is a broken sob, big fat tears rolling down your pouty cheeks. As if on auto-pilot, you’re scrambling onto your elbows, arms straining to push. To escape. To finally make yourself cum because Choso was being so mean- 

“Hah? No no no no-” he tilts his head, teeth baring in a mean smile. Easily moving your limp arms like a ragdoll to pin them above your head. Lacing his fingers with yours as you let out little cries begging to cum - ones you probably don’t even realize are leaving you. “W-where do you’re ngh- taking this pretty pussy?”

“Oh- Wanna cum. So badly.” you bat your lashes up at him, 

“But if we hngh- cum, this’ll end.” his voice, almost a whine. “Wanna feel you- feel this tight pussy forever. Please? Jus’ some more?”

“Please, Cho–”

“...”

“Ch-Cho?”

Oh, you were an evil, evil little minx. That nickname has his weeping, fat head kissing your cervix, your g-spot - everywhere faster. Harder. Stretching you out like such a slut on his painfully hard cock.

“Aww, my poor baby.” Choso loops two strong arms around your thighs, pulling you closer - locking you in place. Cooing, “My poor, poor baby. Using that nickname.” Kissing at your teary cheeks, stumbling and messy. Just a dragged-out touch of his pretty lips, runny eyeliner smudging against your skin. “That desperate, huh? You wan’ cum that hah- fucking bad, huh?”

It’s all you can do to give a stupid little nod. Jolting as his hot tongue licks a long, languid stripe at the corner of your mouth. The salty, sinful taste of your tears sending Choso’s eyes rolling to the back of his head, and him straight to heaven.

Gritting out a strangled, “Fine.”

And if you thought Choso was mean before then you weren’t ready for the way his speed picks up, hips hitting yours so bruisingly. Running only on you, the way your gummy walls were desperately trying to suck him back up with each thrust, and you-

“Oh- oh my god, Cho-” you jolt as he snakes down one hand to toy with your throbbing clit. Weeping and glossing all over him as Choso rolls it between two fingers. “Shit shit shit- m’so close.”

“Yeah?” his voice breaks a little at the end, as unsteady and sloppy as his cock now. Stretching out your plushy walls, “Gonna cum? This fuck- oh, baby. This pretty pussy is gonna cum f’me?”

And you can’t even think to answer his question - because you are. Cumming again and again all over Choso’s massive, unforgiving cock. 

 “Shit- oh, baby yeah. Look how much this pretty pussy is cumming.” Thighs shaking, fucking your hips up in shallow, lewd little grinds to meet the sloppy staccato of his - in time with the urgent ramblings falling from his lips, “This f’me? All f’me?”

That tone of his voice surprised - disbelieving, even like he couldn’t rip his eyes off from the way you were clenching around him in sensitivity. 

Only when your climax bates, your eyes snap open. Finally registering the way his hand jerks away from your clit, hips so out of control. Getting faster - showing absolutely no sign of stopping. “Cho- what-”

“Shhh shhhh- baby. I ngh- said I’d make you cum. Not that I’d hah- stop, right?”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Double trouble

To Ryomen Sukuna, it was simple - if his cute lil’ slut can take one, then you can take both. Or, well, he’ll just have to make it fit.

“Please please please-” you gasp, big fat tears streaming down your face, thighs twitching over where you were all splayed out so prettily on Sukuna’s large lap. “-s’too much. Too big.”

You could feel him grinning into the crook of your neck, sharp canines biting right over where your rapid pulse was. 

His hot breath ghosting your ear, “Too big?” Eyes flitting down to your poor cunt, all gaping and drooling sloppily over his fat, angry head, “Then how come you take it all the time, brat?”

You let out a frustrated whine, “B-because that’s one and this is-” Gulping at the two massive cocks kissing your puffy folds, both so intimidatingly long and angry. Thick enough that you knew you wouldn’t be able to walk for weeks. “...two”

“So?”

Both of you watch in wonder as he holds you up slightly in midair by just the arms, slowly easing you down, down, down onto his cock. Like you were some ragdoll. And if you were in any better state of mind, you’d marvel at how languidly Sukuna was fucking up into you. 

Letting your sweet sweet juices coat his rock-hard cocks, inching inside your sloppy hole deeper. And deeper. Getting you used to the dizzying stretch, the thump! thump! thump! of his prominent veins inside your tight pussy. Molding your gummy walls around one. Then the other. Then both at once.

And shit. 

Shit, you didn’t know if you’d make it out alive. 

“Oh- hngh- Kuna!” you sob, but you can’t rip your eyes away from the way your hips were stuttering down so sloppily into his. Short, sharp grinds that doesn’t even have to have Sukuna fucking into you, just watching in awe as you milk his cocks more. “You’re in so- deep- fuck- oh my god-”

“Jus’ ‘Kuna’ works fine.” he chuckles at his own joke, lacing two fingers on top of your head to stretch you out impossibly more on his dicks. Because fuck you were gorgeous like this - but so slow. “This all you can do?”

Your lips fall into a little pout that has him twitching wildly inside you - barely even halfway in, but feeling like he was pushing into your fucking lungs already. 

“Heh, don’t be like that now.” he shakes his head in amusement as you scramble to grab ahold of his hair - his arms - the throne, anything to keep whatever is left of your sanity. “You don’ want this all to be for nothing, right?” Hips jerking like you wanted to run but of course, Sukuna couldn’t have that - not when he had you like this. “Here.”

Yeah, you definitely weren’t making it out alive. 

Through your teary vision, you make out the hand that Sukuna is offering you - and before you can even think, you’re biting down. Hard. Sure to draw blood if this wasn’t the king of curses himself. 

“Fuuuck, yeah. Atta girl. Suckin’ me up so well.” he groans, hips bucking up so meanly. “Let it all out. Heh, see if you can draw blood n’ let me ngh- take care of this tight- pussy.” Letting you take it out on his hand, teeth leaving such cute marks he’ll coo at later - but never admit to. “Said I’ll make it fit n’ I’ll make it-” Bouncing you up and down, legs dangling at his muscled thighs. Throbbing cocks probing deeper with each word he spits out. More calculated. More impatient. “-fit.”

And fuck was it a sight to see. 

“Hah, what did I tell ya, brat?”

Sukuna can’t help but sit back to look at the heavenly view of you fucked dumb on his massive cocks - and fuck was it a sight to see. 

To trail a finger down right to where his fat heads were so obviously bulging against your stomach. Buried inside your sinful pussy all the way until your swollen folds were kissing at his heavy balls. One weeping tip nudging at your cervix, the other curving just right against your sweet spot. Feeling your plushy walls still desperately trying to adjust, pulsing so maddeningly - or was that him? 

Doesn’t matter.

Because Sukuna is gritting out a ragged,  “Now the real fun begins.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - Again and again

“Jus’ one more sweetheart- promise.”

Does it really count as being mean if he uses just a little bit of reverse cursed technique while absolutely ruining you in bed? Gojo certainly doesn’t think so. It’s just…how could he not?

And you definitely don’t have any other explanation as to why your boyfriend’s got you limp and folded so easily into a mating press, fucking his cum into you for the fourth time tonight. Hips still so unforgiving. Merciless. 

“Merciless, hah?” And fuck, you barely even have the time to register the fact that you babbled that out loud. Because Gojo’s big arms are spreading your quaking legs so wide open for him, “Creative.” Long fingers deftly giving your clit a long, hard roll, “Real creative. That’s a ngh- new one. What else has your cute, fucked-out mind got f’me, sweetheart?”

Some tiny, sensible part of Gojo knows that he should maybe slow down - give you a chance to fucking answer. Maybe stop himself from dancing a soft hand down to your stomach - for the second time tonight.

Stop himself from smirking at the knowing wonder in your eyes as he presses down. Hard. pretty pink lips falling into a soft oh! as you coat him in his own cum. 

Glossy and so, so sloppy. 

Everywhere. 

“Oh, you naughty girl.” he’s grinning, pooling the obscene puddle of cum seeping into the sheets on his fingertips. “You naughty, naughty-” Smearing it all over your bulging cunt, tracing white patterns over your puffy clit. “-girl. How are you still making this much of a mess everywhere after so long?”

“Ngh- because you’re- you’re so-” you sob, and he’s speeding his hips up. Weeping tip kissing all those sweet spots he’s mapped out so well.

“So what?”

“So mean, Toru!”

“I know, sweetheart. I know.” But he didn’t feel one bit sorry for your poor, overfilled cunt. Nodding so mockingly gently. M’so ‘mean’ fucking this cute cunt. Usin’ jus’ a bit of reverse cursed technique.”

Fuck, the way you’re biting down on his right collarbone, hard - was adorable. Sure to have drawn blood if it wasn’t for the technique keeping the two of you from breaking bones. And okay, Gojo guesses he deserved that.

“Ouch.” he’s clutching at his heart, acting so dramatically wounded - as if he wasn’t the one doing the bruising. Leaving marks on your ass, your tits, maybe even your poor cunt. “So feisty. M’heartbroken, y’know.” Voice dropping to such a low purr, looking up at you through those long lashes. “N’ the only way to fix it is by cumming f’me fuck- o-once more.”

And Gojo wonders whether you could feel it still filling you up inside - his cum. Whether you can feel the way it dribbles down the side of your thighs as you kick your feet, desperately trying to sit up. 

Feet flattening on the mattress because it’s too much. And you’re too sensitive - too good, with the jolts of electricity coming down from Gojo’s fingertips. The power dancing over your skin. 

But, shit - why’d you ever think you’d be a match for the strongest?

“S’gonna be too much-” you squeal as he’s pulling you closer into his arms, letting your head loll into his lips. Pushing your legs up further - till they were pressing so tight against your tits. Shifting his hips more purposefully - right at the angle to hit that sweet spot that had you crying out in ecstasy, “Dunno if I can, Toru.”

“Now now now, don’t you dare run away.” his half-hooded gaze is almost crazed now. “Because you can cum. And you will.”

“I-” you choke, feeling like Gojo was pushing all the way into your lungs. “I will-”

Each push of his angry, weeping tip having you see stars behind your eyes. Abs burning, white strands of hair falling over his eyes - glowing ever-so-slightly in a way that neither of you had the capacity to notice at the moment. 

“You will.” he’s moaning, like a mantra. “You will you will you will- hngh- fuck! You will.” 

Each word spilling from Gojo’s lips only having his achingly cock twitch wildly inside you. Massaging your plushy walls, stretching them out so. Milking the fucking soul out of him, until it was almost difficult to fuck you into the mattress. To have your cunt pulling him back like she didn’t want to part.

So, so desperate. 

Exactly the way he knew you did when you were close - dangerously so. So he’s whispering into your open mouth, “Cum f’me, sweetheart.”

You don’t know who cums first - just that you’re seeing a flash of white, your heart thumping all the way in your ears, a rapid, urgent cadence at which he was spilling into your quivering cunt. Having gone over the edge again. Warm - so warm with each rope after rope of seed, painting your gummy walls white, your puffy folds slobbering all over him.

Only adding to the mess as he fucks his cum deeper. Again and again and again - fucking into you like he was out of control. And he probably was. 

“Hey, so….y’know how six is my lucky number?”

A/N. First time writing true form Sukuna, how are we feeling, hm?

Plagiarism not authorized.

[not-neverland06]

Kid?

Logan Howlett x fem!mutant!reader A/N: I haven’t watched X-Men since I was a child, so I can’t promise this is going to be canon-compliant. I haven’t watched DP & W either, I’ve just been influenced by that one gif where Hugh Jackman shakes his head like a dog. I feel FERAL Also, I am not good at superhero names or coming up with creative powers. So you’re a mutant with matter manipulation and they call you Flux. I mean, superhero names are inherently ridiculous so I think this works. (Don’t judge me, I’m just here for the sexy man) Summary: You walk in on Logan and Jean in a compromising position and feel your heart break. You really thought he loved you, you were so wrong. (Or were you?)

It was your own fault, you should have knocked before you busted through the door. You only have yourself to blame as you struggle to catch your breath and swallow down the lump in your throat. The image of Logan standing between Jean’s bare legs is going to haunt you for a while. Their faces will keep you awake at night, cringing at yourself while you remember the humiliating moment. 

You rush towards the door, a stupidly giddy skip to your step. You were a mutant, a superhuman, and getting a chance to talk to your crush should not have you giggling like a schoolgirl. Still, you’re blind to all logic when it comes to Logan. 

You turn the corner, spotting the medbay and nearly ramming into the door you know he’s lurking behind. Charles had told you where to find him. Of course, you hadn’t paid attention to the odd tone of voice when he had very clearly warned you to knock. All you’d heard was Logan’s name and you’d zoned out for the rest of the conversation. 

And, of course, you don’t knock. You grab the door’s handle and bust in, “Hey!” Your eyes widen and your stomach plummets with a depressing plop to the floor. Your eyes nearly bug out of your head when you see the way Jean and Logan are entangled in each other. He’s leaning over her, the muscles and veins in his neck pulsing with strain. Normally, that sight would have you nearly drooling. 

Instead, all you can see is the flush on Jean’s cheeks and the way her pupils are dilated with want. Her nails are digging into his back, bare legs twined around his waist. There’s no way to misinterpret this. No way for you to later assure yourself that this was all just a misunderstanding. 

The words stumble out of your mouth in a disjointed mess that even you can’t decipher. You stand there, jaw opening and closing like a fish out of water before you finally get it together. “Charles,” you stutter out, his name sounding like a question. You wince and finally tear your gaze away from them. “Sorry,” you chuckle, trying to play off your hurt as humor. “Charles needs us all for a mission.”

You don’t give them a chance to respond, you slam the door closed, ignoring what you think might be someone calling your name. 

You shake off the mortifying memory and groan. Your head falls into your hands and you grip at your face until the pain distracts you from the embarrassment. It’s not too hard to push it all down, to pretend what happened didn’t make your heart crumble away into nothing.

Maybe it’s because you’re a mutant that you’re so used to rejection. You’re used to constantly being disappointed by people around you. Your childhood was nothing but cruelty, your crush not liking you back can’t compare to half of what you went through. 

That’s what you tell yourself, at least, to try and pretend it doesn’t hurt as much as it does. You shove it down until you think you can’t feel that dull ache anymore. And when Jean and Logan walk into the room, looking more put together, you smile at Logan like you always do. It doesn’t turn down at the corners, your eyes don’t water. You take in a deep breath and look utterly unaffected. 

He sits down beside you and leans towards you. “I can explain-”

You cut him off and shake your head. “Forget about it. I should have knocked.” You turn towards Charles who wheels himself to the front of the room. You dismiss Logan and ignore the way his stare burns into the side of your head. 

Charles looks to Jean and Logan, a smile starting. Then his gaze drifts towards you and your chest deflates when you see the look on his face. He knows, the old miser probably coasted over your thoughts and he knows. He sends you a sympathetic look that makes you feel like a little girl who just got told unicorns don’t exist. “Jean, Logan, glad that you’ve finally joined us.”

Logan nods and leans back in his chair. But his eyes remain fixed on you and it makes you wish you could stab a fork into them. You let out a short, irritated huff of air and frown at yourself. Maybe you were a little more angry than you would like to admit. 

You blame Logan for that. You never would have fallen so deep into infatuation if you hadn’t believed there was even a sliver of a chance with him. Always speaking so kindly with you when he would barely spare anyone a second glance. Constantly doing checkups on you after a particularly harsh training session with Charles. 

Your mind runs over all the small things with him, everything you’ve done together. And you’re hit with a sudden nauseating thought. Oh my god, what if he sees me paternally?

You force yourself not to physically react but inside your throwing up and fucking freaking out. You feel a sudden spark of alarm from Charles and quickly do your best to fortify your mind so he doesn’t see your major mental freakout. 

You’re not that much younger than him. Well, it’s not illegal, your crush on Logan. But what if this entire time, when you’ve been falling harder and harder for him, he’s just been platonically taking care of you? You’ve seen him do it plenty of times for the younger kids, as reluctant as he is to admit it. 

You’re spiraling further and further into panic. So much so that you have no idea what’s even being discussed or what’s going on. You get onto the jet and have to ask Storm what you’re doing. She gives you a confused look but tells you nonetheless. Just some recon on a potential mutant trafficking ring. Nothing out of the ordinary, as depressing as that is. There shouldn’t be much violence, which is why your group is particularly small today.

You nod your head, moving like you’re in a daze as you throw yourself onto a seat. Logan sits beside you, an alarmed look on his face. “You alright, kid?”

The nickname, which is used to make your stomach flutter, makes you want to throw up. How have you missed it for this long? It was laid out so plainly before you. Of course, he doesn’t want you. Not when he has perfect Jean. Bile rises in your throat with a vicious ferocity when you glare over at Jean. 

There’s a sudden petty, vindictive rage fueling you. The type you should have abandoned in high school, especially now that you’re grown. Instead, you feel like giving into Logan’s idea of what you are. You feel like reacting to all of this petulantly. 

You ignore Logan and instead catch Jean’s eyes. Slowly, and with as much intention as you can force into your gaze, you look from her to Logan and then Scott. Her eyes widen and Logan scoffs beside you. She shakes her head minutely, silently begging you not to say anything. You smile at her and stand up.

You take a step towards Scott and Logan calls out an irritated, “Kid.” You ignore him and Jean eyes you warily as you approach. She stands like she’s ready to fight you and take the jet down just to keep you quiet. You reach Scott and can hear the way Jean takes in a sharp breath. 

“Scott,” he looks up at you with his brows raised. There's a pause before you speak. Dragged on too long for Scott not to realize you’re planning something. 

Jean takes a step towards you and you grin, “Mind checking my cuffs?” Scott gives you an odd look and his confusion only gets worse as Jean slumps onto the seat beside him. She’s not even trying to hide her relief. Scott shakes his head and holds his hands out, fingers gently probing around the cuffs on your wrists. The ones that keep your powers in check. 

You’re still new to welding them. And they’re too entwined with your emotions for you to just have free range with them. If you hadn’t had the cuffs on this morning, you’re afraid you might have just turned everything around you into nothing but dust.

“They look fine, Flux.” His tone betrays his thoughts. He doesn’t know why you’d come to him for this when it’s Charles who usually deals with it. But this stupid, petty little display wasn’t for poor oblivious Scott. It was for the woman sitting next to him. The redhead whose still drilling holes into your skull. 

You’ve got leverage over her that you’ve never had before. Scott wouldn’t take her little foray with Logan very well. And all it would take is a flick of your wrist to give him a very clear image of exactly what you’d seen. Then, her picture-perfect relationship would be over in a matter of seconds. You’re sure Logan would be more than pleased. But he doesn’t seem to understand that Jean just wants to have fun with him, she’d never choose him over Scott. 

“Thanks,” there’s a bite to your tone that you’re not used to. You usually keep your emotions relatively in control. That way you won’t have to wear these cuffs one day. But you feel volatile today. You’re channeling your hurt and turning it into misguided anger. 

You drop your wrists to your sides and stalk toward the front, hovering behind Charle’s and Storm’s chairs so you don’t have to look at the others. It doesn’t take long for you to feel the floor trembling under heavy booted steps. 

Logan’s arms rest on the headrest of the chairs, bracketing you in between them so you can’t escape. He leans forward until his chest is pushed against yours and you can feel every ridge of his muscled torso pressing into you. You try not to suck in a breath, try not to play into the cliche of instantly forgetting why you’re angry when you’re faced with those muscles of his. It is hard, though, because he’s so handsome and so warm and you just want to melt into him. 

“Wanna explain what the hell that was?” His voice is so low, whispering against the shell of your ear so only you can hear. You feel the vibrations of it against your back, his tone more gravelly than it should be. 

You glance over your shoulder at him, face placid and blank. “What? Just needed some help.” Storm looks over at you both and rolls her eyes. 

Logan opens his mouth to say something but she cuts him off. “Put a pin in the lover’s spat, we’re landing.” Using just a bit of your power, you push Logan off of you and head towards the back of the jet. There’s a slight jolt as you land and then the ramp opens up and you’re practically running into the snowy forest. 

You don’t know where you are, mainly because you weren’t paying attention, you just know it's fucking freezing. The leather of your suit isn’t doing much to help fight against the chill. Charles stays on the jet and reminds you all that this is only meant to be recon. You’re partnered up with Logan, and as much as it irritates you, you’re not stupid enough to argue against it.

You have to put aside your personal grievances for this mission. You can’t risk the safety of mutants because the guy you like likes another girl. Logan seems pleased about it, stubbornly staying by your side even when you make it clear you want space. 

You both linger behind the other’s as Storm leads you through the forest. Jean is being more touchy with Scott than normal. Either to assuage her own guilt or to rub it in Logan’s face, you’re not sure which. You nearly gag as you watch them whisper to one another, you glance over at Logan to see if he notices. 

You’re startled when you see him already staring at you. His lips tick up into something mischievous when he catches your eye. That smug smirk on his face as he leans in towards you. “Wanna tell me what’s got you so pissed off?”

You roll your eyes and tamp down the rising tide of anger. “Nothing,” you bite out, jaw clenching the longer you stare at the back of Jean’s head. You’re surprised you haven’t chipped a tooth with how hard you’re grinding your teeth together. 

He scoffs, not believing you for a second. He doesn’t say anything, just gives you an expectant stare. You can taste the words forming on your tongue, an irritating urge to just spill your guts overcoming you. Before you can stop yourself you blurt out, “I’m a little surprised that’s all.”

“Oh yeah, ‘bout what?” You hate how amused he sounds, the chuckle just lying in wait under his words. Like your anger is funny to him, like he didn’t just break your stupid fucking heart. 

You stop walking, not feeling as intimidating as you want while you shiver and huddle into yourself. He seems perfectly at ease in his leather jacket and beater, still refusing to wear the uniform. He leans back and looks at you with a fondness that you can’t tell if you love or hate. “You and little Miss Perfect.” You spit the nickname with enough venom to make both of your eyes widen. 

Logan rolls his eyes and takes a step towards you, again, Storm interrupts you both. “Guys, really?” Everyone turns around to stare and you will the heat in your face away. “Not the time,” she scolds and you brush past Logan to catch up with the others. 

You come upon a warehouse, it’s nearly camouflaged under all the snow. You see two guards waiting outside the metal doors and you all disperse behind the trees. Storm glances towards Jean who focuses on the guards. They drop to the floor and you wave your hands, their guns melting into puddles of metal. 

Logan and Scott move forward, sliding the large metal doors open. You wince at the loud screeching as the rust flakes off the sides. There’s a collective quiet as you all hold your breath, waiting for them to give the all-clear. Once they run inside and run back out, you and the others quickly get to your feet and rush into the warehouse. Logan closes the doors again as you make it inside. 

“No one here?” Storm checks. Scott shakes his head and you frown. That doesn’t make any sense. Why would there be guards if there was nothing inside?

Your question is, unfortunately, answered a minute later. You find a pile of metal crates stacked on top of each other. A large beige tarp covers them. You tug at the corner, letting the fabric slide off. Your eyes flutter with disappointment, “Guys! Over here,” mutants sit inside the crates. Each of them stares at you with varying degrees of mistrust and fear. 

As awful as it is, you’ve gotten used to these quiet depressing missions. There aren’t usually many mutants in one place. They don’t like to keep the product in one spot for too long. There are only four kids here. The youngest is eleven and the oldest is seventeen. There’s nothing physically telling about their abilities so you assume it must be psychic powers. 

They don’t want to come with you until you all give them a demonstration of your powers. Proving that you’re not just trapping them and taking them somewhere worse. You’re nearly out the door when Charles's voice rings loudly through all of your minds. 

You wince at the volume, hands coming up to grip at your hair as he shouts, “Behind you!” A gunshot rings out, something hot rips across your wrist and you gasp in pain. There’s a clatter of metal as your cuff drops to the ground, the bullet having destroyed it. Without them both, they’re useless. One won’t work without the other. 

You glance up at Logan, a panicked look on your face. You can already feel the tidal wave of power thrashing and building in your chest. It’s been so long with the safety net that you forgot how bad it gets without the cuffs. 

“We need to get you out of here!” He shouts over the gunfire. He herds the group behind a cluster of metal shipment boxes. It provides enough cover for you all to try and figure out an escape plan. 

You listen to the other’s worried voices, each of them trying to console the kids. You don’t know their powers yet. Don’t know what might go wrong if they get too scared and can’t control their abilities. 

You can’t speak, breaths coming short and fast as you clutch your wrist to your chest. You know it’s delusional, hoping that if you keep a tight grip like the cuff you might be able to control yourself. You can already feel the energy leaking out of you, the ends of everyone’s hair stands on end. The wall in front of you warps and cracks like it can’t decide if it’s liquid or solid. 

You grit your teeth and look only at Storm. “You need to get out,” you force the words out. It causes physical pain to try and keep everything at bay. You can feel pressure building in your forehead, pushing out until you think you might explode. 

“We’re not leaving you,” Logan snaps. There’s shouting going on behind you, a pause as they all reload their guns. 

“Wasn’t a question,” you grit out. You look towards Jean and there’s a moment where you both put aside your differences. You both know how stubborn he is, how much he’ll fight against leaving you behind. Regenerative powers or not, it's dangerous to even be close to your gift now. You can see them all straining against the ebbing flow of your powers. Their skin shifts unnaturally like you’re already altering the atoms of their being. 

This is why you’re only allowed to train with Charles and Jean. They can get in your head, shut it down when you can’t. You’re not sure you’re going to survive yourself. Logan glances between the two of you and practically growls at Jean, “Don’t you fuckin’ dare-”

His words trail off into an unintelligible slur as he slumps forward, Jean having knocked him out with her powers. Scott grabs him and grunts under the weight of his body. “I’ll cover you,” you gasp the words out. Anything but focusing on your powers causes physical strain that makes you feel like you’re being tugged in a hundred different directions. “Just get them out,” you nod towards the kids. 

Storm nods and you slip out of cover. It isn’t hard to push your powers in one direction, to solidify the air in front of you so the bullets ricochet harmlessly off. You listen to the whine of the metal door and wait for the others to be gone. 

“They’re in the jet,” Charles's voice rings out. “Don’t do this,” he warns. You can’t think of a response, you’re not even sure what you would say. You never thought you would be able to approach death this calmly, or that this would be how you die. It feels almost pathetic, dying because you lost control on a recon mission. 

At least those kids are safe. It’s not a bad reason to die. Just not great. You glance down at the other cuff on your right hand, the air around it fluctuates until it melts off your wrist like liquid metal. With the last barely there tether off your powers, you close your eyes and release the tidal wave. 

It feels like a dam exploding. It doesn’t leak fluidly from you, it rips through you like a hailstorm of knives. Tears apart anything in its path and rewrites the molecular build of everything in its path. Screams echo through the air as men’s bones turn into brittle dust and their hearts morph into something inorganic. You’re blind to everything around you, vision clouded by the horrific release of energy. 

You can feel warmth leaking down your face. Blood still pours from the wound on your wrist, and fresh blood from other wounds you can’t even feel. You don’t know when the screams stop, or when you’re finally drained. But you feel like an empty husk as you drop to the floor, your head bouncing harshly against the cement as everything goes black. 

“I’m gonna kill you,” Logan says with a grin, glaring at Scott even though it’s Charles who is holding him back. He’s got a firm mental grasp on Logan, keeping him locked into place while he focuses on the warehouse. 

They’re waiting for the all-clear. The others know there’s always the possibility that they’re going to be collecting a body. But none of them are willing to say that, not with the look on Logan’s face. His muscles look ready to pop out of his skin with how much he’s fighting against Charles’s hold. 

Scott backs away from Logan with a scoff. He stands near Jean, but she can’t take her eyes off the restrained man. Nothing had happened this morning, Flux had seen to that. Interrupting them just as they’d started. Seeing the way he’s acting now, she’s starting to believe that nothing is ever going to happen. 

He’d looked like he was about to dismiss her when she started making a move. She can see the anger on his face, it seems he’s only ever pissed off. But underneath that, as much as he hides it, she can see the fear. He’s terrified that they're going to walk in there and you’re going to be dead. 

Jean can feel the fear of the others as well. They’ve only seen you lose control once and that had almost leveled the mansion. Charles had stopped you then, but the loss of the cuff had been so sudden Jean just barely had enough strength to keep the others blocked from your powers. She didn’t have enough time to shut you down. 

Jean, as much as she’s tried to deny it and dismiss her suspicions, can’t look Logan in the eye and ignore it anymore. It’s never been her that he’s wanted. The way he trails along beside you, always prodding and poking until you’re pissy and mouthing off. It’s not done because he finds antagonizing people fun, it's because he loves seeing you all worked up and passionate. He doesn’t view you through the same platonic lens he does the others. You’re something else to him, something she doesn’t want to name, afraid of the bitter taste it will leave on her tongue. 

Charles slumps back in his chair and Logan suddenly lunges forward. He looks a little surprised by the sudden freedom of movement, but before any of them can stop him he’s running out of the jet. “Logan,” Jean tries to call after him but he’s already a distant blur. 

Scott sighs and starts down the ramp. “Come on,” he mutters. He’s the last one who should be coming along. If anything is wrong with you, he’ll end up being Logan’s punching bag. Jean follows reluctantly, she’s not sure she wants to see what’s happened. 

Your powers are too similar in their volatile nature. The way they rule you and come so close to destroying you when you use them too much, is too familiar to Jean. She doesn’t want to see you lying dead on the floor and be reminded of her own mortality. But someone needs to make sure Logan is stuck on a leash. 

They reach where the warehouse should be. It’s nothing but a pile of rubble now. Throughout the wreckage, Jean can make out odd pools of liquid, some writhing, others still. She can only assume that these had been the men shooting at them. She doesn’t see your body, none of them do. But Logan isn’t giving up. 

He lifts different pieces of metal and tosses them off into the forest. Jean doesn’t sense your presence anywhere but she doesn’t have the heart to tell Logan to give up. After a few minutes of searching, she almost tells him to quit. But she can’t see him anymore. He’s disappeared somewhere behind a particularly large pile of roofing. A moment later, Logan stands up. His jacket is gone, wrapped around the body in his arms. None of them are close enough to see if you’re breathing. And he doesn’t say a word as he brushes past them, just keeps going back to the jet. Ororo, Scott, and Jean all share a silent look. None of them prepared for the potential fallout that’s going to happen after this. 

The first thing you feel is two familiar bands of metal around your wrists. The comforting feeling of the cuffs is enough to have you sinking further into the pillows surrounding you. Then you hear the beeping in your ear, feel the cool blow of AC, and become startlingly aware of the fact that you’re in a bed you don’t recognize. 

You groan, eyes peeling open painfully as your lashes get stuck on your skin. You reach up to rub at your face but your arms feel too weak to lift. You give up on the thought, instead staring up at the ceiling and waiting for your vision to refocus. 

A throat clears in front of you and you nearly jump out of your skin. Sitting at the end of your bed, arms crossed and a fierce glare on his face is Logan. His feet are propped up on the small table beside you. He quirks a brow and gives you a sardonic grin, “Finally awake, princess?”

Normally the name would have you up and doing somersaults, but there’s something distinctly negative and disappointed lacing his tone. It squashes any and all butterflies in your stomach. You grimace as you try and sit up. Logan is up in an instant, an annoyed look still on his face as he helps you up. 

You can’t help your dopey smile at how gentle his hands are on you. Even pissed off, he treats you so kindly. Maybe it’s the drugs relaxing you, or the fact that you almost died, but you can’t remember whatever made you mad at him. You can only feel the slide of his calloused hands against your arms, the way you shiver under his touch and crave more. 

He pulls the chair closer to you with a loud scratch of metal feet on the linoleum. You groan at the loud sound and he huffs, throwing himself down in the seat. “How do you feel?”

Your head sinks back against the wall and you finally realize you’re in the medbay. It’s why everything smells so sterile. “Like I got hit by a semi.”

He barely lets you finish your thought before he spits out, “What the fuck were you thinking?” He doesn’t ease you into this at all and you frown. You’re not sure why you would expect him to ever beat around the bush. That’s not his style, he’s always been blunt. Even when others wish he wouldn’t be. 

“What else was I supposed to do?” You ask, voice weak. Your throat feels like it’s been ripped apart. Idly, you wonder if you had been screaming in the warehouse or if this was just general strain from the whole ordeal. 

“Not put yourself at risk like that.” He leans forward, voice stern and bordering on shouting. You know he’s holding back. As much as he wants to lay into you right now, he’s stopping himself from going completely out of his mind. You appreciate it, but you almost wish he would just yell at you. You wish you had a reason to resent him, to finally get over him. “Not have Jean knock me out like that. You don’t get to make those decisions for me.”

It’s completely inappropriate and horrible timing, but you can’t help but scoff at the mention of Jean’s name. Can you not have one conversation that’s not tainted by the mention of the redhead?

Logan’s mouth snaps shut and he glares at you in disbelief. You squeeze your eyes shut, not willing to face him as embarrassment washes over you. No wonder he always calls you kid. You’re not exactly acting like an adult. You’re being a brat and for such a stupid reason too. 

Just because you like him doesn’t mean he has to reciprocate. You can’t just force your feelings on someone. “Logan,” you whisper his name, “Sorry. I’m sorry-”

He cuts you off before you can finish. Some of the anger, but not all, has ebbed from his expression. He almost looks like he’s smiling. “Jean? That’s what this is about? Jealous or something, sweetheart?”

You sputter, shocked little noises leaving you but no words. After a solid minute of restarting a sentence you don’t know how to end you finally land on a squeaky, “Who?” If you weren’t so mortified, you might have just thrown yourself out the window. Out of every cop-out you could have gone with you chose to just pretend you didn’t know who she was. Maybe you could make this work, like selective amnesia. 

Your shame only builds as Logan laughs. You cover your face and wish you could bury yourself six feet deep and never come up. You feel two rough hands wrap around your wrists, tugging your own away from your face. You don’t have the energy to fight back, so you keep your eyes on his chin. Too afraid to meet his gaze. 

“Come on,” he mutters, gently nudging your chin up until you’re forced to look at him. You're caught off guard by the look in his eyes. You recognize it, but you’d only ever seen it directed at Jean. It’s the same way you’ve always looked at him. Pure unguarded want and desire. 

The hand on your chin drifts back, fingers tangling in your hair and gently resting on your jaw. He tugs you forward until your lips are nearly touching, breaths mingling with every exhale. “Only ever wanted you, darlin'.’”

The kiss catches you off guard. It shouldn’t, deep down you knew it was coming, but the intensity behind it, the way you can practically taste how bad he wants this, wants you, catches you off guard. You lean into him, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting yourself melt into his hold. 

His free hand drifts to your waist and clutches the flimsy hospital gown until you hear it tear. You part your lips, deepening the kiss so you can finally taste him. It’s cigars and whiskey, something you should hate but is entirely intoxicating when he’s holding you so tightly. Fireworks are going off in your mind, sparks darting between your fingers as the cuffs struggle to contain all the energy suddenly pushing out of you. 

He can feel you holding back, squeezing you like it’s a promise he can take it. Take everything you throw at him. You let go as much as your cuffs will allow you. Let the energy blanket you both so you can’t hear your heart monitor going off like crazy. So you don’t feel anything other than each other. You think you’re going to devour each other like you’ll just keep kissing until neither of you can take it anymore. You don’t want to let go of him, don’t want to lose this moment. 

But you have to breathe. You don’t get to just keep living the way he does. You pull away from him slowly, every part of you dreading separating from him. His forehead drops against your own, his laughter playing along your lips as he finally hears the monitor going haywire. 

You groan, flicking your wrist and shutting it off so it can’t betray how flustered you are anymore. He gently nudges you aside so he can sit beside you on the bed. You don’t waste a second before you’re draping yourself across his chest and siphoning his warmth. He chuckles, arms coming up to wrap around you. 

“Can’t believe you were jealous of Jean.”

“Shut up,” you snipe. You look up at him and glare, “How else do you explain what you two were doing?”

He leans forward and gives you a smug grin. “She came onto me, sweetheart.” Your face screws up in distaste and jealousy. She’s going to need to learn to keep her hands to herself. He seems to feel the way you tense up, he huffs in amusement and rubs your back. “Relax, you’re gonna blow your fuse again.”

You glance down at your wrists and nuzzle further into him. You can’t believe you could have been laying on him this whole time. You never want to use a blanket again, not when you’ve got him. “I’ll be fine now that I’ve got my cuffs.”

His hand stills on your bicep. He squeezes it before his hand drifts up to your chin and he tilts your face up again. “I don’t ever want to see that again.” You’re a little surprised by the sudden shift in tone, but you knew this was coming. 

“I had to, Logan. I either took you all down with me or I went on my own.”

Logan frowns and takes in a deep breath. You place a hand on his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. He smiles down at you, “Next time, take me with you. I’m not fucking dealing with Summers without you.”

You can’t help but chuckle. Your face grows warm and your chest expands with some odd gleeful feeling as he laces your fingers together. “Deal,” you whisper, still smiling at him. 

A/N: Okay, this might be shit, I’m not sure. I sort of rushed the ending because as I was writing this I had another idea for him. I guess I’m officially off my hiatus. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[evie-sturns]

downstairs - Chris Sturniolo

summary: bestfriend!chris absolutely blowing your back out while his brothers are just downstairs.

contains: dom!chris, bsf!chris, roughhhh sex, degrading, fluff, overstimulation.

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

9:12pm

it all happened so fast, one second you were sitting on the couch, with nick, matt and chris, all calmly watching a movie, the next he was texting you very suggestive messages.

'i need you'

'im so fucking hard under this blanket y/n.'

'you'd meet me upstairs wouldn't you?'

you didnt say no though, infact you were excited by this idea..

-

i clear my throat, "im just gonna start getting ready to go home, goodnight guys!" i lie straight through my teeth to matt and nick, grabbing my phone and rushing upstairs, giving chris the look over my shoulder.

my heart thumps wildly in my chest, the thought of having sex with chris just felt so wrong, but also insanely right,

i swing open chris's bedroom door, before the sound of chris's footsteps fill my ear.

he follows straight after me, entering his bedroom before shutting the door and twisting the lock.

he stares at me with a look in his eyes ive never seen before, he looks almost deseperate.

my eyes trail down to the very large tent in his sweatpants, i reach my hand out and drag my nails over it, causing chris to suck in a sharp gasp.

i hum, "who's this for?" i ask, but he instantly cuts me off. he presses his lips to mine, his hand finding its way to the back of my hair and tangling his fingers through the strands.

i jump up into his arms, my legs wrapping around his waist as i moan softly into his mouth.

after a second he pulls away

"we really doin' this?" he asks as his tongue darts out to lick his lips.

i nod with a small hum, "no strings attached." i whisper.

a smirk grows on his face, "yeah? jus' wanna fuck your best friend for the fun of it, dont you?"

i nod happily, a smile growing on my face.

"naughty girl," he tuts.

he reaches for the hem of my shirt, pulling it off and throwing it to the side.

he reaches round a hand and unclasps my bra, with no struggle it instantly drops onto the floor.

my lips part, a small scoff leaving them. "how many times have you done that christopher." i laugh

"don't worry 'bout it." he grins, staring obviously at my bare chest.

“take it off.” he mumbles as he stares at my shorts.

i nod nervously tugging them down along with my panties, leaving me fully revealed in-front of him.

it’s somewhat humiliating, he is fully dressed and i’m just naked in front of him.

he smiles, reconnecting our lips and pressing my back up against the wall.

i pant heavily into his mouth as his knee slowly nudges my legs apart.

chris quickly breaks away from the kiss to pull off his shirt.

“please chris.” i mutter, my legs aching from how needy i am for him.

“please what?” he taunts,

“please fuck me..” i whisper,

he nods, pulling down his sweatpants and boxers, his fully hard erection springing out.

his tip is raw and pink, precum smeared all over it from how long he’s been hard in his boxers.

i stare down at it, “big..” i mumble, trying not to flatter him too much.

he hums, “bet you can’t wait to feel it in you, fuck.” he mumbles.

he picks me up again before throwing me down onto the matress. i land on my back with a small huff, chris looks down at me with hunger in his eyes.

“turn over.” he whispers, practically inaudible.

“huh?” i cock my head,

“turn. around.” his voice his deeper now, more commanding.

i nod flipping over onto my stomach.

he grabs my ankles, pulling me to the edge of the bed. i let out a small yelp as my body drags over the sheets

“hands and knees, c’mon.” chris mumbles,

i blush furiously as i get up on my hands and knees, my ass right infront of him.

“look at that.” he whispers,

he suddenly brings his hand down onto my ass, a loud slap. i yelp, a gasp leaving my lips.

he rubs over the red skin he just hit, before delivering another firm spank to me.

i let out a mix between a moan and a whine, the stinging prominent on my sensitive skin.

he delivers one last hard slap, the noise ringing out through the room.

“so fuckin’ hot, jesus.” chris breathes,

“you’ve done this before yeah?” he asks, rubbing the plush skin of my ass.

i nod, “yes yeah-“ i whisper.

“good, not gonna hold back on you, you know that right?” he asks,

i nod again, my arousal leaking out of my sensitive hole.

“gonna be nice and quiet for me aswell, nick and matt are downstairs, don’t want them to know you’re getting ruined in here.” chris warns,

“promise..” i whisper, arching my back in his face.

i feel his tip gently press at my hole, lining himself up.

“deep breath.” chris whispers, i comply, sucking in a deep breath.

suddenly, he slams his whole length into me.

all the air is knocked from my lungs as i let out a loud yelp, my eyes squeezing shut.

every last inch of him, slammed inside of me at once.

“chris- chris too much-“ i squeal, burying my face in the sheets.

“hm? don’t like me so deep?” he whispers,

i stay silent, i do, i do like him so deep.

he doesn’t waste time to instantly start thrusting fast, i moan loudly into the matress, clutching the fabric with my hands as i scream his name.

his tip slams against my cervix repeatedly, god it hurts, but in the best way possible.

chris is big, he’s stretching me out so much, not to mention the fact he’s also going crazy fast.

his hands reach down and slap across my ass,

“such a fuckin’ slut aren’t you? getting fucked absolutely dumb while my brothers are downstairs?” chris taunts, his voice low and gruff.

i let out a needy noise in response,

“bet you want them to hear, don’t ‘cha. want them to hear how good i’m making you feel.” he speaks, delivering another firm smack to my ass

i can feel his dick in my actual stomach, i don’t think anything has ever been this deep inside of me.

chris’s long hands drag down my back, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their path.

i can feel the chain on his wrist dragging against my flushed skin,

“chris- chris please- please slow down.” i wail, completely unfocused on trying to stay quiet.

“shut up, take it, you know you can.” he instantly snaps back, earning a loud groan from me

his hips repeatedly crash into mine, my cheek is pressed against the blankets on the bed as drool leaks out of my mouth.

he reaches his hand down into my hair, tugging on the strands and twisting it into a makeshift ponytail.

he tugs on this ‘ponytail’ he’s made, lifting my face from the blankets,

my moans are no longer muffled by the fabric,

he pulls slightly harder on my hair, gripping low down so it doesn’t actually hurt me, which is ironic considering the fact he won’t slow down. i’m not complaining though.

my back arches even harder, my eyes welling with tears at the unimaginable pleasure.

i hear him let out a low chuckle from behind me, “are you seriously fucking drooling?”

my cheeks flush red as i reach a shaking hand up to my mouth, wiping it quickly before instantly slamming it back down onto the matress, trying to keep myself up.

“chrisss…” i whine loudly,

“shh, sh.” he shushes me,

he suddenly lets go of my hair, letting my face fall foward into the sheets again.

i can finally let out more lewd noises with my face smushes into the blankets.

“i’m so close- please please..” i cry out,

he suddenly pulls out, my stomach instantly feeling empty and my hole fluttering around nothing.

“chris!!” i cry out again, making him laugh.

he is just so mean.

“turn over.” he speaks firmly, his voice very subtly shaking.

i roll over, my whole body aching, desperate for release.

“good girl, you’re so good at listening to me aren’t ‘ya?” he praises, he pulls me closer to the edge of the bed again,

i nod with a stupid grin, my mine completely blank.

he lines himself back up with me and i mentally prepare myself for what’s coming.

he slams back into me, the familiar feeling of him inside of me instantly soothing the ache in my pussy.

this time is different though, i can see him, and it hits me that this is the chris sturniolo who is fucking me right now, my own best friend.

i stare up at him, my eyes now narrow slits.

he reaches down and grips my breasts, his fingers twisting at my nipples,

he pinches them, causing me to clench around him as i let out a loud whine.

“didn’t i tell you to be quiet? what happened to you being good at listening?” he coos,

“i- sorry- ‘m sorry-“ i exclaim, tipping my head back.

i purse my lips together, trying to hold in my noises.

at this point there’s no hope of chris’s brothers not hearing me, it’s quite embarrassing actually, but it’s hot, so hot.

i exhale shakily, before another loud moan of chris’s name rips out of me.

chris suddenly clamps his hand down onto my mouth, “i told you to be quiet.”

i whine against his hand, my walls clenching down around him.

tears prickle in my eyes, dripping down my face into his hand as the pleasure gets too much.

i feel my orgasm crash down on me, my back arching off the bed as i squeeze my eyes shut.

“look at me, look at me.” he repeats himself, and midway through my orgasm i find the strength to open my eyes and stare into his.

a grin forms on his face, “so hot, so fucking good,”

his thrusts don’t stop though, if anything they pick up…

i feel my whole body on fire, my sensitive walls still being pounded into by chris.

tears roll down my cheeks, not tears of sadness, not at all. tears of pure ecstasy.

i groan against his hand, clamping my thighs together.

he instantly pushes my thighs back apart, “take it.” he mutters.

i see his head tip back as he gets close as well,

my mascara is now smudged against my face, chris’s hand still plastered onto my mouth to muffle my noises.

“fuuuck..” chris breathes,

after a few more thrusts he abruptly pulls out,

he strokes himself once more before finishing.

streaks of white paint my tummy, chris lets out a low whimper before falling down onto the matress beside me.

he pants heavily, i just lay still, my legs shaking as i try to catch my breath.

i have no thoughts in my brain, just pleasure.

“you okay?..” chris speaks up,

“i- i’m- i’m- woah.” i whisper, not even being able to form a coherent sentence.

“you’re woah?” chris grins,

i giggle in response, my whole body feeling like it’s on fire.

“really got fucked dumb on your best friends cock, that’s naughty.” he tuts,

i whine, “shut up..”

he chuckles, “i’m just messing with you sweetie.” he whispers, pulling me onto his chest.

i lay my full body weight on him, his arms wrap around me.

“you were so good you know that?” he whispers,

i nod, burying my face in his neck.

“let’s get you cleaned up alright? youre gonna sleep here instead of going home.” chris whispers, stroking my back.

he gently stands up, i’m still wrapped around him like a koala.

he takes me into his bathroom as he pulls on a pair of his sweatpants before sitting me down on the toilet as he prepares a wet rag.

“go pee yeah?” he speaks softly, it’s hard to believe he was degrading me 10 minutes ago.

i nod, following his instructions.

after i finish up chris picks me up, sitting me down on the counter.

i sit still, spreading my legs slightly as he gently cleans me up with the rag.

“wash your hands, you don’t wanna be dirty.” he grins,

“chris-! i haven’t even touched a single thing in here.” i laugh,

“i’m messsing with youuu.” he laughs back,

i roll my eyes as he finishes cleaning me up.

he picks me back up, walking me over to the bedroom as he sits me on the edge of the bed.

he dresses me up in his own clothes, his oversized shirt and sweatpants.

“you don’t want a shower or anything? i can run you one?” he asks,

“wait- can i go grab some water i’m so thirsty.” i complain, chris nods,

“yeah i’ll help ‘ya walk down there.” he says softly, helping me out of bed.

“i can walk!” i protest,

“can you now?” he giggles,

i nod stubbornly, walking very shakily down the stairs,

“you’re sort of like a baby giraffe.” he points out,

“aw thanks chris.” i roll my eyes, reaching the bottom of the stairs.

i look to my left and see matt and nick sitting on the couch.

they stare at me and chris with pure disgust,

“you two are ACTUALLY disgusting i hope you know that, never do that in my house AGAIN.” nick speaks up.

my cheeks flush a deep maroon as i turn around to look at chris.

he looks equally as embarrassed.

the silence is loud, before chris interrupts it with a small snort.

me and chris suddenly both burst into uncontrollable giggles, laughing stupidly at each other in the almost silent house.

-

@sturnsdoll @obvisturns @stupid4sturniolo @meerkatzthings @witchofthehour @rosalierenee43 @gabrielle-brun1 @ilovemymannnnnnnn @sturnioloxlver @buckys-goodgirl @sturniol0s @ilovemymannnnnnn n @chr1sgirl4life @luanetaluenta @sturnsssbow w @mattfangirl girl @luvr4miya @luvtay111 @lolasturniolo @freshloveforthefit @ruedowney @lovingchrissposts @333michelle e @h3arts4harry @jamiesturniolo o @chrisstopherfilmed @ @daddyslilchickenfingers2 @ev3rgreenxtrees @certifiednatelover er @solarsturniolo larsturniolo lo @mattsenthusiast t @yomamaslays4lyfe @peachmels @alinaa131 @pepsiluvr0209 @creamoncreamoncream2 @szobofc @mattscoquette e @blahbell668 @sturniolo04 @bitchydragonparadise @sturni0l0tripletzz @ratatioulle @sturnsfav @mattsonlybitch @justalittle47 @sunsetsturniolos @sturniolo04 @similartokayyz @sturnsintrouble @ilovemattsturn @raysmayhem-72 @75sturn @sturniol0s @secret-sturniolo @hfkeclnendmwodne @sturniolosass @gxldenlush @stonermattsgf @101saroona a @beccaluvschris @oliviasturniolo21 1 @imwetforyourmom @tylerstacobell @sunsetsturniolos @aliceloveschris @jayz4dayz 4 @sassysturniolo2008 @nyktoxs-lover r @nathandoesgf @starsturns234 @chrissturnsss s @joemamaaa42069 @sturnthepot @zayyluvz @realuvrrr @livialifesblog @sturnioloblogs @riowritesitall john @raysmayhem-72

[yumeboshi]

𝜗𝜚。．．❛ #03. CORPSE BRIDE

𐙚 topic。．when you turn down yandere hsr men’s proposals.

．。𝜗𝜚 cw。general yandere themes, suggestive content, MINORS DNI

．。𝜗𝜚 a/n。aven, sunday, and boothill. sunday and aven are regular additions to my posts lol, wrote boothills less intense bc he’s too silly to imagine

#AྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིVENTURINE ⇢ ‘convinces’ you

。he will actually try to coax you into it. he doesn’t want to just force things onto you, that isn’t really what he wants 。“ill make you the happiest pretty bride, doll, just believe in me, hm?” 。continues to sweet talk you, telling you what he can do- buy you pretty dresses, give you anything you want, and he lists luxury after luxury. 。and he follows through his promises. even if you are being really disobedient, he’d still buy you more luxury than you could ever ask for. you will start questioning if you really don’t want this marriage- which is exactly what he wants you to do, to make you doubt yourself. 。his list goes on and on- a vip ticket to the Reverie, first row tickets to robin’s concerts, only the finest things that only his class of people could ever get their hands on. 。but in that list, he conveniently puts out ‘freedom.’ 。if you disagree, he’d pout, asking you why- and when you tell him you want to be free from him, he’d laugh, calling you a silly girl. 。“i already gave you a choice when we met. it was your choice to pick a card from an unknown pile.” 。he’d have the wedding commence in some really luxurious property of the ipc, and he will, invite your family over- he’s merciful. but is it mercy when you know you won’t see them ever again? 。“it would be a shame if they don’t see the happiest moment of your life.”

STANDING there with the most beautiful dress you could humanly ask for, your expression is nothing but a shell as Aventurine smiles at you through those shades. Your eyes are everywhere but on his eyes, when you stare at them, you feel like you’re losing yourself.

you are glad your gown came with a veil over your head, nobody can see your dead eyes, except him.

As the officiant goes on with the questions, you grip your bouquet a little harder to the point you feel their stems crumple, just like your shriveling heart.

You snap out of it after hearing silence- you see his expecting eyes on you and you nod blankly. “I do.”

And your husband smiles even wider, and he steps closer and slowly, while staring at you with uncomfortable adoration through those tantalizing purple eyes, he kisses you. You are expecting a tender kiss in a ceremony; but his gloved hand sneaks onto the back of your head, pulling you in hastily.

“I love you so fucking much, princess—” he breathes into you, brushing aside the saliva that trickles down your chin after his intrusion. “It took quite a while, but you’re finally all mine.” He pulls up your hand that has your forced vow on it, he chuckles and softly kisses your fingers.

“‘m gonna make you so happy, so ecstatic, that you’re gonna thank me for it, love. you will thank me that I restrained you from everything else.” he whispers, and the people clap, cheering; your family too, who smiles, knowing nothing that it would be your last reunion.

#SྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིUNDAY ⇢ breaks you

。he just takes it on another level (and does not find your struggles entertaining unlike the former) 。he will be, really heartbroken at first. the head of the oak family asking you to be his lifelong sweetheart is almost like him giving you his life. you are his entire world- and the world has rejected him. 。“…I see. was I not good enough for you, angel?” 。although his emotions will be very hard to control, he’s very used to commencing plans. he’d tell you that he could ‘talk this out’ with you. unfortunately, it’s not a choice, but rather, an order. 。sunday is a ‘the end justifies the means’ kind of person. he will do any means to make you eventually accept your fate. that will include imprisoning you in some faraway place and leaving you abandoned for so long, you will be broken, wishing for any interaction. food is only given to you through a remote device, with no human interaction. 。sunday itches to be with you- he is compassionate for you, his heart will ache to see you sob into an endless cacophony. a part of him will be tempted to go to you and be with you physically, not watching you from a screen. 。he will repeat it- he will visit once a blue moon, comforting you, asking you if you changed your mind. when you ask him when he’d release you, his expression will harden. 。“it seems you haven’t learned anything, sweetheart.” 。if you are still stubborn, he will be a little impatient. he will speed up the process by adding new things in- maybe making you dream of a lovely, free life and when you wake up, you’re just alone. he will not resort to anything violent, he cares too much about you to hurt you. although, ‘hurt’ in his dictionary doesn’t apply to mentally hurting you. 。you will sob and show your most dramatic, fragile sides to a descent of madness, thinking you are truly alone until sunday comes to visit. you are wrong, though- sunday has always been with you, just not physically. 。he has always been watching you cry into the void through a screen. always.

MAYBE you have finally lost your mind, because when Sunday comes to visit you and your dull prison, you collapse to your knees and immediately plead him.

“Please,” you sob, clutching his legs desperately- he doesn’t crouch, but looks down- almost like a god addressing its follower. Sunday is no god for you, but you beg like he is.

“Please what?” He looks at you, fingers brushing over your hands, tilting his head just the slightest. His golden eyes glitter in the dim light. He is waiting for only one answer, there is only one correct answer to his question.

But you do not give him the right one. “Please just let me go,” you break down. Your heart is throbbing from all the crying, vision blurry and your head is light with no energy to talk anymore.

His gentle, serene smile immediately warps into that of a cold one. “Try again?” His fingers grip your hands hard, warning you that his patience is running thin.

When you remain silent except for your sobs, he crouches down to stare at you on eye-level, boring holes into your fearful expression. Unlike his deadly gaze, his words are soft and flow out quickly like a river- albeit with a sigh of exasperation. “Sweetheart, I’m not going to stop this just because you beg.” His hand pushes yours against the floor to knock you down, figure towering over you as he leans in to whisper- “—although, they’re very pleasant to listen to.”

“Honestly, I don’t get why you are struggling right now. It’s so easier to accept your eventual fate. Unless, you do like to seek pain.”

His other hand goes over your stomach, then slides tantalizingly slow up your body- you shiver and tremble at each touch that is too foreign to you. Cold fingers cage your neck and you choke on your breath.

“I’m not planning on hurting you, angel.” His voice is still gentle, but his eyes are telling another story, they seem keen to hurt you again and again. “But I did say I’ll resort to other… methods. Since none of them seem to work, I suppose the only solution would be caging you with a baby.” When your eyes widen, he laughs dryly. “The look on your face tells me that you didn’t expect it. But you will be my loving wife, dear. You will not be able to run or reject me, not when your own child is at stake. It makes only more sense to… make you bear children. My children.”

As he watches you struggle under him, trying to breathe, he feels like he has entered ascension. Soon, one of your pretty fingers will have his ring, and very very soon, he will have his first child- the very thought of him makes him lose his mind. He so wishes to make you his, claim you inside, watch your pretty pussy gush out his cum while he’s pressing deep into your womb- but he also wishes to see a mini version of him, or you. He finds it too adorable to withstand. He will vow that his children will grow up pure and innocent.

“We will be the happiest family in the world,” he purrs. “And I’ll make sure of it.”

#BྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིOOTHILL ⇢ will try to prove himself

。maybe a little similar to aven. but while the latter will materialistically give you things and spoil you around to convince you, boothill will more likely show himself off instead. 。“i can fudgin’ shoot an ipc lackey in the head from miles away, sugar- ya can’t see that ‘n any other guy.” 。he’ll try to show you his capability to protect you- which will likely end up in multiple people dying but as a galaxy ranger, he has morals, so he will probably use the ipc as his shooting dummies 。overall he’s sweet even if you reject his proposal- he will likely be furious, just not at you. 。oh lord but during the day you rejected him, be prepared for multiple news flashes of dead people across the street. the amount of emotion will be too much for his consciousness to restrain 。when you confront him, he’d apologize, albeit a little too nonchalant. 。“‘m sorry sweetie, got a lil outta hand last night.” 。per your wish, he won’t kill anyone who’s unrelated and innocent- but he’d still go on a killing spree in the ipc headquarters to the point you are blacklisted on their list because he would shout your name and rant why you didn’t accept him while he shoots his gun all around the place.

“BOOTHILL, what the hell are you doing?” You frown when he returns- even after rejecting his proposal, he drifts around you like a lost stray dog. And he is always covered in blood, looking furious- but when you talk, his expression simply melts away like butter to a grin that shows his sharp teeth.

“What do ya mean what I’m doin’? Makin’ sure nobody hurts you.” He snickers. He smells like metal, like he always does, but this time it’s overpowering, which lets you know what he’s been doing.

“I don’t need protection, Boothill. You can just leave me alone.”

You’re beyond annoyed at his clinginess. No matter how many times you reject him, he’d always come back, showing something new off to you, and half the time it wasn’t anything pleasant, but rather his list of crimes.

“Aww, don’t be so uptight, sugar.” He chuckles and flashes a grin and his other metal hand spontaneously pulls you into his embrace— you jump. When did his hand get there? “All I wanna do is to make sure my future wife is safe and sound. Nothin’ wrong with that, hm?”

“I told you, I’m not going to accept-“

“Ah ah! Wait and see, you will be, I promise. But don’t drag the chase a lil too long. Even I get impatient.” Something cold pressed against your forehead and you realize it’s his gun. When your expression turns aghast with fear, he barks an amused laugh.

“You scared of this? Nah, I’d never hurt ya. Won’t wanna turn your body into metal like mine.” Although he says this with a dark smirk, he doesn’t remove the gun. “The sooner you agree to it, the merciful I become. Ya don’t wanna see innocent guys die because of your stupidity, hm?”

[lizziesangel]

AN ANGSTY ASS REQUEST, I wanna cry and I know you are gonna do amazing. Love your writing. Kind of backstory: So.....Reader is the love of Rafe’s life and the only person who has shown him kindness and given him affection. They are kidnapped for some reason, perhaps kept on a boat, and she falls overboard. Rafe escapes. A BODY (not hers, but can’t be certain) gets washed up at some point and she is determined to be dead. So just kind of as back story....you don't need to write that part if you don't want to <3 So present/and well....the request really: Funeral is held and everything. He is walking around for about 2 months, mourning her, being an ABSOLUTE WRECK. He has nightmares constantly about her and when he’s awake, she haunts him still. He is drinking all the time because he can’t cope. UNKNOWN……she survived but was still held captive. She manages to escape and breaks into his house. HE THINKS HE IS OUT OF HIS MIND, DRUNK but it’s such a teary felt reunion when he realizes that she’s real. Maybe he gives her a bath (cus lets be real) and takes care of her (and again, let's be real, she is probably really weak) and is just shaking with relief, happiness and is so soft with her :(

wow, this is such an amazing request, i absolutely love this!!

the salty air was sharp and cold, biting against your skin as the boat rocked beneath your feet. it wasn’t the gentle sway of a calm ocean—it was erratic, violent, as if the sea itself mirrored the chaos that had unfolded in the past few hours.

rafe’s face was bloodied, his lip split and bruises already blooming along his jaw. his wrists were bound behind his back, the ropes digging into his skin as he struggled against them. he was glaring at the men surrounding him, his usual cocky bravado barely masking the sheer terror in his eyes.

“look,” rafe growled, his voice low and dangerous, though it cracked with desperation, “you’ve got me. i’ll get you your money. just let her go. she doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

one of the men, a grizzled figure with a jagged scar running down his cheek, barked out a laugh. “you don’t get it, do you? you think you can screw us over and just walk away? nah.

“you’re gonna feel what it’s like to lose everything.”

the words sent a shiver down your spine. you’d known rafe’s life wasn’t clean—he carried the weight of bad decisions and even worse company—but you never thought it would come to this. the fear in his eyes, barely veiled beneath his fury, was enough to make your heart clench.

“please,” you interjected, your voice trembling as you stepped closer. “please, just let us go. we won’t—”

the sharp crack of a slap silenced you, the force of it sending you stumbling back. rafe surged forward, his shout of rage muffled by the gag they shoved into his mouth.

“enough talking,” the scarred man said coldly. “you want to play the hero, cameron? let’s see how much you care about her.”

before you could react, multiple strong hands grabbed your arms. you thrashed against them, your heart pounding as you looked back at rafe. his eyes were wild, his muffled cries growing frantic as the men dragged you toward the edge of the boat.

“no!” you screamed, your voice raw as the dark water loomed closer. the waves were fierce, crashing against the sides of the vessel, the moonlight glinting off their surface like shards of broken glass.

“rafe!” you cried, your voice breaking.

he was struggling so hard now that blood began to seep from where the ropes cut into his wrists. his muffled shouts were desperate, pleading.

“throw her over,” the scarred man commanded.

“no! please—” you begged, but it was too late.

the cold hit you like a thousand needles, stealing the air from your lungs as you plunged into the frigid ocean. the world above became muffled, the boat a distant silhouette against the black sky as you were swallowed by the waves. you fought to stay afloat, the current pulling at you like unseen hands.

above, rafe was a man undone. he thrashed violently, his screams muffled and his face twisted in agony. “let me go! i’ll kill you! i’ll kill you!” the men barely paid him any mind as they turned the boat, leaving the spot where you disappeared into the water.

“you better hope she’s a good swimmer, cameron,” the scarred man sneered. “and you’d better figure out how to pay us back.”

the funeral rafe held was a quiet affair, not because you deserved anything less, but because he couldn’t bear the thought of it being a spectacle. the small, secluded chapel was filled with the scent of lilies and a suffocating weight of sorrow. he sat in the front row, shoulders hunched, his trembling hands clutching the edge of the pew.

he couldn’t look at the casket, though it was empty.

the minister’s words were hollow, background noise to the storm raging inside him. “a kind soul, taken too soon…” “beloved by all who knew her…” every word made his chest ache. rafe clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white, willing himself not to break down in front of the small group of mourners.

afterward, when the empty coffin was lowered into the ground, he stood motionless, staring at the fresh mound of earth. a few people offered condolences, their words shallow and meaningless. he didn’t respond, barely even acknowledged them. what could they say? no words could bring you back.

once everyone left, rafe stayed behind. minutes turned into hours as he sat on the damp grass, staring at the grave as though he could will it to undo itself. he whispered apologies to the air, his voice breaking. “i should’ve done something. i should’ve stopped them. i’m so sorry, my baby.”

the days that followed bled together into a haze of grief and self-loathing.

rafe couldn’t stand being at home. every corner of the house reminded him of you. the couch where you’d curled up with a blanket and a book, the kitchen where you’d danced with him to music only the two of you could hear—it was all too much. he turned to the only thing that numbed the pain: alcohol.

whiskey became his constant companion, the burn in his throat a welcome distraction from the ache in his heart. he barely ate, barely slept. the nightmares wouldn’t let him. every time he closed his eyes, he saw you falling, the cold water dragging you under while he screamed your name. he’d wake up drenched in sweat, his chest heaving, the echo of your voice fading into silence.

he stopped answering his phone. friends tried to check in on him, but he pushed them away. he couldn’t face their pity, couldn’t stand the thought of them telling him to “move on.”

how could he move on when the love of his life was gone?

the two-month mark came and went, and rafe was a shadow of the man he used to be. his once meticulously styled hair was unkempt, his clothes rumpled, his face hollow from lack of sleep and too many sleepless nights spent drowning in liquor.

he spent most of his days wandering aimlessly, haunted by memories of you. he would catch glimpses of you everywhere—in the stranger who had your laugh, in the perfume that smelled like yours. his heart would leap, only to crash when he realized it wasn’t you.

one evening, he found himself on the beach, the waves crashing against the shore. he sank into the sand, letting the cold wind whip against his face. he stared at the horizon, the sun dipping below the water in a blaze of gold and crimson.

“i don’t know how to do this without you,” he whispered to the empty expanse of ocean. his voice cracked, and he buried his face in his hands, the weight of his grief crushing him.

for rafe, the world had stopped the moment you disappeared. time dragged on, but he remained frozen, lost in a limbo of regret and longing. he didn’t know if he could survive without you.

he wasn’t sure he even wanted to.

his nightmares were relentless. every second he closed his eyes, he was back on that boat, watching helplessly as you were thrown overboard. the icy waves swallowed you, your desperate cries for help echoing in his ears. he’d wake up gasping, drenched in sweat, his chest heaving as he reached out for you in the darkness—only to find cold sheets and empty space.

you weren’t there, and the realization gutted him every time.

the only way he knew how to cope was to drown himself in alcohol. bottles littered the floor of his house, their contents his only escape from the crushing weight of his grief. the whiskey blurred the edges of his pain, but it never truly numbed it. instead, it left him hollow, stumbling through a life that felt meaningless without you.

the storm outside was fierce, rain pelting against the windows and wind howling like a wounded animal. rafe sat slumped on the couch, a nearly empty bottle of whiskey dangling from his fingers. he stared blankly at the television, though he wasn’t watching it. the sound was muted, the images flickering across the screen as if mocking his apathy.

the sharp sound of glass shattering upstairs jolted him from his stupor. for a moment, he froze, his foggy mind struggling to process it. he shook his head, muttering to himself, “you’re losing it, rafe.”

but then he heard it again—a faint creak of floorboards. His heart began to race, adrenaline cutting through the haze of alcohol. grabbing a nearby lamp as a makeshift weapon, he stumbled toward the stairs, each step heavier than the last.

he pushed open the bedroom door, his breath hitching at what he saw.

you were there.

at first, he thought it was another cruel trick of his mind. you stood by the window, your body bruised, your clothes torn and soaked from the rain. your hair was a tangled mess, your face pale and gaunt, but it was you.

“rafe…” your voice cracked, barely more than a whisper.

“n... no,” he muttered, shaking his head. his grip on the lamp tightened. “you’re not real. you’re not—”

“i am,” you interrupted, taking a shaky step toward him. “i got away. i—i’m here.”

the lamp fell from his hands, clattering to the floor as he stared at you, his chest rising and falling rapidly. when your knees buckled, he lunged forward, catching you before you could hit the ground.

the moment your weight fell into his arms, he knew. you were real.

a sob broke from his throat as he held you tightly, his fingers digging into your sides as if afraid you’d disappear again. “you’re alive,” he choked out, his voice raw. “oh, my God, you’re alive.”

“i am,” you murmured weakly, your hands clutching at his shirt. “i am.”

rafe carried you to the bathroom, his arms trembling with relief and adrenaline. he set you down on the edge of the tub, his hands shaking as he turned on the water, testing the temperature to make sure it wasn’t too hot.

“i... i need to—you need to get cleaned up,” he said, his voice unsteady. he avoided your eyes, his movements jerky and unsure. “you’re freezing. God, you’re so cold.”

you didn’t protest, too weak and tired to do much more than nod. he helped you out of your soaked clothes, his touch gentle, his eyes filled with guilt and tenderness.

once the tub was filled, he eased you into the warm water, his heart breaking at the way you winced. he knelt beside the tub, his sleeves rolled up as he carefully washed away the grime and salt from your skin. his hands trembled as they ran through your hair, untangling the knots with a tenderness that brought tears to your eyes.

“i thought i lost you,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “i thought—i thought you were gone forever.”

“i almost was,” you admitted, your voice barely audible.

tears streamed down his face as he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against your damp hair. “you’re safe now,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “i’m not letting you go again. i promise.”

after the bath, rafe wrapped you in the softest towel he could find and carried you to his bed. he brought you water, food, anything you might need, though you barely managed a few bites. he sat beside you, his hand never leaving yours, as if reassuring himself that you were really there.

that night, for the first time in months, he didn’t have nightmares. Instead, he fell asleep with you in his arms, the steady rhythm of your breathing the only sound he needed to finally find peace.

CURRENT TAGLIST⋆⭒˚｡⋆

@maybankslover ⟢ @diorstarkey

[cheezritsu]

Itoshi Sae has far more feline traits than those narrow turquoise eyes of his. At the top of your notes app titled “I don’t need a cat, my boyfriend already is one,” is the fact that Sae will never, ever be clingy, will never ask for your touch, and is coy about romance as a whole—but he just has to be near you.

Manshine City is playing Ubers. Ubers cannot resist having a yellow card every time they step on the pitch, and Manshine City pisses Sae off more than even he knows. You’ll press him about that later, because he’s watching the match in your shared bedroom and not the living room television which is not only bigger, but louder like he likes. Why is he fixing your temperpedic to be a damn near 90 degree angle when there’s a perfectly good couch in another room?

“Who’s winning?” You call from the bathroom. You’ve chosen to grab a bar stool from the kitchen to make yourself comfortable as you part your hair into four sections. It’s a hard ritual, but it pays dividends; you noticed that you were shedding a lot less hair when you sat down and pre-detangled before the shower. And you were a little optimistic about your last style and ended up stretching it out a few days longer than you should have. The end result wouldn’t be good to your heart.

You’re half way through finger detangling your section when you realize Sae hasn’t answered you. You lean back, the open door to your bedroom allowing you to catch a glimpse of him. There’s something off about his expression—Sae’s normally indifferent looking, sure, but there is a harder frown etched into his face. And he’s not even looking at the game. He’s glaring at…the door frame?

“Babe,” you say, and it breaks his trance. He looks up at you, but you’ve once again disappeared from his line of sight. That lean back was killing your spine.

“Huh?”

“I asked who was winning.” You carefully two-strand twist the now slippery section together, then use an alligator clip to keep it off your back. It’s kind of crazy how long your hair is now compared to the beginning of the year. You take down your next section, looking up from your lap and-!

“Holy shit!”

Sae gives you an unimpressed look in the mirror. You look at his reflection instead of him when you demand “When did you get in here?”

“While you were daydreaming.”

The tv is off. Or it’s paused. The vacuum of silence is a little uncomfortable. You were doing your hair in an old tshirt; a reprint of Sae’s U20 match jersey. It would make plenty money on the internet, and here you were getting hair products all over it. Sae looks at the front of your shirt with a wrinkled nose. Other reasons your boyfriend is a cat: he needs a fucking collar, and he pulls faces instead of vocalizing.

“What are you doing?”

“My hair.”

You can see his roaming gaze trying to piece together the exact routine you have, but he’s struggling. Before another quip can leave his mouth you elaborate. “Pre-detagnling. That way when I wash my hair it has less breakage.” You squeeze your detangler into your hands and slather it into the wetted section of hair you were working on. “I wanna keep what little hair I have.”

You get a real reaction this time—a snort of disbelief. “You have more hair on your head than Aiku has on his entire body.”

You blink. “That’s not really a metric I’m privy too.”

“He’s like a gorilla. It’s gross.”

You hum, but you love Sae’s endless opinions. You can tell he still has some rattling around in his brain that he’s having trouble spitting out. Perhaps he’s finally using a filter around you, or he’s really trying to find just the right delivery to piss you off. It’s 50/50.

He finally settles on, “You hair has gotten really long,” as he’s transfixed by the quick motion of your digits twisting the hair into a long rope. When it drops against the side of your head and he sees where it reaches, he shakes his head. “Like, really long.”

“Thanks,” you smile, and warmth spreads in Sae’s chest. “Weren’t you watching the match?”

“I paused it.”

“Why?”

He doesn’t answer. “I thought long hair bothered you?”

“It does,” you answer slowly, really trying to keep up with this conversation. Sae pings questions at you like the midfielder he is, but this is a little too quick. “But I think when I was growing my hair out the first time I never shaped it, or did styles with it. There was this girl at a restaurant I went to, like, years ago when I was at the beach with my parents who had long natural hair. She had it pulled back in a satin scarf and had like two little front pieces sticking out.” You create the style by gesturing your hands over your head. Sae’s gaze melts, the usual hard line of his mouth settling into something content.

“She was so pretty.” You have a distant look on your face, and Sae doesn’t doubt you have that crystal clear memory in your head. “I wanted to be as pretty as her. But I didn’t really know what to do with my hair, and it has really hot all the time, so I cut it. I think about it all the time though.”

Sae acknowledges your story with a nod. He traces shape of your curls with his finger, careful not to pull too hard. A soft tug elongated the spiral, and then it snapped back.

“Your hair is beautiful,” Sae suddenly spits, making eye contact with you in the mirror. “I liked it when it was short, and it’s pretty now that it’s longer. I don’t know if I ever told you.”

He hasn’t. Not so bluntly, at least. Sae never needs to occupy his hands, so he doesn’t touch your hair at all, ever, but now he coils the strands around his finger like his own personal fidget. Something stupid balloons in you lungs and press hard against your ribcage. Pride, maybe? Love, probably. You twist your neck and the piece of hair slips from his grasp.

“‘Preciate it,” you reply, adopting his casual air to force down your excitement. Sae’s face stays the same though, and he even goes so far as to press a little kiss to your exposed shoulder blade. He must feel the heat of your skin, because a smirk curls across his face. Oh, you could kill him.

“Alright, alright,” you shoo him. “I gotta get to work. This is just the pre-wash, so I’m going to take a minute in here.”

“I could shower,” he says absently, and before you could even protest, Sae is opening the shower door, rearranging products around the wall to make sure your shampoo, conditioner and wide tooth comb are front and center. “It’ll be warm though, and not scalding hot like you like it.”

“Then don’t shower with me.”

The pipes turn on, Sae’s funger’s dipping under the water the check the temperature. “It’s bad for your skin anyways.”

You don’t even mention it. You probably will halfway through when he’s “unknowingly” doing your hair for you, but it could wait.

[mggslover]

No Strings Attached

In which reader is on a mission to get her boss to relieve some stress, not realizing he'd end up doing the same for her.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!bau!reader Genre: smut (18+) x fluff Content warnings: porn with plot, jessica and jack make an appearance, no mention of haley, hotch smiling (lol), reader being sad and a bit insecure bc she hasn't got laid in a while, mentions of drinking wine, no strings attached (but not really bc they're obsessed with each other), soft!dom hotch, praise, breast play, ass worship, oral (f receiving), p in v sex Word count: 4,7k A/n: first time writing a fic dedicated to Hotch and i fear i'm obsessed... also i had to do some acrobatics to make sure these positions work (they do) so give me a heart for the effort your feedback and support are highly appreciated!

Aaron Hotchner is a busy man. And these days, even more so. The responsibilities of being Unit Chief were always demanding, but they seemed to multiply now that he was balancing the weight of single parenthood as well.

As a profiler it was obvious to you how much he struggled with juggling between these professions, even though he always tried to hide it from the team. You noticed his slightly furrowed brow when he thought no one was watching, and the slow drag of his steps as he moved between meetings and paperwork.

Since you’d joined the team, you'd developed a deep respect for Aaron. Where others saw a hard-nosed, no-nonsense boss—a “drill sergeant” in Morgan’s words—you saw a man who held himself and his team to incredibly high standards because he believed in their potential. You saw a man who cared deeply, even when his personal life was slowly suffocating beneath the pressure of it all.

Even if he would never admit it, no human being can go through the difficulties he goes through without ever catching a break, without getting any help. So tonight, as you passed his office, a light still flickering inside, you decided to do something about it.

Your knuckle made contact with the door, knocking three times as you waited. When there was no immediate response, you quietly creaked the door open.

The sight of him behind the desk was familiar. His shoulders were hunched and his brows furrowed in concentration, as he scanned the endless stacks of paperwork that seemed to breed faster than he could handle them.

"Hey," you greeted softly, offering a small smile as you stepped into the room.

Hotch looked up from the pile in front of him, his gaze flicking from the documents to you. There was a slight exhaustion behind his eyes that he didn’t try to mask.

"Hey.” His eyes dropped to his wristwatch for just a moment, his lips curling into a subtle frown. "It’s late. Why haven’t you gone home yet?"

You waved off his concern. "I’m about to. Had to send a few more emails for the lab reports."

He nodded, but didn’t immediately return to his work. Instead, he watched you with that signature intensity of his, silently observing you.

"I- uh, I wanted to ask you something.” You hesitated for a moment as you moved further into the room, the door gently clicking shut behind you.

His brows rose slightly, an almost imperceptible shift of interest in his posture. "Go on."

You cleared your throat, your hands instinctively clasping behind your back. "You’ve been working a lot of late nights."

“That’s not a question.” He stated in an amused tone.

A small smile played on your lips. "I know, but it’s a… concern," you said. "And I was wondering if there was anything I could do to help you out."

He looked at you, his expression unreadable. His hands folded neatly in his lap, and he leaned back in his chair. It was hard to tell whether he was considering your offer or mentally debating the logistics of it.

"You want to help me out?" he asked, his voice tinged with confusion.

“Yes.”

Aaron grabbed a stack of papers, knocking them into a neat pile on his desk, then looked back at you. "So, this is something you’re interested in?" His tone was laced with amusement as he nodded down at the amount of paperwork in his hands.

You winced at the sight of it. "Uh... not exactly," you said, trying to keep your tone light. "I was thinking more along the lines of taking care of Jack," you added, raising your voice slightly on the last part, unsure of how he’d react to your suggestion.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Taking care of Jack?"

"Yeah.” You met his gaze, trying to sound confident despite the uncertainty creeping in. "Just on the days we don’t have a case. I could go to your place and stay with him until you get home."

His eyes narrowed slightly. "You know Jessica’s there," he said, referring to his ex-sister-in-law who had taken on the role of taking care of Jack when he had to work.

“Don’t you think she deserves a break every once in a while?”

His expression shifted, becoming slightly defensive. "She offered to take care of him.”

"I know," you responded quickly, knowing he’d never force her into it. "But I’m offering too. I babysat all through university, I know what I’m doing."

He gave you a tight-lipped smile, his eyes flicking back to the papers in front of him. "That’s not necessary, but thank you," he said, his tone closing the conversation.

You weren’t ready to let it go yet. You stepped closer to his desk, hoping to draw his attention back. "Please? I want to help you."

He didn’t look up. "I don’t need any help," he stubbornly replied, his eyes still glued to the paperwork.

“Then let me put it this way,” you pressed on. "I want to help the team, because no offense, your stress is affecting all of us. And on top of that, I want to help Jack."

He glanced up at you, the wheels in his mind turning, and you showed him your best puppy eyes.

"Did you learn that from Reid?" he asked, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"Is it working?" you grinned back.

He chuckled breathlessly. "Alright, fine. One night. Let’s see how it goes."

You fought back a victorious grin. “Good. Just you wait, Hotchner. Once you see how great I am with kids, you’ll never let me go."

—

A week later, Hotch took you up on your offer. Jessica had a wedding to attend, and you’d agreed to look after Jack for the evening.

Though you’d spent plenty of time with Jack when he visited his dad at the office or at events outside of work, Hotch insisted on driving you to his place for a proper handoff.

He held the door open for you as you entered his apartment. You were immediately greeted by Jessica, dressed in a stunning outfit with a purse ready in hand.

"I’m late, I’m late!" she panicked, almost running as she headed for the door. But when she saw you, her demeanor softened.

“There’s my saving grace,” she said with a relieved smile. “Thank you so much for doing this.”

You waved her off with a grin. “It’s my pleasure. You look amazing, go have fun.”

She offered a final smile, then said her goodbyes to Hotch before quickly heading out.

“Hi, Dad!” Jack’s voice rang out as he bounced into the living room, his excitement palpable. You smiled, watching the little boy as he ran toward his father.

“Hey, buddy.” Hotch lifted him into his arms with a small groan. “You’re getting bigger every day.”

Your heart warmed at the exchange. Hotch was a completely different man when he was at home—more relaxed, more playful, the kind of father who carefully kept work and family separate.

He put Jack down, introducing you to him.

“I know who she is, Dad. We colored together. She’s really good at drawing Spider-Man.”

Hotch raised an intrigued eyebrow at you.

"I have more hidden talents than you know,” you playfully shrugged.

You turned to Jack, crouching down to his level. "Want to grab the crayons? We can make some more drawings."

Jack’s eyes lit up, and without hesitation, he scampered off in search of his favorite colors, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll find the red one!”

You chuckled at his enthusiasm and straightened up, turning back to Hotch. “You’ve got a sweet kid,”

Hotch’s eyes followed Jack as he rummaged through the drawer. There was pride in the way he looked at his son, but you could see the hint of anxiety that always seemed to lurk beneath the surface when it came to Jack.

You placed a reassuring hand on his arm, giving him a small, comforting squeeze. “He’s in good hands, Hotch. You don’t have to worry.”

He met your eyes, and for a brief moment, the weight of his responsibilities seemed to lift. His gaze softened with unspoken gratitude. “I trust you,” he spoke sincerely.

“Good.” You gave him a small smile and gave his bicep a final, reassuring pat. “Now get some work done. You might be able to make it in time for dinner.”

With a final glance at Jack, he turned to leave. The door clicked softly behind him, and you were left on your own with the mini version of him, who was already showing off his new crayons.

—

That evening marked the first of many. When you weren’t out on a case, you found yourself naturally heading to Hotch's after work—sometimes taking over from Jessica for the day or picking up Jack from school yourself. You often stayed well into the evening, even after Hotch came home, enjoying dinner together, playing games, or simply talking. There were even times where you stayed the night, sharing a quiet drink after putting Jack to bed. He’d insist you sleep in his bed while he took the couch. In the mornings, the three of you would share breakfast, with Hotch always ensuring the fridge was stocked with your favorite foods and knowing exactly how you liked your eggs.

You knew your colleagues would lose their minds if they’d ever find out, but for you, it never felt strange. It felt right. Comfortable. And whenever you were back on the field, you’d slip back into your professional roles—the accidental first-name slips the only sign of the bond you shared.

Being at their place made you realize how much your work had tangled itself into every aspect of your life. You’d moved away from family, struggled to maintain a personal life, and watched every attempt at dating falter because of your job. Despite how fulfilling your work at the BAU was, you’d forgotten just how deeply you craved a sense of belonging—a place where you were appreciated for more than just your professional skills or your ability to handle a weapon. Around Aaron and Jack, you could simply let go and be yourself.

Today was another day at the Hotchner house. You had spent the entire afternoon with Jack playing soccer in a nearby park until he was utterly exhausted, you practically had to drag him home. This time you didn’t mind though. Today has been a painful reminder of how single you were. The park had been filled with happy couples—some picnicking, some feeding the ducks, and others nervously sharing their first kiss.

You were grateful for how Aaron had allowed you to wiggle your way into his little family on days like these, but still it wasn’t yours. You still longed for one to call your own one day.

So, here you were—alone on the couch, watching a rom-com wishing you were starring in it, and finding comfort in the warmth of his house and the glass of wine in your hand.

You were so absorbed in the movie that you didn’t notice the door unlocking until Hotch stepped inside.

“Hey,” you greeted, reaching for the remote to pause the film.

“Don’t stop on my account,” he said, putting down his bag and hanging up his jacket. He loosened his tie and walked over to the couch, settling on the opposite end.

“Sorry, I opened a new bottle of wine”

He waved it off. “I’m glad that you did. It would’ve just collected dust on the shelf.”

You take another sip. “It’s a good one. Rossi’s?”

“You know it,” he replied with a soft smile, getting comfortable in the cushions as you put the movie back on.

The screen flickered with a romantic scene: a couple dancing in the rain, the male lead spinning the woman around in circles as they laughed.

“I miss that,” you murmured, a wistful smile tugging at your lips as you watched them.

Hotch glanced at you, a smirk forming. “It’s raining outside. Be my guest.”

You rolled your eyes, playfully dismissing the comment. “That’s not what I meant. Just look, Aaron,” you pointed at the TV, where the couple gazed at each other lovingly, before he pulled her in for a passionate kiss. “I don’t remember the last time someone looked at me like that.”

“Sometimes, I feel so desperate that I think about saying yes to the first guy who comes along, just to feel wanted again.”

Hotch straightened, concern flickering in his eyes. “You shouldn’t do that.”

“I know, Dad,” you teased, trying to ease the tension. “I’m unfortunately fully aware of the creeps out there.”

“On top of that, I’m not even sure anyone would take me up on it,” you added with a breathless laugh, your voice betraying a hint of vulnerability. “I haven’t exactly gotten much attention since joining the team. Maybe I’m not considered attractive anymore.”

“People can tell you know how to handle yourself,” he profiled. “Some find that intimidating. But you’re just as attractive—if not more so—than before you joined the team.”

You almost spilled your wine at his confession, the sudden heat in your cheeks betraying the flutter in your stomach.

“You don’t have to say that,” you mumbled, not wanting him to feel pity for you.

“Am I lying?” he asked, his voice steady. You met his gaze—his posture was open, his shoulders relaxed, and his eye contact was unwavering. It was textbook honesty.

“No,” you admitted quietly, feeling the truth of his words sink in.

“I don’t think you need some stranger or a serious relationship to get what you’re after.”

You blinked, not sure if you’d heard him right. “No?”

Hotch leaned in just a little, his voice lower now. “I think we could give each other what we need... without it being complicated.”

Your heart skipped, and you tried to process what he was suggesting. Your mind raced, the words hanging in the air between you.

“Are you suggesting a no-strings-attached relationship with me?”

He gave a small, wry smile. “I’m trying to be subtle about it, but it’s not going so well.”

You laughed, caught off guard, trying to mask your surprise as you saw the seriousness in his expression.

“How will this work?”

The corners of his lips lifted as you acknowledged thinking this through. “We would just… enjoy ourselves. Just when we’re here. Just when it’s the two of us.”

Enjoying yourself with Aaron Hotchner definitely wasn’t how you’d imagined this night going.

You stayed quiet, thinking it over. After a moment you slowly nodded your head. “Okay.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, waiting for confirmation.

“Yes. I am,” you responded, the words coming easier now.

You licked your lips nervously as he moved closer to you. His cologne enveloped you, making your pulse quicken.

As he continued gazing into your eyes, you decided it was your turn to make the next move. Carefully, you reached up to cup his cheek, feeling the slight roughness of his stubble against the palm of your hand. A small prayer passed through your mind, hoping you wouldn’t regret your next decision.

Then you kissed him.

The moment his lips met yours, the cliché of “fireworks” suddenly made sense—the feeling was intense, electric, a rush that left you breathless. His hands moved to the sides of your waist, pulling you closer. Before you could think, you were settled on his lap, the world around you narrowing to the heat of his touch.

A small, desperate whimper escaped you as his tongue brushed against yours. It had been so long since someone touched you this way—especially someone as strong and attractive as Aaron. You could feel his heartbeat beneath your fingertips as your hand slid over his chest, the other wrapping around his neck. He deepened the kiss, and the feeling was so overwhelming that it almost made you cry in relief.

He brushed his hands over the smooth curve of your waist and down the swell of your thighs, digging his fingers into the clothed skin.

Your soft moans were swallowed by your kisses, and you couldn’t help yourself as you moved your hips against his, feeling yourself get more aroused with each movement against the thin fabric of his slacks.

He let out a low grunt as you repeatedly rolled your hips against the hardening bulge in his pants. His large hands roamed up beneath your shirt, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. You placed your hands over his, ready to take your shirt off, but just as quickly his hands closed around your wrists, stopping you gently.

“Not here,” he warned. “Let’s move to the bedroom.”

His words sent a rush of desire to your core, and though your legs trembled, you stood from his lap and followed him across the room. As he moved, Hotch unbuckled his belt with one swift, effortless motion. You paused mid-step, breath catching at the sight of the leather coiled in his hand, hypnotised by how seductive the image looked. You blinked a couple of times to get out of your trance, before hurrying after him, your legs trying to catch up to his confident pace.

You stepped into the bedroom, moving until you stood at the foot of the bed as he locked the door behind you. A flutter of nerves stirred in your stomach at the reality of what was about to happen.

Hotch walked toward you, slowly closing the distance. His eyes were dark as they took you in with a look of pure lust—one you’d previously never seen on him.

“Turn around for me.”

Maybe it was because you were so accustomed to his authority in the field, or perhaps it was the undeniable fact that you'd let him do anything to you at this point, but without a second thought, you obeyed, turning your back toward him.

His hands reached out to rub over your shoulders in slow circles. You instinctively leaned into him, your eyes closing as you let yourself melt into the comfort of his touch. He presses in closer, his chin resting against your shoulder.

“What is it that you’ve been longing for?” His voice is a soft, sensual whisper, his breath warm against your skin.

A shaky breath escapes your lips as his hands delicately trail over your collarbones, carefully moving lower, inching toward your breasts. The moment his palms cup them, your nipples harden.

He hummed, still awaiting a response.

“You,” you whispered back, your voice barely audible through the thick need.

You feel the faint curve of a teasing smile against your skin. “You already have me,” he murmured. “Tell me how I can make you feel good.”

His thumbs flick over your nipples, and you arch your back into him, feeling the solid press of his body against yours, the hardness in his pants meeting you once again.

“It’s been a while since-” your words dissolve into a moan as his fingers pinch your nipples.

“Since what?” he teased, his lips tracing the curve of your neck, each kiss setting your skin alight.

You swallowed. “Since… since someone’s gone down on me.”

“Is that so?” he hummed, the sound rich with interest. His tongue slides up your neck, before turning it into a kiss.

“Aaron, please,” you begged, grinding your hips into him.

“How can someone like you have been deprived of pleasure for so long?” he thought out loud, and he finally grabbed the material of your shirt, pulling it over your head.

His hands glide softly over your back, before he unclasps your bra with one smooth motion. Your breasts spill free, and he immediately cups them in his hands, holding them as if he wants to keep you warm and covered. The pleasure is even more delicious now that the contact is skin-to-skin.

His hands roam over your stomach, until he reaches the button of your pants, undoing it. He sinks to his knees behind you, his fingers curling around the waistband of your pants and panties, easing them down. A low curse escapes him as the fabric slides over your ass and down your thighs, revealing more of you inch by inch.

You held onto his shoulder for support, as he steadied your leg, guiding you to step out of your pants. The second he tossed the fabric to the side, he placed his hands steadily on your thighs, leaning in to press a heated kiss to your ass. You let out a moan, bucking forward, but he holds you firmly in place as his lips trail wet, lingering kisses over your cheeks.

“Place your knee on the bed for me,” he tenderly instructs.

You followed his order, lifting one knee onto the bed, your upper body arching slightly as it hovers just above the mattress. The cool air brushes over your exposed pussy as you’re displayed in front of him.

A loud moan leaves your mouth, as his tongue makes contact with your folds. The pressure is just right, each flick of his tongue drawing a sharp gasp from you as he licks up and down in a deliberate rhythm.

“You taste like heaven,” he groans, the deep rumble of his voice vibrating through you as he speaks, “dripping down your thighs already.” His lips trail lower, and he laps up the wetness that has gathered on your inner thighs, his stubble tickling against your sensitive skin. You grip the sheets, desperate for something to hold on to.

Aaron’s tongue returns to your pussy, the tip of it firmly pushing inside, curling upward as he slides in and out, hitting all the right spots, sending waves of pleasure through you. Each thrust makes you cry out.

You let out a small whine as his tongue retreats, pressing a delicate kiss to the tender skin. “Don’t get me wrong,” he starts, licking his lips clean, “I love hearing you, but you can’t be too loud.”

You silently nodded, your breath hitching as his finger unhurriedly traced your sensitive folds. Just as he was about to enter you, you stopped him.

“I- I need your cock,” you whined, your hips pushing back toward him, desperate for more.

“Yeah? You need it that bad?” he teased, as he rose to his feet behind you.

You crawled onto the bed, glancing back at him. His lips still glistened with the trace of you, and his eyes were locked onto yours, filled with predatory focus.

“I need it, Aaron,” you repeated, biting your bottom lip as your gaze lingered on the hard outline of his length pressed against his thigh.

He groaned, his hands quickly pulling at his tie, tossing it aside before he began unbuttoning his shirt. His movements were confident—like a private performance just for you. You leaned back on your arms, your feet planted on the bed, allowing him to see just how much he was making you ache for him.

As he removed his shirt, the muscles in his broad shoulder flexed, and the trail of dark hair down his stomach led your eyes straight to what you craved.

He wasn’t shy as he pulled his pants down, eager to show you just how worked up you’d made him. His length stood hard, the tip flushed red and glistening with precum. You instinctively pressed your thighs together, giving you a soft release of tension.

He joined you on the bed, lying on his side and pulling you flush against his chest, spooning you. His lips crashed into yours in a deep, hungry kiss, his groans vibrating against your mouth. His hand explored your front, squeezing your breasts, while his arousal pressed insistently against your ass.

You moaned, your leg draping over his as you shifted, opening yourself up to him. He reached down, gripping his length, positioning it against you before slowly pushing inside, stretching you inch by inch.

You took a sharp breath, adjusting to the feel of him inside you. His cock throbbed, as if begging for you to move. Slowly, you rolled your hips, taking more of him in, and Hotch’s low growl rumbled in your ear.

“That’s it,” he praised, his voice rough with pleasure. “Taking me so well.”

He was fully inside you now, filling you completely, and his hand slid down to your exposed clit, his fingers moving in slow, rhythmic circles. His thrusts matched the pace, deep and deliberate.

Every movement sent shockwaves through your body, your breath quickening as the familiar knot of pleasure tightened in your stomach.

“I’m close, Aaron,” you whimpered, and he moaned in response, placing soft kisses along your jaw before sucking at your neck, marking you.

His fingers moved faster, pushing you closer to the edge, and your body twitched as your orgasm crashed over you. His arms held you tight, anchoring you as the sensations slowly subsided.

When he withdrew his hand from your clit, it slid down to your knee, bending your leg to spread you even wider. Without warning, he began pounding into you, the sudden change in speed making you cry out, a high-pitched moan escaping your lips.

“Be quiet for me. Don’t make me tell you again,” he warned. You involuntarily moaned at the way he commanded you, and he grunted in response.

With a swift motion, he flipped you onto your stomach, your body pressed flat against the bed. A sharp gasp escaped you as he grabbed your thighs, lifting them to raise your ass in the air, before entering you again.

One hand pressed firmly into your shoulder, holding you down, while the other gripped your hips, forcing you to meet each of his thrusts. The new position did its job—your moans were muffled into the pillow, leaving only the wet slap of skin and the sound of Hotch’s deep, guttural grunts with each push of his hips.

“They're so stupid for not wanting you,” he groaned. “You have me now. I’ll give you everything you want.”

Your heart fluttered at his words. After feeling this, you knew you wouldn’t ever be satisfied by anyone else. You would want no one but him.

“I’m going to come inside of you,” he breathed, bending over so his chest pressed against your back, his warmth enveloping you.

“Oh-“ Your breath caught as the sensation in your core tightened again. “Yes, please. Inside of me, please.” You couldn’t form a full sentence as the heat inside of your core builds up again.

He reaches under you to touch your clit, and the instant his fingers make contact, you come undone. Your legs tremble, giving way beneath you as the rush of pleasure takes over. Hotch pushes into you two more times before you feel him spill inside, the sensation sending you into another, deeper orgasm.

He presses soft, tender kisses to your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin as he whispers in your ear, “I’m sorry I got a little carried away.”

You hum in satisfaction, a pleased smile tugging at your lips. “I’m glad you did.”

—

You weren’t sure what time it was, but you had a quick shower together—Hotch giving you one more orgasm—and were now laying in bed, your clean bodies tangled under his sheets.

“Will you stay the night?” he asked softly, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand as he held you close.

It was endearing how gentle and shy he sounded, a stark contrast to what the two of you had just shared.

“Only if you promise to not move to the couch,” you mumbled sleepily, your voice heavy with exhaustion.

“I wouldn’t dare.”

You turned your head to him, noticing the quiet that had settled between you both.

“What is it?” you asked, tracing absent patterns to his skin.

He hesitated for a moment before speaking. “I was thinking… maybe we can attach those strings a bit more.”

You chuckled. “Maybe,” you playfully teased, pressing a final kiss to his lips.

[iniquitousyearning]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S RIDDLEMAS

dec 4th. tom riddle — bondage, begrudgingly!sub tom.

RIDDLEMAS MASTERLIST. | 2024

summary: revenge is sweet—but getting tom riddle to beg is so, so much fucking sweeter.

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, reader gives tom a lust potion in retribution, PIV, desperate sex, tom so out of sorts he doesn’t even know what he’s saying, so much teasing it’s painful, dirty talk, light bondage, choking.

All is fair in love and war.

This might not be love, but it isn't just war, either. It's something messier, something darker, something with teeth. Every time you and Tom Riddle play this game it seems to follow the same trajectory, almost like a dance—step, feint, clash, retreat—a push and pull, a ritualistic give and take until someone takes a little too much and the tension boils over to something like this. 

A locked door. A stolen breath. His body pressing yours into some surface and his hands on your throat, or in your hair, or at your waist with—

"You did something to me." Growled at your neck. 

Right now, expectedly, is no different.

"What could I possibly have done to you?" You drawl, bored blowing off your breath. "The great Tom Riddle himself."

You want to sound dismissive, condescending—just enough to light a match to his already fraying patience—but Tom is too keyed up to take the bait, and that alone thrills you. You can feel the heat radiating off him. Smell the clean, addictive scent of his hair, the musk of dark magic religiously woven into his skin. 

He smells intense, and it makes you dizzy.

Makes you reckless.

"You’re funny," he exhales, the force of it stirring your hair. He's ripping off his jacket now, rolling up his sleeves like he's ready to wrestle the devil himself. "This is your idea of revenge, isn't it?"

There's a shrug, something vindictive set in your shoulders just to get under his skin that much more—spurred on by the sheer state of him before you; those perfect curls a mess, onyx eyes burning with something primal. 

"This, meaning what, exactly?" You watch the corded tension in his neck tighten as he shoves his hair back, hands visibly unsteady. "You'll have to be more specific."

He lets out a stifled groan from somewhere deep in his chest at that—he's struggling, and he knows you know it, a delicious little factoid that has his patience stretched so thin it's almost see-through—

"You're enjoying this," he snarls, forcing himself over to a nearby loveseat and slumping down into it. His voice is half-hoarse, strangled by the effort it's taking him to keep this much distance between you. "You—fuck."

There we go. 

Unable to stall the grin off your lips any longer, you move forward with something predatory—something devious in each step perfectly placed just to spite him—a deliberate sway of the hips, the slight rise and fall of your chest—anything, really, just to break him that much faster. 

He's right. This is your revenge. 

"Oh, Tom," you creep around behind his chair, lips leaning toward his ear. "Are you feeling alright? You're looking hot."

You take note of the way his jaw pulses as he grinds his teeth. The way that one simple word from your mouth—spoken in the type of low, sultry tone that could make even a dead man hard—affects him.

"You're wicked," his head falls back to look up at you, lips glistening like he's salivating over the mere sound of your voice. Still, he's fighting it—still trying to deny you the satisfaction. "Did you know that?"

"You love it," you murmur, fingers slipping their way over his shoulders, down his chest. You lean closer, catching sight of the sharp bulge straining against his trousers. "Look how much you fucking love it."

Another stifled groan. 

"You don't want to do this, sweetheart," he hisses—and there's the nickname, the nickname you've told him you hate. His way of retaliation. "Not now." 

"And why not?" Your fingers dip lower, tracing over the definition of his abdomen. "Because you're not in control? Or because I am?"

He's fighting himself—you see the war play out on his face in the way his brows knit together—the way his lips part briefly only to swallow back whatever words were about to crawl out of them. 

He's never been very good at being at anyone's mercy, least of all yours. 

"You think you're in control," the words rasp against his throat, as if speaking them too loud might shift the balance. "You're delusional."

"Maybe," you whisper, lips brushing his cheek, the curve of a smirk curling into your voice. "Maybe I'm absolutely batshit." Your hand slips downward, slowly, over his stomach to his belt, fingers ghosting the buckle. "But we both know why you dragged me in here, Tom. Don't we?"

He scowls.

"You—" 

The moment you brush against his bulge with the barest touch, his hips jerk forward—words disintegrating, raw instinct betraying his restraint.

"God, look at you." You nearly choke on the heat between you. If this isn't the sexiest fucking thing you've ever seen. "Just admit it, Tommy. Admit you need me to fi—"

You don't get to finish. Something in him snaps—

"Fucking—" he's moving on auto-pilot, hands reaching up to seize you and yank you closer. "—fix this, then." 

In a blink, you're in his lap with his grip on your hips and he's growling—one hand slipping up to the back of your head to fist your hair and force your mouth to his before you get the chance to snap back—

And as soon as your lips collide it's a fight for dominance—teeth clashing as your tongues tangle, both of you biting and pulling at each other like animals. You're grinding against him and he's excruciatingly-hard beneath you and you can practically hear the intensity of it, both of you caught up in the sheer feral force of this—no rhyme or rhythm, no control—just hunger, desperate and unrelenting, like something unleashed that neither of you can put back in its cage.

After all but an eternity of this, you wrench back with force, breaking the kiss and shoving yourself upright. His head falls back against the chair, chest heaving, his lips slick and parted, pupils blown wide and glittering with fury—or lust. You’re sure it’s a bit of both.

He's trying to gain control, his hand still fisted in your hair, arms trapping you in place like he thinks he can still win this. 

But you see him now, raw and undone, and you know better.

"You want me to fix this," you murmur, skating your fingers over his chest lightly enough to make him twitch. "Then put your hands on the armrests."

He wants to fight that, you can tell—wants to yank you back into him, wants to wield that weapon of a tongue—but other things take precedence now, like you, here, on his lap—so close to giving him everything he needs.

You think, to him, the demand must sound less like an order and more like salvation. 

He all but slams his hands down onto the armrests.

You smirk. "Good boy."

Unsurprisingly, he scowls again, a dangerous flash in his eyes—but that doesn't stop his hips from jerking greedily when you grind down against him—fingers digging into the leather underneath them, twitching like they want to make you do it again. 

That doesn't escape your notice. 

"Mm. Just incase." Pulling out your wand, you cast a spell that binds his wrists to the chair. "I know how you are." 

His expression shifts instantly, lips curling back into something like a snarl as he yanks at the invisible binds. They don't budge—your work is seamless—his own spellwork mastered and turned against him.

"I'm going to fucking digest you," he spits, all venom and heat, eyes blazing as he pulls harder. "When I get out of this chair, you'll—oh, you'll beg for-"

You shut him up with your mouth, crushing your lips to his. It's all teeth and tongue, desperate and wild, as your nails rake down his chest and he arches into you—

"Who says I don't like it when you make me pay, baby?" You breathe, biting his bottom lip hard enough to draw a groan from deep in his throat. "Maybe it's my favourite part."

For a moment he doesn't respond—he knows that's true. You love this game too much not to toe the line when possibilities arise. He's pulling uselessly at the binds again as you roll your hips against him, dragging him further into ruin.

"You are," he chokes out, head tilting back as your teeth scrape along his jaw, "an infuriating, wicked little witch."

You huff against his skin, against the pulse point at his throat and the sensitive area under his ear—he's squirming—making strangled, animal sounds that have you seeping through your panties. 

"You're only just noticing?" You’re drinking in his hypersensitivity for all it's worth. "You're losing your touch."

He scoffs, or tries to—it comes out closer to a moan stuck between shallow breaths. 

"Noticed it...the day I met you," he gasps, hips jerking up as you rock against him. "But, fuck—you've gotten a hell of a lot worse."

Perhaps he's right. Perhaps it's the company you keep—specifically, the one pinned beneath you. 

"You're just mad I'm beating you at your own game," you’re grinding down harder, fingers drifting to the buttons of your blouse. "You're a terrible loser."

"And you're—" he starts, but his words falter when you pull the last button free and shrug the fabric off your shoulders, exposing black lace and soft skin. "—an insufferable winner."

"I think the real problem," you toss your shirt to the floor, hands returning to slide down his chest again, undoing his buttons now. "Is that you secretly love losing to me." 

You'd think that would earn another snarl from him—or perhaps a sharp retort about how he'd never lose to anyone, or how he’d never enjoy being at your mercy—but he's clearly too far gone to keep up with even that as he watches you, all but trembling at your touch. 

"Stop—“ he twitches when your fingers glide over his exposed chest, trailing lower. "—talking."

"Make me," you make your way to his belt buckle, taking your time to undo it, sliding the leather free before moving to the zipper of his pants, dragging it down even slower. "Oh, wait. You can't."

He’s helpless to fight the growl you force out of him at that—a vicious sound that makes you clench. His fingers tighten around the armrests, yanking hard against the bonds holding him in place. Useless, you both know, but it doesn't stop him from trying, from straining against them like he might will them to break through sheer desperation alone. 

He exhales through his teeth. "Stop teasing." 

"Now where's the fun in that?" you dip your hand below the waistband of his boxers. He jerks beneath you as your fingers tease just enough to make his breath catch. "You should be grateful l'm taking pity on you—" your tone as soft as it is mocking, "—being oh so kind to help-"

Another groan, another almost snarl. "Stop. Teasing." 

Oh, how the tables turn. You know precisely how he's feeling—you've been here like this, with him, a million times before. It’s the sweetest torture. One you’re sure he doesn't want you to stop—not really. Not with a lust potion dripping from his pores. 

He fucking needs this.

"And what happensssss," you drag your words out as your fingers glide slow, featherlight strokes up and down his rock of an erection. "If I don't?"

His response is a wrecked string of profanity—some of it strangled, some of it guttural, and none of it in English. He's not even remotely coherent anymore, and you're not surprised. Eloquence had abandoned him long before you'd even stepped into the room.

"I will—" he hisses through clenched teeth as you tease your thumb over his leaking tip, "— fuck—I will fuck your ass so hard—“

Now that gets a moan from you—the filthiness of his words, at the way his voice drops so dark and low it should probably be a fucking felony. He's swearing, writhing, desperate, and you're absolutely dripping from it—from the way Tom Riddle has unraveled into this devastating, feral thing underneath you.

"Is that what you're thinking about right now?" Another murmur, lips brushing against his ear as you shift to tug his pants and boxers down. "Fucking my tight ass? Punishing me?"

"Without mercy," he spits, breath hitching as you free him—his cock springing out, thick and throbbing, twitching in time with his shallow gasps. "Fuck—"

You pull away to get a better look at him—and god, the sight almost makes you lose your mind. The man always so put together, always so self assured and smug and in control of every goddamn thing—reduced to this. 

"Such a vulgar mouth, for such a pretty face," leaning forward, you lick a slow, deliberate stripe up his neck. He tastes like sweat and sin. Just how you like him. "Tell me more."

"Fuck," his head tips back involuntarily, exposing his throat to you like it's instinct. He's twitching as you grind your slick heat along his shaft, soaking him, teasing him until his hips buck up against you. "Put me inside you—"

You're barely holding onto yourself, every roll of your hips against him leaving you dizzy and aching—but you drag it out, grinding down harder.

"That's an order, isn't it?" You breathe, catching his earlobe between your teeth. "You giving me orders now?"

"I'm giving you pleas," he rasps. "You fed me a potion that's made me so hard it physically aches, and now you're sitting here—fucking teasing me—"

"Retaliation," you reply with a smile. "You're the one who thought it was a good idea to feed me a truth serum before dinner at Malfoy's."

That night still lingers in both of your minds—things involuntarily said that can't ever be unsaid. Things that still make Draco avoid your eyes at every turn.

"A mistake," he grits out. In any other moment, you know he'd be smirking. "A mistake—I'll admit it, fuck-"

"You're not the type to make mistakes," it’s a true statement, one overridden by the feeling of his dick twitching as your hips still, going maddeningly idle. "You wanted the Malfoy’s to know I'm yours. And now, well, now I have to show you that you're mine."

There’s a moments pause at that. One that makes you realize just how loud your pulse is pounding in your ears. Tom looks at you, holding your eyes until—

"I am," he concedes, finally throwing in the towel with a gasp that's half desperation, half devotion. "Yours. So fucking take what's yours."

"Oh, baby," you purr, cupping his cheek in your palm. He leans into it without realizing, like he's starving for your touch. "I always do."

And with that, you rise up—slick soaked inner thighs leaving damp spots against his half pulled down trousers—humming with a smirk as you slide a hand over his chest, nails raking over his skin, holding him down against the chair—

"Be still," an order. "Or I'll take it a hell of a lot slower."

His whole body shudders at that—but does what he's told and keeps still—chest swelling with each shallow breath as he watches you—dark eyes flicking from your lips to your tits to your cunt—muscles straining and wrists firm against their binds. 

"Just—do it," he mutters through parted lips and clenched teeth—squeezing his eyes shut. "Please."

The world stops. Time freezing to nothing. You swear you'd forgotten how to breathe.

Please. Like it's a holy thing, a sacred word to be used only in worship. Like he's said something he's never uttered in his life. Please. Like a prayer, like a begging benediction. You'd never loved the sound of anything from his lips quite like you do that. 

You will hear it again. You long to make him say it until he forgets every other word he knows.

"How could I refuse that?" His eyes fly open as you reach down, gripping his aching length and gliding the head against your soaked slit. "Fuck, you're so big. So hard."

"Hard," he echoes as his hips buck involuntarily, seeking more friction. "Because this is—torture."

"And whose fault is that, Tommy?" You taunt, just barely sinking down, letting the tip of him sit against what you know he wants. "Oh, that's right. Yours."

"Mine," he grunts before his patience finally snaps in half and he jerks his hips up—shoving his cockhead inside you with a strangled moan. "Fucking mine."

Oh, Merlin help you.

Your head falls back with a moan, eyes slipping shut as the sensation steals the breath from your lungs. He stretches you in the way only he can, and for a moment, you think you should punish him for disobeying you by taking back control—but you can't bring yourself to care about anything other than how fucking good it feels.

"Yours," you breathe, rolling your hips to take him just an inch deeper. "All yours."

"More," his voice cracks, the veins in his neck straining. "Take more. Please."

Theres the word again—please. It makes you weak, makes you greedy. Makes you break and give in on the sheer knowledge of how much it fucking pains him to say it. 

"Oh, gods"" you moan, shifting your hips to take him deeper still, inch by aching inch. "Fuck."

"Take it," he sneers, as if it's his turn to taunt you. Even like this, he's still the same bastard. "You can take more than that."

You curse lowly and sink your nails into his chest for it—because it's the kind of challenge you can't win, even like this you know you'll still lose. He knows it too. 

"I can," you hiss, sinking another inch deeper, and then another. "But can you?"

"Can I?" There’s a mocking lilt to his voice that knows. "Release my wrists, and we'll see."

Christ. That's a question you don't want to answer because you know anything other than yes would be a lie. It's tempting. You know as soon as you let him go he'd put those beautiful hands to use—he'd take back control and you'd immediately let him. Like a lamb to the slaughter. 

Even if this is supposed to be his punishment.  

"Be," you gasp, sinking down all the way and clenching tight as he kisses your cervix. "Quiet."

He lets out a sharp, strangled curse—a guttural string of something you think might either be Latin or Parseltongue—something rough and beautiful all at once—and you decide, right then, that it's undoubtedly the most sinfully delicious thing you've ever heard. 

"I love it when you swear," you manage to breathe out through moans, rolling your hips and savouring the stretch, the ache, the impossible fullness of him inside you. “And I love it even more that it's in languages I don't know—makes me wonder what you're saying."

"Things that'll get me slapped," he grunts, and the tone he uses is the one that promises trouble—trouble, if you let him go. "Or hexed, perhaps."

"Mm. I should hex you right now. I’m considering it," you’re gasping between moans, pleasure buzzing in your brain. "So hard."

"I think, right now," the words split between a groan as your nails leave faint red lines on his shoulders—as you clench around him again, dragging your slick walls up and down his shaft in rhythm. “If you tried to hex me, I’d let you. If it meant you’d keep going.”

You almost take him up on it. You love him like this far too much. So much it’s almost pathetic.

"Good boy." You force the words out, fighting through the sting on your cervix every time he bottoms out inside you, slamming against it. "So. Fucking. Good."

"Jesus Christ," he chokes, muscles taut as the veins in his neck strain. His hips jerk up to meet you at every bounce, greedy for more. "Don't stop."

"Oh, I won't," you dig your nails deeper into his skin for balance. The sting shoots through his body, his reaction delicious. "Not until l've made you swear to every god in the sky."

"Shouldn’t take long," he hisses through his teeth, shoulders cresting as your pace grows faster, more erratic. "I'm practically praying now."

"Good," you breathe, thighs burning as the heat coils tight and relentless inside you, every roll of your hips making you feel fuller, wetter, closer to falling apart. "I want to hear you pray my name."

"You're sadistic," he hisses. "Fuck."

"Pot, kettle," you taunt, biting lightly at the curve of his neck—not hard enough to bruise, but just enough to make him feel it.

The sound he makes—half moan, half growl—is filthy.

"Oh, you like that, don't you?" You murmur, dragging your lips toward his ear, breath molten. "You like pain. I know you do."

"I'd like to inflict some right about now," his voice breaks as you nip at his earlobe. "My hands on your throat. That smart fucking mouth—"

"Mmm," you hum, rolling your hips slower, deeper. "And what would you do with it?"

"Fill it," his voice is broken, head tipping back as his body begs for release. "Fuck. I'm so fucking close."

"You're filthy when you're desperate," you whisper, dragging your hand up to his throat, fingers wrapping around it, squeezing just enough to make his breath hitch. "I fucking love it."

His eyes flash—for a moment, you're not sure how he'll take it—your hand curling around his neck, fingers pressing against the pulse hammering beneath his skin. The unpredictability of him—always teetering between fury and something far more intense—makes you hesitate, even in this state. You wonder if he'll snarl, buck you off, or somehow counteract the spell to rid of the restraints entirely—

But all he does is swallow against it, hips jerking up, cock pressing bruisingly deep—dark eyes fixing on your lips, wild and glassy with want—

And then, he fucking grins. "Tighter."

"Freak," you moan far too loudly, heat pooling low in your belly as you oblige, tightening your grip. You bounce faster, adrenaline fuelling you, panting growing sharper with every wild bounce. "Cum for me."

"Like I have a choice," he rasps, voice shredded, his teeth gritted as his eyes squeeze shut. "Fuck—ffffff—"

The sound he makes when he finally breaks—guttural, filthy, your name torn from his lips—is fucking devastating. Devastating enough to drive you directly to your own orgasm, eyes rolling back and crying out words you aren’t even aware of as he shudders and jerks and tenses underneath you.

"Oh, fuck-yes," you breathe, riding him through it, clenching hard until the aftershocks start to fade out, as you slow your pace. “Tom—“

"God," he gasps, his head falling back in exhaustion, voice stumbling over the word. "God. Fuck."

The incoherence coming from his mouth is a treat—and through your fog, for only the most fleeting of moments, you wonder who exactly he's praying to when he says that.

His chest is rising and falling like he's just run miles, sweat-slick skin glowing in the low light. His head rolls forward, eyes still heavy-lidded, and when they meet yours, there's something feral still dangling in their depths. A lingering hunger that makes your breath hitch.

"That's what you wanted, wasn't it?" He finally speaks after he finds whatever oxygen is left in the room. "To ruin me?"

You're still seated on him, still full of him, and even now, you can feel him twitch inside you. Strong potion.

You exhale with a smirk, feeling your pulse slow. "You're still in one piece, aren't you?"

He laughs—dark, deep, and utterly sinful. It's the kind of laugh that promises you haven't won anything at all. His wrists flex against the bindings, and you swear the leather creaks.

"For now," his tone is almost gentle, but the fire in his eyes betrays him. "But if you think I'm going to let you walk away after this..." he grins. "You're more delusional than I thought."

Oh, Tom. If you only knew.