#his voice starts to trail away...eyes wide

[supernotnatural2005]

Nap Time - Drabble

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Dean has been struggling with the Mark, running on fumes, and you decide enough is enough.

Word Count: 650

Warnings/tags: Sleepy!Dean, lot's of fluff, MOC.

AN: Again I was inspired by the Dean gif above and this is what came of it 😅. It's a short one, but I hope you enjoy. 💕 (gif's are not mine, found on Google)

Main Masterlist

"Alright, that's it." You mutter to yourself, shutting your laptop with a decisive snap.

You push up from your seat and cross the room to where Dean is slumped in the armchair, head tilted to the side, fingers slack against the keyboard. He’s been like this for the past hour—stubbornly fighting off sleep even as exhaustion drags him down.

"Come on, sleepyhead." Your voice is soft as you rest a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

Dean stirs, inhaling sharply, eyes cracking open. They're heavy, rimmed with exhaustion, and bloodshot from lack of sleep. "M'not tired," he grumbles, rubbing his face with one hand. "Just restin’ my eyes. I’m good."

You huff, unconvinced. "Uh-huh." Reaching over, you close his laptop and place it on the side table.

"Hey—" He starts to protest, but you cut him off, holding out your hands expectantly.

"We," you emphasise, slipping your fingers into his when he hesitates, "are going to take a nap. And you’re not leaving that bed until I say so."

"Seriously, sweetheart, I’m fin—" He barely gets the words out before a yawn overtakes him, stretching his mouth wide.

You arch a knowing brow. "Wanna try that again? Maybe without the yawn this time?"

Dean looks at you, caught and guilty. He knows you’re right, but he’s too damn stubborn to admit it. You’ve been watching him run himself ragged for days—running on fumes and whiskey, pushing himself to the brink without a second thought. 

The Mark had been weighing on him heavily, and if he wasn’t going to look after himself, then you sure as hell were going to do it for him.

With a dramatic sigh, he finally relents, letting you tug him to his feet. "Alright, alright. But just for a minute," he mutters, as if either of you believe that.

The moment he sits on the edge of the mattress, his body sags, and you seize the opportunity to push him back gently. He starts to roll onto his side, expecting you to curl into him like usual, but you have other plans.

You climb in beside him and tug him down onto you instead, guiding his head to rest against your chest.

Dean stiffens for a moment, clearly thrown. He’s not used to this—being held. He’s always the one doing the protecting. But before he can protest, you slide your fingers into his hair and scratch lightly at his scalp.

He lets out a long, content sigh, his body sinking further into you with each soothing stroke of your fingers.

He nuzzles in closer, the weight of exhaustion melting away, and then—because he’s Dean—he mumbles against your skin, "Damn, sweetheart, these are some top-tier pillows you got here.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. "Shut up."

"Just sayin’," he continues, his voice thick with exhaustion. "Might start sleepin’ like this more often. ‘S nice.”

"Uh-huh. If you ever actually let yourself sleep," you tease, trailing your fingers down the nape of his neck.

Dean hums at the sensation but still mutters, "Dunno if it'll work. I haven’t been able to—"

"Shh." You press a soft kiss to his forehead. "Trust me."

Dean exhales, as if considering that, then finally relaxes. The tension in his shoulders, the tightness in his muscles—it all starts to melt away beneath your touch.

You keep threading your fingers through his hair, rubbing slow, soothing circles against his scalp. His breathing evens out, warm and steady against your collarbone, and before long, soft snores escape his lips.

You smile to yourself, still combing your fingers through his hair, letting the warmth of his body and the steady rhythm of his breathing lull you to sleep right alongside him.

Dean might not always know how to take care of himself, but that’s why he had you.

And you weren’t going anywhere.

AN: And there we have it! I know it's short but, I've been struggling a bit with my mental health atm, which is why i haven’t been as active. I am currently working on a few WIP’s, trying to catch up on my reading and responses to all of your lovely feedback’s. i’m gradually getting there 😅. Appreciate all you guys 💗

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

Dean Winchester Tag List:

@bettystonewell , @nancymcl , @happyfxckinghorrors , @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter

@tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2

@deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown

@jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom @cevansbaby-dove @shadysoulangel

@piptoost @star-yawnznn @deansimpalababy @megara0224 @hobby27

@idontwannabehere78 @maddie0101 @kr804573 @shadysoulangel @mrs-nesmith

@zepskies @ohheyguyss @suckitands33 @ultimatecin73 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess

@arcannaa @aylacavebear @bobbdylann @jaredpadonlyyyy @waynes-multiverse

@impala67stellawinchester @youroldfashioned @bonbonnie88 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @bejeweledinterludes

@rach5ive @ladysparkles78 @globetrotter28 @kayleighwinchester @amberlthomas

[nicholasluvbot]

𝖩𝖠𝖤𝖧𝖸𝖴𝖭ㅤ&ㅤ𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳 𝖪𝖨𝖲𝖲𝖤𝖲 𝖲𝖧𝖠𝖱𝖤𝖣

명재현 ୨୧ 𝑓 ! 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋ㅤ 🍙 ㅤ𝖿𝗂𝗏𝖾 hundredㅤ 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 𝖾𝗌𝗍. 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 但 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 ⟡ ( 𝖺𝗋𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗏𝖾 )

whenever you’re about to leave for work, jaehyun pulls the same expression. pouty lips, wide eyes, making grabby hands at you from the bed. “just one more kiss,” he says. except it’s never just one. but you give in, like always, and he hums happily. he pecks your lips once. then twice. and then he just keeps going, fingers tangling in your hair as he pulls you onto his lap to kiss you better. you’re literally late to everything because he can’t stop.

sometimes, when he’s been away from you for too long, he gets impatient. he rushes in for a kiss and ends up hitting your chin or cheek instead. you laugh at him, “jae, you missed!” he grins like a goof and leans in again, kissing every part of your face until he finally lands on your lips.

you’re cooking, and he’s not helping. he’s just leaning against the counter, arms crossed, watching you with hearts in his eyes. then suddenly, he’s behind you—arms wrapped around your waist, kisses trailing down your shoulder, your cheek, the side of your neck. and when you ask him to stop distracting you, he just hums and says, “i’m helping. you’re more delicious anyways.” you kick him out of the kitchen before your face heats more than the stove.

you’re laughing at something he said—it’s not even that funny, honestly, but you’re just that happy around him. your laughter makes you lean into him, and he pulls you in without hesitation. he kisses you, soft giggles slipping between messy kisses. noses bump, teeth clink, but it’s perfect. you’re both smiling into it, happiness bubbling in your chests into something even softer.

jaehyun adores kissing your cheek, especially when you’re focused on something. you’re sitting there with a pout on your lips, all serious, and he can’t help himself. he pokes your cheek first, grinning when you turn to glare at him, before pressing a loud, exaggerated kiss right where he poked. he does it just to fluster you, watching as you roll your eyes but soft blush blooming across your skin says otherwise.

you blink your eyes open to soft morning light, vision still adjusting when you see him already awake, looking at you with a lovestruck smile. your faces are close, tangled in warm sheets and sleepy air. he whispers, “hi” he whispers, voice husky with sleep, and kisses you without wasting a second—like he’s waited all night just to start his morning like this.

jaehyun kisses you everywhere. like genuinely. on your shoulder when you’re brushing your teeth. on your forehead when you’re just passing by. on your cheek when you hand him his water bottle. on your hand while you’re walking together. on your knee when you’re sitting cross-legged on the couch. he doesn’t need a reason. you exist? you get kissed.

ㅤnetworks ◞ @kstrucknet @k-films @sgz-net

[fearlessreid]

anyone else but you

dad!eddie munson x mom!reader

summary: on a grocery trip, ellie feels she is too grown for her father’s affection (she’s 4 and dramatic just like her dad). same universe as this fic

warnings: disgusting family fluff, not proofread erm

title is taken from the moldy peaches song

𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐

I smiled to myself as I pushed the stroller down the aisles of the grocery store, one hand clutching the handlebar while the other rested on the growing curve of my belly. At almost six months pregnant, I was starting to feel a bit more worn out, but nothing could spoil this moment—especially not with my little family all together.

Eddie, ever the picture of chaos and charm, was trailing behind us, pushing a cart filled with half the store's stock. I swear, sometimes I think he just enjoys shopping for the experience, as opposed to the need for food. As if on cue, I heard him mutter under his breath.

"Why do they even sell strawberries this big?" he grumbled, picking up a package that looked like it belonged in a giants kitchen. "Who needs this many strawberries? This is outrageous."

I let out a laugh, the sound of it nearly drowned out by the excited chatter of our four-year-old, Elvira, who was marching confidently ahead of us, we normally put her in the cart seat but we decided it would be good for her to walk with us. "Mommy, look! I’m a big girl!" she announced, running around eddies legs who’s standing next to me with the cart.

"You're sure are, honey," I replied warmly, my eyes following her as she navigated the store aisle with the kind of energy only a four-year-old could possess. "Big girls go fast."

"Fast like a cheetah!" she replied with a squeal.

Her confidence was contagious. I couldn’t help but smile as she strutted ahead of me, her curly brown pigtails bouncing with each step. "Alright, Ellie, slow down!" Eddie called from behind us, pushing the cart toward us.

"She's fine," I said, my voice laced with amusement. "She’s just being independent. Look at her go."

But Eddie wasn’t done. He moved quickly to catch up with her, an exasperated but loving expression on his face. Reaching out to grab her hand, he said, "C’mon, kiddo, hold my hand. We’re in a store, and I don’t want you running off like last time."

Ellie stopped dead in her tracks, looking up at him like he’d just asked her to eat a plate of broccoli for dessert.

"Nuh-uh, Daddy! I’m a big girl!" she declared firmly, pulling her hand away from him.

Eddie froze, his eyes wide, as though the idea that his little girl was growing up was hitting him a little harder than usual.

"A big girl, huh?" he said, trying to mask the hurt with his usual playful tone. "Well, big girls hold hands when they’re in public."

But Ellie just crossed her arms and shook her head, her small frown deepening in defiance.

"No! I can walk all by myself. No hand!" she insisted, her voice rising just a little bit, as if to prove a point. "I'm a big girl, Daddy."

I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing.

Eddie turned to me, eyes wide with disbelief. "Did you see that? She just—she just turned me down!" He shook his head, his lips twitching into a smile despite his feigned indignation. "My little girl is refusing to hold my hand? I’m ruined."

I continued laughing, leaning against the cart for support as I held my belly. "It’s cute. She's getting so independent. You should be proud."

"I’m proud," he grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just didn’t think it would happen this soon. She’s four, for god’s sake. I figured I’d have a couple more years of her being my baby girl."

Ellie continued to march ahead, oblivious to the emotional crisis she was causing her father. She was too busy pretending to be a superhero, flapping her arms as though she could take off at any moment. At the same time, Delilah—our two-year-old bundle of chaos—was babbling happily in her stroller, her chubby little hands reaching for a cookie we’d picked up earlier.

I gave Eddie a teasing look. "Guess you’ll just have to let her grow up. You cant coddle her forever you know." I try to reason

Eddie shot me a look of mock horror. "I know that! But she's still my baby! I’m not ready for this, babe. I wasn’t ready for her to be a 'big girl.'"

I smiled warmly at him, stepping closer to rest a hand on his arm. "Hey, don’t worry. She’s still our little girl. She just… wants to be more like you."

"More like me? How?" Eddie asked, his brows furrowed as if he were genuinely puzzled.

"Well, look at her," I said, gesturing toward Ellie, who was now attempting to lift a box of cereal off the shelf and struggling with the weight of it. "She’s already got the whole independent, ‘I can do it myself’ thing down."

"God help us," he muttered, pushing the cart forward. "I’m not ready for this."

I chuckled again, watching Eddie shake his head in mock disbelief as he followed Ellie down the aisle. He still wasn’t over it, I could tell. But as we reached the end of the aisle, Ellie turned and looked back at us, her eyes sparkling mischievously.

"Hey, Daddy!" she called, her arms raised dramatically as if preparing to tackle him. "Catch me if you can!"

Eddie’s expression softened. He rolled his eyes affectionately and then, with a grin, broke into a jog after her. "You better watch out, Miss Big Girl. I’m coming for you."

Ellie squealed with delight and darted down the aisle, her pigtails flying behind her as she ran as fast as her little legs would carry her. Eddie followed her with determination, but he was also laughing now, clearly relishing the chase. I couldn’t help but smile at the sight of them.

Delilah’s giggle broke through the moment as she tugged at my sleeve, her face lit up with curiosity. "Mama, play?" she asked, her eyes wide and full of wonder.

I nodded and lifted her out of the stroller, cradling her in my arms. "We’re playing, sweet girl. Look, Daddy and Ellie are playing tag."

She leaned her head against my shoulder, a content little sigh escaping her. "Tag."

"Yeah, tag," I whispered softly, squeezing her gently as I watched Eddie and Ellie laughing in the distance.

As much as Eddie might have been caught off guard by how quickly his little girl was growing up, I could see it in his eyes. He was proud. And even if she didn’t need his hand to hold anymore, she still needed him—just in a different way. And he’d figure that out, just like we always did.

"Maybe I am ready for this after all, that shit was fun" Eddie said, coming back toward us, out of breath but smiling from ear to ear. He bent down and kissed Ellie’s forehead, who was still grinning widely from the fun chase.

I looked at him and smiled, the warmth in my chest growing as I felt the little flutter of movement from the baby inside me. "Yeah, you’re ready. We all are."

And with that, Eddie scooped Ellie up in his arms and twirled her around, while I settled into pushing the stroller with one hand, still holding Delilah close. It was a beautiful, messy, complicated life—and I wouldn’t change a single thing about it.

-

[woozinhos]

goshhh i love your writing so muchh 😭😭😭 mind to write about various s3x position with wonwoo 🫰🏻

Passionate Lover|| Wonwoo x Reader

Notes: hope you enjoy guys hehe tried to include as many as possible

Wonwoo had always been a passionate lover, and tonight was no exception. He had been away on business for the past week, and as soon as he returned home, he wasted no time in showing you just how much he missed you. He pushed you against the wall as soon as the door closed behind him, his lips crashing against yours in a bruising kiss. His hands roamed over your body, exploring every inch of you as if he were memorizing you all over again.

"I need you," he growled, his breath hot against your ear. "I need to feel you, to taste you." You moaned in response, your body already responding to his touch. You had missed him just as much as he had missed you, and the need for him was almost overwhelming. Wonwoo quickly stripped you of your clothes, his eyes drinking in the sight of your naked body. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his hands tracing the curves of your hips. "I could look at you all day."

He spun you around and pressed you against the wall, his chest flush against your back. You could feel his hardness pressing against your ass, and you couldn't help but grind back against him. Wonwoo groaned at the feeling, his fingers digging into your hips. "You're so eager," he said, his voice thick with desire. "I love it when you're needy for me."

He reached around to cup your breasts, his thumbs teasing your nipples. "I'm going to take you right here," he whispered in your ear. "Against this wall." You moaned again, arching your back as he continued to play with your breasts. You were already so wet and ready for him, but Wonwoo was taking his time, savoring the moment.

He slowly slid one hand down your stomach, his fingers finding your clit and starting to rub slow circles. "You're so wet for me," he said, his voice low and sultry. "I can feel how much you want me." Wonwoo's other hand moved to your hip, holding you in place as he continued to tease your clit. You could feel your legs starting to tremble with need, and you knew that you wouldn't be able to hold back much longer.

"Please, Wonwoo," you begged, desperate for more. "I need you inside me." He chuckled darkly, his fingers moving faster against your clit. "Not yet," he said. "I want to make you come first." He continued to tease you, bringing you closer and closer to the edge before suddenly stopping. You whimpered in protest, but he just smirked and turned you around to face him again.

"Patience," he said, his eyes glinting with amusement. "I'm going to take care of you, I promise." Wonwoo picked you up and carried you over to the bed, gently laying you down on the sheets. He crawled on top of you, his body covering yours like a blanket.

"You're mine," he growled, his lips attacking your neck and collarbone. "Mine to touch, mine to taste, mine to do whatever I want with." He bit down on your skin, marking you as his own. You gasped at the sensation, your hands tangling in his hair. Wonwoo continued to leave a trail of kisses and bites down your body, stopping to pay special attention to your breasts again. He sucked one nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it until it was hard and sensitive.

"You taste so good," he murmured, moving to give the other nipple the same treatment. "I could do this all night." Wonwoo took his time exploring every inch of your body, leaving no part untouched. He knew exactly where to touch you to make you moan and squirm beneath him.

Finally, he made his way down to your core, his hot breath fanning over your skin. "You're so ready for me," he said, looking up at you with hungry eyes. "I can see how wet you are." He spread your legs wide, settling himself between them. He blew a gentle stream of air over your clit, making you shiver with anticipation.

"Beg for it," he commanded, his voice firm. "Beg for my mouth on you." You looked down at him, your eyes pleading. "Please, Wonwoo," you begged, your voice barely above a whisper. "Please, I need your mouth on me. I need to feel you."

Wonwoo smirked, clearly enjoying the way you were falling apart for him. "Good girl," he said, before diving in and licking a long stripe up your pussy. You cried out as his tongue made contact with your sensitive flesh, your back arching off the bed. He chuckled against you, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine.

"You taste even better than I remember," he murmured, before closing his lips around your clit and sucking gently. Wonwoo quickly stood up and grabbed your hips, flipping you over onto your stomach. He pushed you forward, bending you over the desk and spreading your legs apart.

"This is where I want you," he growled, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "Bent over and helpless for me." He stepped back for a moment to admire the view, running his hands over your ass and thighs. "You have no idea how much I've thought about this," he said, his voice thick with desire. "About bending you over and taking you like this."

Wonwoo chuckled darkly, his dick slapping against your ass. "You're so eager for it," he said, teasing you further. "You want me to take you hard and fast, don't you?" You nodded, your mind clouded with lust. "Yes, please," you moaned, pushing your hips back towards him. "I need it."

Wonwoo lined himself up with your entrance, the head of his cock teasing your slick folds. "You're going to get it," he promised, before thrusting into you in one swift motion. You cried out as he filled you, your walls stretching to accommodate his size. Wonwoo groaned in pleasure, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he began to move.

"You're so tight," he grunted, setting a punishing pace. "So perfect for me." He leaned over you, his chest pressed against your back as he continued to pound into you. The desk creaked beneath you, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.

"You're mine to use," he growled in your ear. "My personal toy." Wonwoo reached around to grab your hair, pulling your head back so that you were forced to arch your back. The new angle allowed him to hit even deeper inside you, and you moaned loudly in response.

"That's it," he said, his voice strained with effort. "Moan for me. Let me hear how much you love being used like this." He continued to thrust into you, his hips slamming against yours with each stroke. You could feel the heat building in your core, a familiar tension coiling tighter and tighter with each passing moment.

"I'm close," you panted, your fingers digging into the edge of the desk. "I'm so close, Wonwoo." Wonwoo flips you over so that you're facing him again, your legs wrapping around his waist as he resumes his relentless pace. He captures your lips in a bruising kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth as he thrusts into you.

"I want to see your face when you come," he growls, breaking the kiss to look into your eyes. "I want to see the look of ecstasy on your face as I make you mine." You look up at him, your eyes locked onto his as you feel yourself hurtling towards the edge. His gaze is intense, filled with lust and possession.

"Wonwoo," you moan, your body trembling with need. "I'm going to come, I can't hold back anymore." He smirks, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he chases his own release. "Then come for me," he commands. "Come on my cock." You cry out as your orgasm washes over you, your body convulsing with pleasure. Your walls clench tightly around Wonwoo's cock, causing him to groan in response.

"Fuck," he grunts, his hips stuttering as he struggles to hold back his own release. "You feel so good when you come." He buries his face in your neck, his teeth sinking into your skin as he continues to thrust through your aftershocks.

"I'm not done with you yet," he growls, his voice low and rough. "I'm going to fill you up until you're overflowing." Wonwoo pulls out of you and sits down on the chair, his eyes fixed on you expectantly. "Ride me," he says again, his tone commanding. You straddle him, your legs on either side of his hips as you position yourself over his cock. He grabs your hips, guiding you down onto him until he's fully seated inside you once more.

"That's it," he moans, his head falling back against the chair. "Take what you need from me." You start to move, slowly at first, grinding your hips in a circular motion. Wonwoo's hands roam over your body, his fingers digging into your flesh as he watches you ride him.

"You're so beautiful like this," he praises, his eyes dark with desire. "So sexy, taking my cock so well." You pick up the pace, bouncing up and down on his lap as you chase another orgasm. The angle allows him to hit your sweet spot with every thrust, and you can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge again.

"Wonwoo, I'm gonna come again," you gasp, your thighs burning with exertion. Wonwoo grins, his eyes raking over your body. "Turn around," he commands. "I want to see that perfect ass of yours while you ride me." You comply, turning around so that your back is facing him. You feel him grab your hips again, pulling you down onto his cock even harder than before.

"That's it," he groans, his fingers digging into your flesh as he watches your ass bounce up and down on his lap. "Fuck, you're so tight like this." Wonwoo's hands move to your ass, spreading your cheeks apart so that he can get a better view. He slaps one of your cheeks, the sound echoing through the room.

"I could watch you ride me like this all day," he growls, his voice rough with desire. "You're so eager to please me, aren't you?" You moan in response, too lost in pleasure to form coherent words. Your ass is stinging from the slap, but the pain only adds to the intense sensations coursing through your body. Wonwoo continues to watch you, his eyes glued to your ass as you ride him with abandon. He starts to thrust up into you, meeting your movements with his own.

"I'm getting close again," he warns, his breathing becoming ragged. "I'm going to fill you up so good, baby."

"Please," you beg, your voice barely above a whisper. "Please come inside me, Wonwoo. I need it." He growls in response, his grip on your hips tightening as he loses control. With a final thrust, he buries himself deep inside you and comes hard, his hot seed filling you up.

"Fuck," he moans, his body trembling with the force of his orgasm. "That's it, take it all." You can feel his cock pulsing inside you, and the sensation pushes you over the edge once more. You cry out as you come for a third time, your body collapsing against his as the waves of pleasure wash over you. Wonwoo wraps his arms around you, holding you close as you both come down from your highs. He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his breathing slowly returning to normal.

"You were amazing," he whispers, his voice full of affection. "Absolutely perfect."

[blueberrybloom2]

♡𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐧 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 ♡

[Fem!reader×Vampire]

Just fluff with some blood ʕっ´▽｀ʔっ♡

It was unexpected.

One second, you were just about to stand up, and the next moment, it felt like someone had uncapped a water bottle and flipped it upside down...you being the bottle. The sensation was unmistakable. A wet, warm gush that made your heart drop.

With a quiet curse under your breath, you immediately reached into your bag, for the small pouch you always kept. Clutching the pouch like a lifeline, you rust to the bathroom.

Sure enough, your underwear was soaked in a liquid red. You changed quickly and took a moment to brace yourself in front of the mirror. It was going to be one of those days. Cramping. Fatigue. A storm of pain.

By the time you got home, your body felt like it had been stomped, twisted, and squeezed. You opened the door, sluggish and irritable, and there he was.

Your boyfriend, standing in front of you, looking like a prince. Ever so elegant.

"I have dinner ready," he said.

He already knew. He could smell it on you from a mile away....your blood, your discomfort, your pain. And he was ready to do anything to make you feel better… and maybe make you realize that he wanted to keep you forever.

You gave him a tired smile but said nothing. Words were too much too heavy by pain in your body. Your lower back throbbed, your stomach twisted in knots, and all you wanted was a shower and a few minutes of silence.

But the moment you took a step toward the bathroom, he picked you up effortlessly without a word. He cradled you in his arms like you were made of porcelain. You buried your face into the curve of his neck, eyes fluttering closed as his scent washed over you. Warm vanilla and sweet baked apples.

He carried you gently too carefully like he was terrified his precious human might break apart if held recklessly.

He set you down gently on the bathroom floor and began to take off your clothes. And you let him. As he moved quickly, the tension in his shoulders was evident; the scent of your blood was clearly starting to affect him. Still, his touch remained gentle, even as he dropped to his knees to slide down your pants and underwear.

But then he saw a thin line of blood trailing down your inner thigh.

For a second, he didn’t move. His jaw clenched, his pupils blown wide as he dug his nails into his palms.

The smell of your blood was already intoxicating. But the sight of it made him break his composure and restraint that he had built up for years.

He tore his gaze away from your body, blinking hard. It took everything in him to stand, every ounce of restraint to not run his tongue along your inner thight and drink straight from the source that it coming down from like dehydrated animal.

"I'll be just outside, my love. If you need anything, call for me, " he said with a horse voice

You nodded. He turned quickly, slipping out the door and shutting it behind him with a little more force than necessary.

The shower helped... a little. The cramps were unforgiving and brutal. It felt like your body was at war and all you could do was endure and clean the aftermath.

When you finally stepped out with already in your pj's, he was already in the bedroom. Sitting on the edge of the bed with a bowl of steaming soup resting beside him on the nightstand. His eyes found you instantly, the icy sharpness in them melting into something gentler, something only you ever got to see.

You didn’t need to speak. He didn’t ask. He just opened his arms.

Without hesitation you crawled into his lap like a wounded animal, seeking comfort. He pulled you in instantly, holding you gently. His body was cold against your burning skin, the kind of cold that only brough relief. He began to rub your lower back in a slow, soothing circular motion. His gentle touch melted the tension in your body and the gesture alone made you shallow back tears.

"I dont want to go anywhere tomorrow or the day after," you muttered, voice muffled into his chest. Unsure if you meant work or school...maybe both but you did know you wanted to stay in his arms.

"You dont have to,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. "You don’t have to do anything. Just rest."

"I’ll take care of you... Forever.

Author Note:

All this humble soul seeks in these cursed bloody hours is to be wrapped in the arms of a beautiful rich bloodsucking creature. Is that, I ask thee, such a wicked desire? When I'm already being suck dry by mother nature.

It's the time of the month, and I'm just a girl...in pain who wants to cry~ ʕಥᴥಥʔ

[marixrose]

𝐉𝐢𝐧-𝐖𝐨𝐨 | 𝐑𝐞𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐎𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 18 +

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 — Mirror sex, jealous/possessive Jinwoo, marking, obsession, soft-dark domination

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

It was just a conversation.

That’s all it was—one harmless comment from another Hunter at the Guild HQ.

But Jinwoo saw it. And that’s all it took.

Now I’m standing in front of the mirror, completely bare, with his hand wrapped firmly around my throat—not squeezing, just there. A silent warning. A constant reminder.

“You think I didn’t notice?” he says, voice low against my ear. “He looked at you like he wanted you.”

I can barely breathe. Not from his grip—but from the weight of his stare.

“He said I looked strong,” I managed to whisper. “That’s all.”

Jinwoo laughs, dark and humorless. “He was imagining you on your knees.”

His other hand trails down my body, slow, deliberate. I watch it in the mirror. Watch his fingers curve around my waist like a brand, see the way my skin flushes as his body presses behind mine—hot, heavy, hungry.

“You’re mine,” he breathes, lips ghosting over my shoulder. “And you’re going to say it while you watch me ruin you.”

His shadows rise like ribbons, cool against my legs, slipping up to bind my thighs apart just wide enough to make me ache. He makes sure I can see everything. My trembling body. His hand sliding down between my legs. His eyes—black and burning—locked on my reflection.

“You don’t let other men look at what’s mine.”

“Jinwoo—”

“Say it.”

“I’m yours,” I whisper, head falling back against his shoulder.

He hums in approval. His fingers start to move—slow circles, teasing, building heat like a storm. Every little gasp I make fuels him. He’s not even inside me yet, but I’m already shaking.

“Look at yourself,” he orders, voice like a growl. “Look at what you do to me.”

I do. And it’s devastating.

His cock is hard, thick, pressed against my lower back. His jaw is tight. His grip on me is possessive, primal. His shadows dance across my skin like he’s marking me with more than hands.

Then—without warning—he thrusts into me from behind.

I cry out, my palms hitting the mirror. The glass fogs from my breath. His pace is deep and sharp and relentless. He knows exactly how to angle his hips, how to make me fall apart while still forcing me to watch.

“You think anyone else can touch you like this?” he growls.

“No,” I gasp. “Only you.”

His hand slides down to my hip, gripping hard enough to bruise. He fucks me like he’s claiming me. Like he needs to remind me that I belong to him—mind, body, soul. His other hand lifts and wraps in my hair, forcing my gaze back up.

“Eyes on the mirror,” he pants. “Don’t look away.”

He reaches around to rub my clit again—fast, merciless—and I shatter. My legs tremble, my voice breaks, and he watches me fall apart with a quiet, satisfied groan.

But he’s not done.

Not until he’s left proof.

He pulls out just long enough to turn me around, lift me onto the dresser, and sink back into me hard enough to steal my breath. His lips find my throat—biting now, not just kissing—and I feel his teeth graze over my skin before they sink in.

“Mine,” he growls into my neck. “I want you marked where everyone can see it.”

I gasp as he thrusts harder, faster, deeper, the sting of his bite mixing with the overwhelming pleasure.

“You’re going to leave this room covered in me,” he promises, voice broken and wild. “They’ll all see it. No one else will even think about touching you.”

And I want that.

God help me, I want to be his. To be ruined by him. Marked, claimed, possessed.

When he finally comes, he growls my name like a curse—low and raw, hips jerking as he buries himself to the hilt, shadows curling tight around us both. He holds me there, panting against my skin, like he could fuse us together if he just stayed close enough.

And when it’s over… he doesn’t let me go.

He pulls me into his arms, presses a kiss to the bite on my neck, and whispers—

“No more talking to other men.”

I smile faintly, still breathless. “I don’t even see anyone else.”

His shadows curl around us like a cage.

“Good,” Jinwoo murmurs. “Because if you ever do… I’ll kill them.”

[oscquinn]

Can I request ❛ i’ve never done something like this before. ❜ with Will Smith pls? Maybe a sub!Will? Please and thank you!!

will smith hockey save me...

"i’ve never done something like this before." from this subtle smut list. part of my mini writing event, now closed!

will smith x f!reader, NSFW 18+. LOST THE PLOT AGAIN SEND HELP. virgin!will, handjob, p in v at the end.

will is high on the feeling of a gold medal, his surprisingly soft hands paw at your bare thighs, white skirt shoved up your hips. "you're s-so soft," he murmurs, stumbling as his voice trembles, in awe of you. "i want..."

his voice trails off when his knuckles brush over your cotton panties, eyes going wide at the warmth and wetness he finds there.

"tell me what you need," you whisper, tugging on his hair. will whines softly but follows your gentle pull. his lips meet your own, messy and rushed, like he can't get enough of you. like he needs you more than air.

will ducks his head, nervous, his cheeks flushed a sweet pink. "i've never done something like this before, he whispers against your chin.

his hard length brushes your core, thin fabric keeping your heated skin apart. he whines into your mouth, panting when you tug him away. "we can do whatever you want, m'kay? but you gotta tell me."

he's already shirtless, you quirk an eyebrow and glance between his thighs, silently asking this okay? will nods immediately. you draw down his boxers with one hand, watching his cock spring free and slap against his stomach. the tip's already leaking, precome smeared down his length. you look up, brush your knuckles over his thigh, and murmur, "words, baby."

"touch me!" will blurts out, cheek turning impossibly pinker. "please, i-i feel like i'm gonna get a fever if you— i-if you don't—" his voice breaks off into a whine when you wrap your hand around his cock.

he's hot in your palm, firm and fucking twitching. it's not just his dick, either. his thighs tremble as you stroke him, abs clenching with every pass over his sensitive head. "good boy, that's it," you encourage, spitting on his length to aid your pace.

"fuck, f-fuck—ah!—baby that, ohhhh," he can't even form a sentence, his long-neglected issue finally being cared for. "baby, b-baby you gotta—" he pants for a moment, chest heaving, "—you gotta stop o-or i'm gonna cum. like right now."

you only smile at him. "then cum for me, will."

you speed up your palm, squeezing him just that little bit tighter and drawing a choked out moan from the depth of his chest. he's wrecked under you, and you can't help but slide down to rest your lips against his thigh.

"w-what're you—" will starts, but loses his voice when you start to suck a small mark into his skin. his fingers grip your shoulder, like he needs you to stabalize him, like his world is fading at the edges and you're the only thing keeping him here.

you kiss the mark gently before you pull away, revealing the small red mark. you claimed him, left evidence of you on his skin. he can't handle it.

"i'm gonna—oh shit!—shit, shit, sh—" he babbles, his cock twitches desperately, and he spills messily all over his stomach. the sound that falls from his lips is so obscene you swear you're imagining it, it couldn't have come from him, surely.

feeling a little mean, and loving his soft noises, you continue to stroke him. "aw, baby, look at that. you're still so hard for me," you coo, rising up on your knees. you grind your soaked cotton panties against him, bringing one hand up to cup his cheek. "you wanna feel inside me?"

all he can manage is a whimper and a nod, fingers fumbling to tug your panties off. you help him, kick them off to the side, then lean in for a sweet kiss. you guide his own hand to his aching dick, whispering, "hold still, m'kay?"

will does as he's told, holding himself steady as you sink down onto his thick length. the drag of him through your walls reignites the fire in your belly, your toes curl as you feel his hips flush to your own.

"i-i can't, you gotta—fuck—gotta give me a m-minute," he begs, voice hoarse and pitchy. his abs are clenching like he's trying not to cum already. god, he's so sweet.

with a kiss to his lips you whisper, "shh, s'alright. we've got all the time in the world."

© oscquinn, 2025. click here for my inbox.

[blueberrisdove-sideblog]

Phainon is so shameless... He’s the type to bury his head into reader’s chest (esp when she’s wearing something which shows off them) when he was arguing with Mydei and lost, whining like a puppy seeking for attention…

OH MY GOD YESSS—Phainon is the most shameless, little menace with a body carved by gods and the emotional regulation of a drama king. The minute Mydei shuts him down in an argument, that cocky smirk crumbles,and who does he go crawling to?

You.

You're just sitting there, minding your business, maybe flipping through your phone in a very cute low-cut top that hugs just right—when suddenly?

WHUMP.

Phainon drops to his knees in front of you, burying his face right into your tits like he belongs there.

“Mydei’s being mean to me again,” he mumbles, voice muffled by your cleavage. “He doesn’t get me like you do.”

You blink, half in shock, half in arousal, as his arms wrap around your waist and he just melts into you, shamelessly rubbing his cheek against your skin like he’s trying to make a nest there.

“Phai—” you begin, flustered.

He cuts you off with a soft, pathetic whine, head still nuzzled between your breasts. “Just let me stay here. It’s warm and safe and soft. You’re the only one who loves me…”

You swear you feel his tongue sneak out for a taste.

From across the room, Mydei pinches the bridge of his nose. “He lost a debate about spaghetti. Don’t indulge him.”

Phainon glares at him from between your boobs. “She’s indulging me just fine, thank you.”

And you?

You're so close to losing it.

☆

Phainon’s fingers curl into the fabric of your top as he stays buried in your chest, whining louder now like a pet who’s been neglected for far too long. His body is practically vibrating against you, and it's getting harder and harder for you to pretend you're not just as into it.

“You don’t understand, (Name),” he murmurs, voice hushed and desperate. “He just doesn’t get me. I need attention, I need to feel like I’m wanted…”

His voice quivers with vulnerability, but there’s a shift in his energy. That mischievous glint starts returning to his eyes as he lifts his head, looking up at you through thick lashes. His hands roam down your body, fingertips trailing over the curve of your waist and down to your hips, rubbing circles like he's memorizing the feel of your skin.

You can feel the heat of his breath on your chest, and the way his gaze flicks to your cleavage, then back to your face, challenging you. “I know you want it too,” he purrs, voice dropping lower, more teasing now. “You’re just too shy to admit it.”

Before you can respond, Phainon leans up, catching your lips in a kiss—a kiss that starts soft and slow, gentle even, but quickly morphs into something far more hungry. His hands slide up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples, and you can’t hold back the moan that slips from your lips.

“You’re so cute when you blush,” he whispers, his lips trailing down your neck, sucking lightly, sending waves of heat crashing through your body.

Suddenly, a voice breaks through the haze of heat in your mind.

“Mydei,” you hear from the corner. “Don’t let him get away with this.”

You pull away just enough to see Mydei standing there, his face tight with frustration, but his eyes betray something darker—hungrier. He’s watching you both, lips slightly parted as though he can’t look away. And when you glance back down at Phainon, his grin is wide, wicked.

“He’s just jealous,” Phainon says with a laugh, barely a second before he pulls your top down enough to let his mouth latch onto your nipple, sucking hard enough to leave a mark.

Mydei takes a slow step forward, his voice rough. “Enough. I told you both I wouldn’t tolerate this.”

Phainon just smirks, looking up at Mydei with pure mischief. “Told ya she likes me better.”

Then Mydei’s had enough. He strides over to you in two quick steps, hands grabbing Phainon by the shoulders and pulling him off you with surprising force. “Get up,” he growls, but Phainon’s already pouting and whining again.

“Noooo, Mydei, let me stay—!” His voice is whiny now, needy. He’s playing the part of the pet so well, but Mydei’s not backing down. Not this time.

Phainon’s whining only fuels Mydei's frustration more. “You really want to play this game, Phainon? In front of me?” His voice is low and dangerous now, the air practically crackling with tension.

You watch as Mydei grabs Phainon by the chin, forcing him to look up at him. “Don't make me remind you who’s in charge here.”

And just like that, Phainon glares at Mydei—then lets out a sigh as he sits back on his knees, looking resigned, though the arousal in his eyes is undeniable.

You feel a pressure behind your ear. Mydei steps closer, his voice now soft yet commanding, just for you: “You see? This brat needs to be shown who’s boss.”

The air thickens again, but this time, it’s different. You feel the undeniable heat of both men as they stand just a little too close, your body trapped between them. The playful games have ended, and something far more intense looms ahead.

“Mydei,” you whisper, unsure but intrigued.

“Shh,” he cuts you off gently but firmly, one hand coming to rest at the back of your neck. "You’re gonna let me handle this, sweetheart. Phainon needs to learn a lesson. And so do you.”

You feel Phainon behind you now—he’s standing, his chest pressed lightly against your back, his breath coming in shallow bursts. “I can’t just… watch…” His voice is filled with need—longing. You feel his erection pressing against you, hard, impatient.

But Mydei’s focus is entirely on you. “You’re gonna watch,” he says lowly, voice like velvet and steel combined. “Both of you are gonna learn something tonight.”

Without breaking eye contact with you, Mydei takes Phainon by the wrist and pulls him closer, positioning him behind you. Phainon grins again, but now it’s not the same playful grin—it’s darker, more hungry.

“You want this, don’t you?” Mydei asks, his voice a growl. He slides his hand up to your throat, tilting your head back. “You want to be taken by both of us. You’re *his* little pet now, but you’re mine first, aren’t you?”

The words hit you like a tidal wave, and before you can answer, Phainon’s hand is on your waist, pushing you forward. “Let me show you just how good it feels when I’m inside you, baby.”

Mydei grips your hips, steadying you as Phainon presses against you, his cock hot and eager. Mydei looks at you, eyes blazing, and then at Phainon, giving him the unspoken go-ahead.

With one swift movement, Phainon fills you, making you gasp, your back arching. Mydei smirks, his fingers running through your hair, tugging your head back. “Just remember who’s in control,” he murmurs before kissing your neck roughly.

[earlywiinter]

Workday Drabbles #1

I’ve been consumed by the Bucktommy brainrot since their very first kiss, so it seems fitting that I start to shake off some of the writing rust with a drabble about them. Shoutout to The Chat for the prompt: finding a picture of themselves in the other’s wallet

Buck sits in the passenger seat of a sleek black helicopter, looking out at the expanse of clear blue sky and high afternoon sun in front of them. Tommy's in the pilot’s seat next to him, deftly guiding them out of the city. They’re doing a loop over Angeles National Forest towards Mt San Antonio and back. It's their last day off together before a stretch of 48s and overnights keep them apart for the better part of a week. Tommy had suggested a date and offered flying lessons, and Buck had jumped at the opportunity to see his boyfriend in his element. 

They turn northeast and settle out at altitude, and Tommy flicks a few switches on the instrument panel. Buck observes his actions, referencing his notes from the last time they flew, and calls out the purpose of each control Tommy touches.  

The muted thwump thwump thwump of the chopper blades repeats in the background, and Tommy’s voice comes through his headphones, staticky but comforting in its familiarity. He says something about a mast moment indicator, which Buck doesn’t understand but tucks firmly away into the folder labeled “ask again later”. He can easily picture a long drawn-out dinner conversation where Tommy explains to him the inner workings of the helicopter. One where Tommy’s hands grow animated in his passion and where Buck drinks in every word. They continue on in relative quiet, Tommy speaking to quiz him or give instruction, and Buck can sink into that feeling of contentment he feels radiating off of Tommy as the mountain grows nearer. 

It’s not until he shifts, leaning over Tommy to get a better view of the ground below, that he notices the photo tucked into a corner of the dashboard. The photo is on Tommy’s right, in the perfect spot to not block his view of any of the controls or readouts, but unfortunately obstructed from Buck’s view in the passenger seat by the curve of the instrument panel. It’s an image of him, a candid moment from one of their hikes in Topanga State Park. The trail and brush stretch out behind him, and Buck’s frontlit by the setting sun, skin glowing a warm gold. Tommy caught him mid-laugh, and Buck has on what Maddie has dubbed his “Tommy smile”. He can remember them going through the photos from that date later the next day, Tommy easily proclaiming it his favorite among the many selfies and candid shots of the evening. 

Buck has a favorite photo of his own from that date, one that’s made its way to be his phone’s permanent home screen. It’s Tommy, stopped at the crest of a hill with the ocean visible in the distance behind him. He’s sweaty from the heat of a California summer, eyes closed and face turned towards the sun, basking in the salty ocean breeze. Buck had taken the photo as he’d trailed after his partner, phone held sneakily out in front of him so his boyfriend didn’t notice and immediately grow shy at having a camera pointed at him. He’d snapped the photo and then promptly tripped over a rock, drawing Tommy’s attention and ruining any chance at another candid shot.

He’s drawn out of the memory by a soft “ah!”, Tommy having caught him looking at the photo. His boyfriend gives him a smile that is somehow both shy and sure, able to be simultaneously confident in his affection for Buck and nervous of the reception. “Gotta have my good luck charm with me,” he states, words said so casually that they’re easily presented as fact. Buck grins, smile so wide it hurts his face, and he’s sure that if Chim were present he’d be making fun of Buck for the obvious heart-eyes he must have. He doesn’t mind, though, because Tommy’s answering grin is just as fond. 

Tommy’s the one to draw his eyes away first, after seconds or minutes, Buck can’t tell. His focus shifts to the airspace ahead of them, ever the attentive pilot, and he clears his throat, getting back to the lesson at hand. Buck chuckles and turns to a fresh page in his notebook, more than willing to sit back, drool over his boyfriend’s competence, and enjoy the views. 

[melani3-fel0ny]

Dead Girl Dialing

Pairing: Ronin x Reader

Summary: After a night spiraling out of control, you find yourself on Ronin's doorstep. You’re done playing it safe. You’ve got one night left to live like a dead girl walking—and he answers the door with a smirk.

(18+ content marked with 🥀 & a clear warning)

---

You didn’t even realize you were running until your legs started to burn.

Streetlights blurred into smears. Your fingers were shaking. Your phone was almost dead.

Everything felt wrong, but the only thing that made sense—sick, awful sense—was the address you’d typed into your phone so many times before but never used.

Ronin’s place.

You’d been spiraling since the chat. Since the message.

Someone was going to die tonight, and you weren’t sure it wouldn’t be you.

So what was left to lose?

You stood at his door, one hand clenched into a fist, the other trembling over his door.

And then—you knocked.

No turning back now.

The door swung open. Light spilled into the dark hallway.

And there he was.

Leaning on the frame like he knew this was coming. Like he wanted you to come undone at his feet. Black beanie pulled low, burgundy strands of hair curling at his cheekbones, those devil-horn accessories poking up like punctuation marks to his smug expression.

“Darling,” he drawled, voice honeyed and thick, like sin. “You look like you just crawled out of hell. Should I be flattered or concerned?”

You didn’t answer. Just looked at him. Eyes wide, chest heaving.

Ronin tilted his head. Studied you like prey.

“Say the word,” he whispered, “and I’ll ruin you or save you. You pick.”

You stepped inside.

The door slammed shut behind you.

---

His room smelled like leather, incense, and something sharp and metallic.

You didn’t stop walking until your back hit the wall. And then you just stared at him.

“I don’t want to think,” you muttered. “Not tonight. Not anymore.”

Ronin’s gaze burned.

“Someone’s feeling reckless.”

You stepped closer.

“You said you’d ruin me,” you said. “Do it.”

That made something in him crack.

A low laugh poured out of his throat. Not mocking—hungry.

“Darling,” he murmured, closing the distance like a shadow with a heartbeat, “you don’t ask the devil to dance unless you’re ready to burn.”

You grabbed his shirt. Yanked him toward you.

“I’m already on fire.”

---

Your lips crashed together like the start of a war.

His hands were everywhere—gripping your waist, threading into your hair, dragging you closer like he could feel your pulse through his teeth.

You didn’t care that it was fast. Or messy. Or that your back hit his mattress with a muffled thud and he followed like he was about to carve his name into your bones.

This wasn’t about love. It wasn’t even about comfort.

It was about surrender.

“Look at you,” he growled, trailing his mouth down your neck, biting just hard enough to make you gasp. “You’re shaking like a confession.”

“You talk too much,” you breathed, dragging him down again.

He smirked against your skin. “That’s rich coming from the one who knocked on my door like a loaded gun.”

You let him undress you in pieces, as if each layer was a sin being peeled away.

And you didn’t stop him.

---

He was gentle and brutal in equal measure.

One second kissing your throat like it was sacred, the next biting your collarbone like it had offended him.

But it wasn’t just about the lust.

It was how he looked at you—like this was the last time he’d ever see something pure. Like your ribs were a cathedral and he was kneeling at the altar.

You whispered his name once and it made him pause.

Just for a second.

Then he muttered, “You shouldn’t say it like that, darling. Makes me want to keep you.”

“You don’t have to,” you said. “I’m already yours.”

That was the moment he lost it.

---

🥀—18+ content begins now—

---

Ronin’s lips were at your throat again—biting, sucking, leaving bruises with intent.

“Don’t want you hiding these,” he murmured, teeth scraping down your shoulder. “I want everyone to know who you begged for tonight, Darling.”

You pulled him down harder, clawing at his shirt, tugging it off like it offended you.

And when his mouth found your chest, you gasped—hands knotting in his hair as he kissed a path between soft flesh, slow and sinful, murmuring, “So fuckin’ perfect.”

He slid down, grinning like the devil as he kissed your stomach, mouthing, “Say it, baby.”

“Ronin,” you whispered, breath stuttering.

He hummed against your skin. “No, say what you want.”

“I want your mouth.”

He looked up at you, pupils blown wide. “You have it.”

And then he devoured you.

His mouth was relentless—tongue curling, lips dragging, nose pressing against where you needed him most. He moaned like you were doing something to him, gripping your thighs like lifelines, spreading them wider just to taste deeper.

You tried to stay quiet, but he liked that. Pulled back, eyes dark.

“Be loud for me,” he said. “No one’s listening. Not tonight.”

You came on his tongue with a cry—and he didn’t stop. He kissed through it, groaning against your body like your pleasure was fueling him.

Like he’d found religion between your legs.

---

He didn’t give you a chance to catch your breath.

“Turn around,” he said, voice low, wrecked.

You blinked at him, dazed.

“On your hands and knees,” he clarified, already undoing his belt. “I want to ruin you properly.”

You did as he said—too high off your last orgasm to even pretend to hesitate. And then he was behind you, one hand gripping your waist, the other sliding between your legs again just to feel how wrecked you were.

“Still dripping,” he said, half-laughing. “Didn’t know you were that kind of girl.”

You tilted your hips back, defiant. “I’m practically a dead girl, I can be whatever I want.”

He groaned like that broke something in him—and then he was inside you.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was desperate.

He held your hips like handles, fucking into you like he wanted to rearrange something vital. Each thrust sent shockwaves up your spine. You clenched around him and he cursed, spine bowing.

“Fuck, darling,” he moaned. “You’re—god, you’re everything.”

The sound of skin on skin, your gasped breaths, the sting of his nails in your skin—it was all so much. He leaned over you, pressing his chest to your back, lips at your ear.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, biting your shoulder. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped. “Ronin—fuck—I’m yours.”

He groaned like you’d just handed him your soul.

And then you both came—messy, hot, overwhelming.

He didn’t pull out right away. Just held you, panting, still buried deep, like he couldn’t stand the idea of letting go.

---

Now the scratch on your thigh from one of his rings makes sense. The bruises on your hips. The way you’re still trembling, even with him curled around you, breath warm against your neck.

You’re still catching your breath. Your body is heavy. Your heart’s gone silent from how hard it was pounding.

And Ronin?

He looks like a man who just got away with murder. Smug. Glowing. Worshipful.

“You’re gonna feel that tomorrow,” he mutters, lazy and pleased.

You don’t even care.

You just smirk. “Worth it.”

He kisses your shoulder again. Then your jaw. Then the corner of your mouth.

“I could get addicted to this,” he murmurs. “To you.”

You already are.

---

🥀—18+ content ends now—

---

It’s quiet, except for the way your heartbeat won’t slow down.

And then:

“You’re insane,” you whisper.

Ronin laughs softly, kisses your shoulder.

“So are you. That’s why we fit.”

---

Eventually, you sit up. Pulling your clothes back on. Trying not to fall apart.

Ronin watches, propped up on one elbow.

“You gonna vanish on me?” he asks, tone unreadable.

“I might die tomorrow,” you say.

He shrugs. “Same. Let’s die pretty.”

You pause. Then smirk, pulling your hoodie on over your tangled hair.

“You think I’m pretty?”

“Darling,” he says with a grin sharp enough to slice, “you’re the most beautiful dead girl I’ve ever seen.”

You open the door.

He doesn’t stop you.

But his voice follows as you leave:

“Call me next time you feel like self-destructing. I’ll bring the matches.”

---

[lxndonorris]

in the fast lane - Charlos

Charles Leclerc x Carlos Sainz Jr' Theme: Smut after being separated for the beginning of the season, Carlos visits Charles inside his motorhome after Qualifiying for the Bahrain GP x word count: 3870+

Gif by me open for requests :)

The motorhome door clicked shut behind Charles as he stepped inside, still buzzing from the rush of qualifying. P3. He'd take it—for now. His car wasn't optimal for the conditions, but he managed to squeeze the most out of it. As he loosened the collar of his suit, he looked up, blinking in surprise.

Carlos was already there.

Leaning back casually on the small couch, legs spread comfortably, like he belonged there—like he never left. He wore that familiar smirk, and something in Charles' chest fluttered.

"Well, look who decided to drop by," Charles teased, toeing off his boots. "Couldn't stay away from me, huh?"

Carlos raised a brow, playing along. "Just checking in on old teammates. Making sure you haven't gotten too full of yourself."

"Oh, I have," Charles grinned, pulling off the top of his race suit and letting it hang from his waist, the sweat-slick undershirt clinging to his torso. He stretched on purpose. "P3. Did you see the lap? It was sexy."

Carlos huffed a laugh. "You're impossible."

Charles stepped closer, just close enough to be a nuisance, eyes glinting. "Admit it, you missed me."

"I missed the silence," Carlos deadpanned, but his gaze dropped—lingered—and Charles caught it.

He smirked wider, voice softening into something silkier. "You missed this too, I know you did."

Carlos' jaw ticked, and he shook his head, amused. But when Charles leaned in, eyes flicking up through dark lashes with practiced mischief, Carlos patience frayed. Just enough.

"You keep pushing," Carlos murmured, his voice low now, warning but fond.

"I know what I'm doing," Charles whispered, breathing fanning against his jaw.

Carlos didn't move for a second, just watched him—then lifted a hand, slow and deliberate. His fingers brushing Charles' cheek, featherlight, a contrast to the tension between them. The caress slid downward, trailing to his neck, pausing where Charles' pulse raced under his skin.

Carlos thumb grazed his Adam's apple, feeling it bob as Charles swallowed, suddenly quiet.

"Do you?" Carlos said softly, a challenge behind the gentle tone.

Charles' breath hitched.

He wanted this. Had pushed for it.

And Carlos had just started to push back.

Yet, he knew how to play this game, how to push Carlos' buttons the right way.

Regaining his composure slightly, he stepped back.

Then, Charles' eyes wandered down to Carlos chest, taking in the sight of his former teammate in his new suit.

He looked different now.

Not just in expression or mood—but in white.

Charles couldn't help it; the second he'd walked in and spotted him lounging like he owned the place, his eyes had soaked in the contrast. The Williams race suit was sharp—sleek in white with electric accents—but it was the way Carlos wore it that really did things to him.

It clung just right, stretched over broad shoulders and strong thighs. The collar was half undone, revealing a sliver of neck and skin Charles knew far too well. Or used to.

"God, that suit..." Charles said under his breath, biting the inside of his cheek.

Carlos raised a brow again, amused. "What about it?"

"You look—" Charles dragged his gaze up and down, obvious, unashamed. "I mean, I always knew you'd look good in anything, but this? This is unfair."

Carlos smirked, leaning a little forward on the couch, forearms on his knees. "So that's what all this teasing is about. You're jealous of the suit."

"I'm not jealous," Charles scoffed, stepping closer again. "I'm distracted. Big difference."

He stood over him now, the electricity between them palpable. Charles' tone stayed playful, but there was heat under it, a growing burn in every word.

"You sit there like that, legs wide, all relaxed in your little white suit... what am I supposed to do, ignore it?"

Carlos exhaled, slow. His eyes staying locked on Charles', something dark flickering in them.

"You're ridiculous."

"You like it," Charles countered, smile curling, before straddling Carlos' thighs without asking—not quite sitting, just hovering there, close enough for the tension to crackle. "You missed me being a pain in your ass."

Carlos didn't move, not yet. His hands rested on his own knees, but his gaze roamed-—over Charles' flushed cheeks, the mess of curls at his forehead, the teasing pout he was clearly biting back.

Then, slowly, he raised one hand again. He touched Charles' face, knuckles grazing the curve of his cheek. Charles leaned into it instinctively, eyes fluttering. Carlos' fingers slipped down—slow, slow—to his neck.

Charles' breath caught when Carlos' thumb brushed over the hollow of his throat, then traced the ridge of his Adam's apple. He swallowed, and Carlos felt it move beneath his fingers.

"You always talk too much," Carlos murmured.

"And yet," Charles whispered, leaning in just a little closer, "you never stop listening."

Carlos' eyes narrowed, smirk ghosting his lips. His hand stayed at Charles' throat, holding him there—not with force, but with presence, with claim.

Charles shivered, not from fear, but from the quiet power of the touch.

"I don't miss being your teammate," Carlos said after a beat, voice velvet rough. "But this? Maybe I missed this."

"You sure?" Charles whispered, lips almost brushing his. "Because you're still here. In my motorhome. In your stupidly hot suit."

Carlos chuckled under his breath, finally letting his other hand settle on Charles' hip. "You think you're the only one who knows how to push buttons?"

"Oh, you're easy to read," Charles breathed, his voice a little rougher than usual. "I am definitely better at that."

Carlos' grip on Charles' hip tightened just a fraction. Enough for Charles to notice, to feel it. Enough to make him still.

The space between them was a tease in itself—lips close but not touching, eyes locked, breaths mingling like smoke. Charles could feel Carlos' fingers at his throat, warm and steady, not quite applying pressure, just there.

A reminder of power. Of familiarity. Of all the nights and fights and moments that still lived in the air between them.

"I forgot how much you like to play with fire," Carlos murmured, thumb brushing lightly under Charles' jaw. "Or maybe you just like burning."

Charles' lips curled into a slow, wicked smile. "Depends who's holding the match."

Carlos shook his head, but the corner of his mouth twitched. "You haven't changed."

"And you have?" Charles tilted his head slightly, challenging but soft. "New team, new colors—but still the same Carlos. All control and restraint... until I get under your skin."

Carlos let out a quiet breath, the tension in his chest slowly rising. "You're very sure of yourself today."

"I did just qualify P3, with that car," Charles said, leaning in enough that his nose brushed Carlos'. "Confidence looks good on me."

Carlos hand moved then—finally. It slipped around the back of Charles' neck, fingers threading into the damp curls there. Charles exhaled at the touch, his entire body buzzing with anticipation.

"Maybe," Carlos said low, "you need someone to take you down a notch."

The words made Charles' stomach flip. He shifted in Carlos' lap, deliberately, slowly grinding just a little. Testing. Teasing.

"Then do it," he whispered. "Or are you all talk now?"

Carlos' eyes darkened, the smirk dropping into something deeper—more intent. His hands at Charles' throat pressed just a little firmer, enough to ground him. His other hand splayed against Charles' back, pulling him in the final inch.

"You really want to start this here?" Carlos asked, voice a gravel whisper.

Charles' lashes fluttered, his bravado flickering but not fading. "You're already here. I think you do."

A beat passed. Then another.

Carlos leaned forward, mouth grazing Charles' jaw—not kissing, not yet—just the barest hint of contact. He dragged it slowly toward his ear, his breath warm and maddening.

"I missed this mouth," he murmured.

Charles' breath hitched.

"I missed how much I wanted to shut it up."

Charles let out the softest, breathiest laugh, body tensing under the weight of Carlos' voice.

"I missed you," he whispered. "Even if I'd rather die than admit it out loud."

Carlos didn't respond right away. He pulled back just enough to meet Charles' eyes again, both of them breathing harder now, caught in the mess of history and heat and everything unsaid.

"You just did."

And with that, he finally kissed him.

Carlos kissed him like he meant it.

Like he'd been waiting all season for this moment—sitting in a different garage, wearing different colors, pretending the ache wasn't there.

Charles melted into it instantly, the bratty confidence cracking beneath the heat. His fingers curled into the shoulders of Carlos' suit, gripping tight, anchoring himself in the solidity of him—of them. The kiss was slow at first, searching, mouths molding together in familiar rhythm, rediscovering old patterns like muscle memory.

Carlos' hand slid down from Charles' neck, palm flattening against his chest, feeling the pounding of his heart beneath the clingy fabric of his undershirt. The other stayed low on his back, keeping him closer—no room left between them now.

Charles whimpered into the kiss when Carlos' tongue slid against his, hungry and coaxing, setting his nerves alight. It wasn't just the kiss. It was everything behind it. The longing. The tension. The fact they weren't teammates anymore but couldn't seem to stay away.

Carlos bit his lower lip, just enough to make Charles gasp, then chased the sound with another deep kiss, swallowing it down like it belonged to him.

"You don't get to tease me like that," Carlos growled against his mouth, breath rough, "and then act all soft when I finally give in."

Charles shivered, forehead pressing to Carlos' his voice barely a whisper. "You love it when I act soft. Makes it easier for you to ruin me."

Carlos laughed, low and dangerous, and slipped his hand beneath the hem of Charles' undershirt, his palm skating over bare, heated skin. "Still such a mouth on you."

"And you still—" Charles gasped when Carlos' fingers grazed his ribs, teasing—"still know exactly how to shut it."

Carlos kissed him again, harder this time. No more hesitation. Just want. Weeks of restrained glances in the paddock, of pretending to be polite ex-teammates while their bodies remembered how to fit together in stolen rooms like this.

Charles rocked against him now, hips finding that same rhythm, and Carlos met him with firm hands and bruising lips. The couch creaked beneath them, but neither cared.

The kiss deepened, grew messier—less about finesse, more about need. Charles' hands were in Carlos' hair now, tugging, and Carlos grunted into the kiss, dragging him closer until they were pressed chest to chest, pulse to pulse.

"You drive me insane," Carlos muttered against his lips.

"Good," Charles panted. "You drive better that way."

Carlos groaned, tipping his head back for a breath, and Charles chased his mouth, refusing the space.

Outside, the paddock moved on, oblivious.

Inside the motorhome, the world had narrowed to two people—burning, clashing, needing.

Carlos barely got the breath he needed before Charles' lips were back on his—desperate, relentless now. All pretense was gone. This wasn't a game anymore. It was gravity.

Charles tugged at the zipper of Carlos' suit, fingers a little clumsy, frustrated by the layers that separated them. Carlos caught his wrists for a second, just enough to still him.

"Slow down," he murmured, voice thick with restraint that was quickly unraveling. "You wanted this. You teased. Let me have you properly."

Charles' lips parted, chest heaving. "Then do it."

Carlos' gaze sharpened, locked in on him like a target. "Don't tell me twice."

With a sudden, practiced ease, Carlos flipped their positions, pressing Charles back into the couch. The world tilted for a second, and Charles let out a breathless laugh as his back hit the cushions, legs still wrapped around Carlos' hips.

"God," Charles muttered, looking up at him, curls a mess, eyes dark. "You in control is so annoying."

Carlos leaned down, breath brushing over Charles' jaw. "And yet, you're already begging for more."

His hands moved with purpose now, yanking Charles' undershirt up and over his head, baring golden skin flushed with heat and adrenaline. Carlos' palms immediately went to his sides, feeling every twitch, every subtle arch of Charles' spine.

Charles' fingers fumbled again with Carlos' zipper, finally managing to pull it halfway down, revealing a sliver of chest, the blue of his fireproof shirt beneath. He shoved it aside, needing contact, dragging his hands over the fabric, then underneath, skin meeting skin.

Carlos dipped his head to Charles' throat, teeth grazing over the place his thumb had touched earlier—right at his Adam's apple. He kissed, then bit, just enough to leave a mark. Charles arched with a sharp gasp, hands tightening on Carlos' back.

"Fuck," he whispered, one leg hitching higher around Carlos waist. "Carlos..."

Carlos groaned at the sound, kissing down his throat, over his collarbone, teeth and tongue working on rhythm. He knew this body. Every soft noise it made. Every spot to push until Charles came undone.

"You missed this," Carlos muttered against his skin, breath hot, voice dark. "You missed me."

Charles didn't deny it. Couldn't.

His hands gripped Carlos' suit, tugging it lower, needing more—more of his skin, his weight, the heat of him. Carlos finally obliged, shrugging it off his shoulders, the fireproof shirt following until they were chest to chest, bare skin pressing, friction growing, staking a fire that had been dormant too long.

Their hips ground together, slow at first, teasing. Then harder, needier, driven by that electric tension that had simmered since Carlos' first showed up uninvited—and entirely welcome.

Charles' head tipped back, mouth open, breath ragged as Carlos kissed down his chest, hand trailing lower, slow and purposeful, dragging across his stomach.

"Look at you," Carlos whispered, voice low and reverent. "Always such a brat... until you're beneath me."

Charles watched as Carlos fingers trailed lower, his touch maddeningly slow— drawing patterns across his abdomen, just skimming the edge of his waistband. Charles squirmed under him, chest rising and falling in short, desperate bursts.

"Carlos..." he breathed, hips rising into the space between them.

"I know," Carlos murmured, kissing just beneath his ribs. "I've got you."

He hooked his fingers into Charles' waistband, tugging the heavy material down with purposeful patience, layer by layer. Skin revealed inch by inch, warm under his hands, inviting. Charles lifted his hips in surrender, baring himself completely to him, eyes glazed with heat and want.

Carlos took a moment. He always did—admiring, drinking him in. It wasn't just about lust, not with them. There was history here. Intimacy threaded into the hunger. He kissed down Charles' hip, slow, reverent.

Charles moaned, hands threading back into Carlos' hair. "Don't tease."

"You're the one who started it," Carlos smirked against his skin.

Then, without another word, Carlos lowered himself fully— his mouth warm and wet and perfect.

Charles' whole body arched off the couch, a strangled sound caught in his throat. Carlos' hands gripped his thighs, keeping him grounded as he worked, tongue and lips moving in deep, steady rhythm. Every flick, every press was deliberate, practiced, designed to unravel.

"Fucking— Carlos," Charles gasped, one hand gripping the couch, the other tangled in his curls. "God, you—"

Carlos hummed low, sending vibrations through him, and Charles cried out—louder this time, head falling back, eyes fluttering shut. His whole body tensed, then trembled, caught between overwhelming sensation and the impossible need for more.

Carlos didn't stop. He kept Charles on the edge, building the pressure until his breath turned ragged, until his thighs trembled under his hands.

Please," Charles whispered, voice cracking on the word. "Carlos, please—"

And that was it.

Carlos pulled off, just enough to meet his eyes, mouth slick, flushed, and breathless. "You're so good like this," he murmured, voice hoarse, almost ruined. "So desperate for me."

Charles reached for him, pulling him up, needing to kiss him—needing to feel his mouth, taste himself on Carlos' lips.

Their lips crashed together again, messy and intense, hands roaming. Carlos ground against him, still half dressed, and Charles tore at the last of the layers between them, frantic.

"I want you," Charles panted against his mouth. "Now."

Carlos cupped his jaw, held him still, and looked into his eyes—burning, soft all at once. "You will have me, Charles."

Slowly, teasingly, Carlos pulled his suit down; the thick fabric parted, layer by layer.

Then, he guided himself into Charles slowly, carefully, watching Charles' every reaction. Their foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling, until they were joined completely—no distance left between them.

Charles whimpered at the stretch, at the feel of being full again, claimed. His arms wrapped around Carlos' shoulders, holding him tight.

"Move," he whispered. "Please."

Carlos did.

Slow at first, deep and steady, finding the rhythm they knew too well. Charles clung to him, gasping his name, his nails dragging down Carlos' back. Every thrust drew a breathless sound, every movement a wordless confession.

It wasn't just sex. It never was. This was homecoming, reentry, surrender.

Carlos kissed him between thrusts—his lips, his throat, his shoulder—murmuring his name like a mantra. "Charles... Charles..."

They moved together, faster now, the couch creaking still beneath them, breath mixing with moans, skin slick with sweat. The heat built fast, unbearable, everything else falling away.

"I'm—close," Charles choked out, body coiled tight around him.

Carlos pressed their foreheads together. "Let go."

Charles shattered with a cry, body tensing and then breaking apart beneath him, and the sight, the sound—everything—dragged Carlos with him. He came with a groan, buried deep inside him, clinging to Charles like he might disappear.

And then everything stilled.

Their breath, harsh and uneven, was the only sound left. Skin on skin, bodies tangled, they stayed like that for a long moment, not speaking—just holding, breathing, existing together in the aftermath.

Carlos rested half on top of Charles, their limbs tangled in a lazy sprawl. His forehead was pressed to Charles' shoulder, breath evening out against damp skin. Charles lay still, fingers tracing idle shapes on Carlos' back, the silence between them not awkward, but full. Heavy with the afterglow.

After a while, Carlos lifted his head just enough to speak, voice hushed, a little raw. "You okay?"

Charles let out a soft breath that sounded like a laugh. "More than."

Carlos smiled against his skin, brushing a kiss to his collarbone. "Good."

They were quiet again, but it wasn't the kind that needed to be filled. Charles' hand slid into Carlos' hair, lazily stroking, and for a moment, neither of them moved.

Then softly—almost reluctantly—Charles spoke.

"I hated seeing you in white today."

Carlos didn't lift his head, but his fingers flexed gently against Charles' waist. "Yeah?"

Charles nodded, eyes fixed on the ceiling. "It's stupid. You looked incredible. Too good, honestly. But it felt... weird. Wrong. Like you should've still been next to me."

Carlos finally looked up at him. "You know it wasn't my call."

"I know," Charles turned to meet his gaze. "Doesn't mean it hurt less."

Carlos cupped his cheek, thumb brushing beneath his eye. "It's still me. Same idiot, same hands, same... everything. Just a different garage."

Charles leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering shut for a second. "Doesn't feel the same."

Carlos nodded slowly, forehead resting against his again. "It doesn't."

A pause.

Then, in a whisper, "I missed you."

Charles opened his eyes, soft and exposed. "You've been pretending not to."

"I had to," Carlos exhaled. "You think it's easy seeing you in red every weekend and not walking over? Not touching you? Not..."

He trailed off, and Charles tilted his head, nudging his nose. "Not what?"

Carlos looked at him like he was breaking, like he wanted to say everything and nothing all at once. "Not being yours."

The words landed heavy between them.

Charles blinked, throat working. "You still are."

Carlos stared at him, like he didn't quite believe it. Like he wanted to, but didn't dare.

"You still drive me crazy," Charles added, smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You still make me want to punch something and kiss you in the same breath.

Carlos let out a short, breathy laugh. "That sounds about right."

"I don't care what colors you wear," Charles said, fingers curling around Carlos' jaw. "You'll always be mine, Carlos. Even if the whole world thinks otherwise."

Carlos leaned in and kissed him, slow and sweet this time. No heat, no rush—just yes. Just I know. Just I'm here.

When they parted, they didn't say anything else for a while.

Carlos moved to sit up, slowly pulling himself back together, his hands finding the waistband of his race suit. He glanced over at Charles, catching his eye.

The silence felt more comforting now, a calm after the storm.

Charles did the same, reaching for the fabric of his red Ferrari suit, pulling it back up to his waist, covering the skin that had been exposed just moments ago. He winced slightly, a quiet, tired smile playing on his lips as he tugged at his length through the tight suit.

Eventually, Carlos shifted to lie beside him, arm slung over Charles' waist, pulling him close. And Charles pressed his face into the crook of Carlos' neck, breathing him in.

Carlos' fingers moved in slow, lazy circles across Charles stomach, their bodies still tucked together on the couch, skin warm and flushed from before. The quiet stretched between them, comfortable, their breathing synced without even thinking.

Then, Carlos broke the silence with a low hum, his lips brushing the shell of Charles' ear.

"You really were incredible out there today," he murmured.

Charles blinked, stirred from the daze of post-bliss. He pulled back just enough to look at Carlos, the faintest smile curling on his lips. "Yeah?"

Carlos nodded, the look in his eyes earnest. "P3 in Bahrain, with that car, perfect lap under pressure, all eyes on you. You looked so—" He hesitated, but his voice dropped with affection. "So good."

Charles flushed; even after everything, praise from Carlos still landing somewhere deep in his chest.

Carlos leaned in, lips brushing the corner of his mouth. "I watched back every sector, you know. Knew you'd nail it. And when you crossed the line..." His hand cupped Charles' jaw, thumb stroking just beneath his cheekbone. "My boy, you were flying."

Charles let out a small, breathless laugh, the compliment hitting harder than it should've. He buried his face in Carlos' neck to hide the smile. "Stop, you'll make my ego unbearable."

Carlos grinned, rolling them slightly so Charles was beneath him again, but this time the energy was different—slower, sweeter. "Good," he whispered, brushing their noses together. "You deserve it."

And then, in a tone so soft and full of pride it made Charles' breath catch.

"Good boy you are."

Charles blinked up at him, heart skipping a beat. "Carlos—"

Carlos kissed the tip of his nose. "So focused. So sharp. But still the same brat who gets under my skin every chance he gets."

Charles chuckled, cheeks flushed. "What can I say? I multitask."

Carlos leaned in, resting his head against Charles body, enjoying the time with his boyfriend before it was time to part ways again.

[seaweedbumblebee]

Terrible Lies

I’ve never posted on Tumblr before and I don’t write a lot so apologies for any mistakes! Don’t forget to comment, like, and reblog. I’m open to comments and requests!

Cross posted on AO3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61937722

The first time their hands grazed, it was purely by accident… possibly. Years ago when their partnership was still fresh and the idea of working near someone new was starting to bud, his fingers had brushed against hers while she handed him a wrench. He broke his steady gaze from the metal object he was tinkering with to look at where his fingers had made contact. He opened his mouth to say something but then furrowed his brows and closed his mouth. After a moment he said, “You should be more careful.”

Her lips parted with wide eyes and a soft smile forming at his humor. “Yes… it would be a real shame if I dropped it. I could have broken something.”

He hummed in agreement, nodding to the spotless floor.

He tried to shake the feeling of the softness of her skin to no avail. And so the habit began, the “accidental” and very frequent touches. They continued the habit of his hand slowly brushing against the bottom of hers when she handed him anything but it slowly morphed into other acts.

Over time their little touches became second nature - evolving with their relationship. She was standing on a chair and his hand rested against the small of her back. She peeked down at him and smirked. He looked right back at her and said, “You’re pretty clumsy you know… always tripping… it’s a real hazard.” She hadn’t tripped in years.

“You’re absolutely right.” She said as a matter of factly, “I don’t know what I’d do without your support!” She chuckled. A sound so soft that his breath hitched in his throat. Taking a swallow his eyes locked on her back where his fingers splayed.

Soon to follow were more touches, a gentle hand came to rest in between his shoulder blades one day, “Viktor! You’re slouching, you know that’s not good for your posture.” She said feigning concern. His back brace prevented him from slouching which he knows she can feel under his vest and shirt.

“That is very thoughtful.” He said earnestly.

“Isn’t it? You know I want the best for you”

His lips quirked up at the way her hand trailed to brush against the back of his neck when she moved away. Viktor briefly glimpsed her covering up a smile at her desk.

And then there were the late nights. Long hours spent in the lab, going over formulas, revising blueprints and tinkering with Hextech, often turned into leisurely walks home together - purely to ensure her safety and nothing else. On one night, her arm slipped into his and said, “The topside is such a dangerous place,” her voice laced with concern and a small frown tugging at her brows. He looked down at her face and saw the corners of her lips quirked up.

“Much more dangerous than the Undercity.” He said without missing a beat.

“Yes, I’m so glad that you’re here. I think someone could jump out and grab me if I were alone.”

“You would be at a great risk without someone to hold on to.” He said while nodding his head to get the point across as they walked through undoubtedly the safest area of Piltover. His mind halted at the warmth of how natural her arm fit into his.

On one evening when he was about to walk her home, he slowed his pace and said, “Hmm, the weather is dreadful to be walking in. At this rate our shoes will be flooded.” She looked up at the clear sky and frowned, shielding her hair with her free hand.

“We should hurry to your apartment.” She said as they took their time.

At first she took his bed while he took the couch, and then the next night she took the couch while he slept in his bed. It became a ritual to go straight to his apartment rather than hers that was all the way across town. It was truly a miracle that she had been making the trek to her own apartment this whole time. She thanked her stars that he was kind enough to let her stay with him more often than in her own bed. She made sure to stop just next door to grab some of her toiletries though.

One evening, he was resting in bed watching her braid her hair before she retired for the night. He watched the rhythmic motion of her fingers weaving silky strands together and felt a jolt in his chest. Before he could stop himself he quietly said, “It’s a little cold, don’t you think?”

She rubbed her toasty feet together, “You’re right. There’s definitely a chill in here. I guess we can share the bed if we keep to our own sides.”

He hastily agreed, “That would be the most respectable thing to do.”

He struggled with the knowledge that he could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears not knowing that she was going through the same struggle. She was glad that the dimness of the room blanketed her flaming cheeks while he was grateful that the moon shone on her face enough to tell that she was blushing for him.

“This cold sure isn’t letting up is it?” She whispered staring into his golden eyes.

“Bitterly cold.” He said without hesitation.

“Freezing” her breath tickled his face as she scooted closer

“Unbearable” he murmured, his arm brushing against her waist. The crickets chirped outside, louder with the open window allowing for the summer breeze to cool off his room.

Every touch came with a reason. That was the most sound thing to do in any scenario. It would be very irresponsible to touch a coworker for no reason.

Tonight was different. The pull between them was so taught that they could no longer skirt around what was happening between them.

As they worked late into the night, the tension between them seemed to settle heavier and heavier with each passing moment. She felt his eyes on her and turned to meet his stare. His eyes narrowed at her lips.

“Your lips are chapped.” His tone infused with something deeper. His eyes quickly flitted from her eyes down to her mouth.

“Are they?” She felt like she was out of breath from the look on his face.

“Yes, they are so chapped that they are practically cracking. You should probably do something about that.”

“That would be a real tragedy. How would I go over plans with you and Jayce?” She said in a worried tone, her hand coming up to brush over them lightly - smooth and velvety, and she gasped, “Yes, you’re right - they’re very chapped.”

“I’m sorry to say so.” He said softly leaning forward.

“It would be a shame if they bled.” She said just as softly with a teasing smile.

“Disastrous.” He was leaning forward, “You wouldn’t be able to talk for days.”

“I should probably find something to cover them.” Her gaze fixed on his lips, “I just ran out of lip balm though and the market is surely closed by now.”

“That’s a real shame… covering them has to be the only solution.” His eyes half lidded and staring down at her soft lips.

She nodded, her nose brushing against his, barely mumbling, “Mhm.”

Their words stopped with gentle breaths against their faces. She looked up at him through her lashes and let them flutter closed at his proximity. His hand came up to rest on her nape, thumb brushing the juncture where her jaw meets her neck. Their lips met in a slow kiss. Moving gently together with a hesitation that deepened into an unmistakable pull.

When they parted, breathless and flushed, she whispered “Well… that solves the problem for now.”

“It’s only practical.” He whispered.

[rykno-j]

G/ojo is mostly the one who is touchy with G/eto, but now im thinking maybe one of the times G/eto would willingly touch G/ojo could be when he was feeling G/ojo's forehead for a fever.

It came so unexpectedly that G/ojo was just stun-locked. Eyes going wide, freezing in place, that kinda stuff.

The palm against his forehead was warm but cool, it felt soft, gentle, different from how G/eto would normally poke at him in retaliation to his antics.

G/ojo sinks into the touch, completely forgetting that G/eto had quite literally confirmed that he was running a fever, one that he had been trying to hide, too.

And if any thermometers went missing that day, its because G/eto's hand was more than capable of reading his temperature.

▪︎•▪︎

[screampied]

‘ THIS AIN’T FICTION, BABY! (it is kinda..) ★

☆ sum. jjk men finding out you write jaw dropping smut. boo you whore. can you even do half the things you write about? well . .

warnings. fem! reader, feat. gojo, geto, nanami, choso, toji, sukuna, breaking the forth wall kekw, smut writer reader, unprotected, dirty talk, praise, squırting, manhandling, cuńnilingus, whiny men, cockwarming, daddy kink, overstim, spıt, impact play, breaking the bed, bréeding, size kinks.

GOJO ☆

“oooooh,” a husky low voice coos right next to your ear. hot breath ghosts against the tiny hairs that stand tall near the back of your neck. you bit your lip whilst you’re in the midst of being stuffed full of cock. just plain evil . . satoru’s got you cockwarming him while a fat thumb of his skims down your phone. “let’s see. gojo smut, gojo satoru x reader, hey that’s me, heh,” and he pauses, a snowy brow raising up in daze once he sees your user displayed in bold near the very top of the search bar. “cockwarming gojo, how fitting, angel.”

“toru, fuck,” you whine, making a cute attempt at trying to snatch your phone away. weakly pawing at his wrist, he holds it up even higher. you gasp, feeling his swollen tip swivel its way deeper inside your cunt. “don’t read it,” you fall back into his chest, moaning once he starts to purposely bounce his thigh. embarrassment had you hot, you could practically feel your heartbeat accelerating by the minute. “ ‘s embarrassing.”

satoru squints, resuming to scroll down the glowing screen before a free hand of his trails toward your pussy. he hums, “aw, pretty girl’s got a hobby i didn’t even know of, hm. here, you say ‘he’s got you right on his lap, suppressing a moan with your teeth dug into the bottom of your lip as you’re taking him fully. .’ such nasty literature,” and the edges of your nails pierce into his pants leg. the half on long black slacks that satoru wore were merely all ruffled and ragged thanks to your pretty fingernails tugging at it with all its might. as he continues to read, you’re whining, desperate to move, desperate for at least some kind of friction. as you’re squirming on his lap, satoru’s eye then twitches. “ ‘gojo satoru also would whine in bed?’ this has to be a typo. .”

and of course, his ego gets bruised.

the pout on satoru’s face was adorable. as you’re trying to sturdy your hips, he buries his face into your chest. “mmph,” he’s shoved right between the softness of your tits, his personal happy place.

although—he had to admit, he was flattered that you wrote such lewd compositions about him. you moan as you’re grinding against him, feeling his achy cock slam into you deep within each wet bounce. satoru makes a mess as he’s buried between your plush mounds, remnants of stringy saliva dribbling down the valley of your chest. pretty, his white lashes flutter as you’re quickening your hip movements and he gasps. “oh, f- fuck, angel. ‘s no fair when you ride me like thaaat.”

and you can’t help but giggle—despite your cock drunken state, he’s still got that little glower of a pout on his lips as you’re rutting into him.

satoru’s clenched abs flex more the second you run a finger down the sharp outline of his pecs, watching him immediately fold at your touch. “but you always whine, ‘toru,” you argue in a shivering voice, your cunt tightly squeezing around his length. his wide girth makes your mouth water, such thickness was just insane. you bury your unstable knees into the center of his thighs before his broad big arms wrap around you.

he’s holding you—almost squishing you.

but just like you wrote, satoru whines the second he ends up cumming early. with the way you ride him and the crazed speed of your hips, he never ever lasted long.

it was cute,

he was always confident until he’s buried deep inside your pussy, whining and sobbing pathetic cacophonies of your name at how good you feel clamping around him. it’s merry lukewarm, as he snaps, a puddle of thick syrupy cum shoots into you deep and he’s an entire frantic mess. pants of airy breath slip out of his pink lips as he’s giving you a fill, biting into your neck to hide his slutty whimpers. “god, ‘m gonna die,” he sniffles, squeezing pressure against your bare ass. you hold onto him tight as he’s pouring such slippery wads of seed into you at once—velvety hot amounts spit inside your pussy and you’re matching heavy gasps for air right with him, entirely in sync. “fuck, fuck baby, mommy.”

“what?”

“s- shut up,” he back tracks, and he sees the smug expression growing on your face. satoru lightly smacks a hand over his face before groaning, his cock all milked and flaccid. “i said baby.”

NANAMI ☆

tender mahongy eyes stare deep into your eyes as your fingers happily intertwine with his. tangled and curled, he’s got a soft grip as his body hovers completely over yours.

with ruffled blond strands running down the front of his forehead, nanami brings a kiss toward your cheek as he’s not just fucking you, but making love to you in missionary. “sweetheart, you left your laptop open you know,” and you moan once you feel his plump tip circle its way inside of your gummy inviting walls. already, you’re coating his entire dick with your slimy slick to the hilt. your eyes widen at his words before the left side of your twitching lip is met with another gentle kiss. “i didn’t mean to be nosy, but i saw a little ‘headcanon’ about me, is that what you call it?”

you glance into his eyes with abashed intent as a burning wave of heat sprays over your face. fuck, the pulse of your thumping heart only grew louder as your first response was utter silence.

“i—” you mutter out, and he chuckles at your lack of words, digging his head into your neck. nanami’s scent was strong, it goes through each of your nostrils and you felt yourself throbbing from his touch alone.

his strokes were tender and precise. he’s swaying back and forth as his bare body continues to rut straight into you. pent up muscles of his that were merely perfectly sculptured—identical to the physique of a greek god, you couldn’t help but stare. you just couldn’t help but ogle at how he’s so pretty, how fat tears of sweat race down both sides of his bulky arms. no one could blame you for writing about nanami, although—the things you wrote about him, they were pretty risqué to say the least. with a growing pout, your arms throw over his shoulders as he’s presenting your cunt blissful deep thrusts. “okay, i write about you sometimes, ‘ken. ‘m sorry.”

“sorry for what exactly? being talented, silly girl?” he whispers in a raspy tone.

nanami cups your chin so you could look right at him, naturally leaning into his touch. he focuses on the way your eyes soften and he’s plummeting girthy inches into you raw. your toes curl, running down his back and tickling the scratch marks that paint against his flushed skin. “don’t be sorry,” he adds, pressing a wet kiss near the crook of your neck. “i’m flattered. although, dirty talk isn’t exactly my forte. you know this, my love,” and you moan, feeling the edges of his teeth playfully nibble at your exposed flesh. as pounds of skin resume to smack against each other loudly, nanami slowly lifts up your leg, tossing it over your shoulder. “my favorite part had to be when you said i pulled on your hair ‘n called you a ‘messy whore’ .”

“y- you weren’t supposed to see that,” you nervously grin . . trying to avoid how you were so close to finishing. just a few more thrusts and that was it, you’d be finished, done for. you’ve felt embarrassed before—but never to this extent. he was teasing you, nanami kento was teasing you. and pathetically enough, your pussy twitched as he recited your exact filthy written words. the bed continues to creak and groan as jolting bodies move and move together, amongst each other, and on top of each other.

with kind eyes, nanami watches as you bring both of your hands up to your face, hoping to shield yourself from any more embarrassment.

“oh, honey,” he coos in a melodically low tone. his cock reached so deep that strangled moans flew out from your lips left and right. his tempo was always just right. he never wanted to lose control, but after reading your work, he knew you’d probably like that. crimson damp lips press under your chin before he grunts, preparing himself to be milked dry.

“hngh, don’t hide that pretty face from me,” he huffs, in a soft alluring voice. everything felt abnormally tender, nanami’s softly swerving his body against yours in irregular addictive arcs in such impassioned ardent. the more you stare into your eyes—the more your blown pupils dilate.

once he cup both sides of your face, you lean into his touch. his base was thick, swollen and full. you craved him more than anything, and it’s as if your words were actually coming to life.

“there she is, that’s my girl,” he grits in a raspy voice, prying your hands away from your face. his touch was forevermore gentle. with a soft smile, nanami presses his twitching ruby lips onto yours as you both prepare to cum in euphoric torrent. bedaubing a plump thumb over your bottom quivering lip, he slows his thrusts down a few beats—hearing you vocal pussy’s squelches before a wrinkle of a smile curls against his lips. “now, now. make a mess on your husband’s cock jus how you write them in your little stories, my love.”

GETO ☆

“oh, boo. looks like someone’s innocent all of a sudden when she’s not writing ‘bout dick, hm? wonder why that is,” geto hums, propped right up between your trembly legs. he’s staring at you with a sly smirk that refuses to wipe off his lips. two of his hands spread your thighs apart more before kissing near your slobbering exposed pussy.

with a cunning grin, he gives your drooling folds a few friendly taps as if it was a little mic test. “finish that paragraph. c’mon, wanna make sure ‘m doin’ it right.”

a salty taste of shame fills and salivates inside of your mouth as you watch him with heart shaped pupils. he’s got the most hungry gaze, a bit of spit already dribbling from the thin corners of his lips.

“um, okay,” you moan, picking up your phone again, leisurely dragging a thumb down the neatly typed paragraphs. “it says, ‘you whine, taking s-suguru’s thick fingers happily into your slippery cunt. long digits of his rummage their way inside before curling all around. once suguru spits on your p- pussy, he pats it and calls it a good girl.’ ”

“like this?” geto snickers—copying your exact words, using the flat palm of his hand to rub against your bare clit. you whimper, entirely sensitive as his thick digits toy with your soddened folds. your thighs continue to jostle and shake and he found it so adorable at how you just couldn’t stay still. so cute, he’s got darkened irises focused on you and only you the entire time. these seconds felt like hours, and as he gathers a nice amount of saliva, he spits right on your cunt. just like you wrote it . . you gasp at the sloppy cold saliva cascading down your pussy. the cobwebby strands that pour from his lips had such a pretty glimmer to it. the warm breath of geto that fans against your entrance makes you twitch in elated pleasure.

he’s so sloppy, unapologetically. just like your drabble said—he then pats your cunt with an open palm before leaning right up close, pulling a thumb down your pulsating uvula before licking it passionately. “good fuckin’ girl.”

you whine, your knees practically buckling and he’s just eating your expressions up. “y- yes— like that, fuck,” you move a few long black strands away from his face. geto dips two fingers inside and he stretches you out so easily with his digits. your lips form into a cute ‘o’ shape as you mewl out a desperate cry for more. as he’s watching you succumb into such bliss, he’s got such a pretty face. it makes his dick twitch in his sweats at the thought of you writing about how he goes down on you. the specifics, how sloppy he is, even how he spanks your cunt only to then shamelessly lick the slick mess right up with his tongue.

the thought that probably hundreds of your horny little readers read about this, about him, about his tongue . .

geto’s tongue was ruthless.

he lays it flat against your cunt before fluttering his long black lashes closed. he huskily groans, not even caring that you weren’t reading anymore. as his brows arch into a contorting furrow, he slides in two fat fingers. you whimper at the sudden big yet deliciously enthralling stretch, yanking roughly on his hair. “s . . sugu,” he pulls his slick covered fingers out, licking them clean whilst staring you right in the eyes. you tremor within his hold, feeling his palms tighten its grasp on both of your thighs. you couldn’t lie, this felt a lot better than fiction. so much better . .

he’s making out with your pussy, swirling his tongue around and spelling out all of the letters of his name. creating such a mess, your slick then starts to stream down his chin to which he happily licks it up. groaning, geto then slurps at your drenched hole before giving it yet another kiss. his chin had such luminescent shine to it. you cup his face with shaky hands as he’s eating you out through another orgasm and he jibes.

“mhm, your writing could use a bit more dirty talk though,” he critiques, swiping a thumb against his lips before he spanks your cunt for the umpteenth time.

with your legs sporadically quivering, he playfully bites on your clit, watching you squeal as you’re riding orgasm out on his tongue. “oh, and make sure you add in your little fics that i bite pretty clits too.”

CHOSO ☆

“bottom? w- what’s a bottom?”

choso quirks a brow in cute confusion, slouching back as you’re still getting over your most recent orgasm.

both pounds of sweltering skin melt into each other, sticking together like glue as your hips grow unsteady. choso was reading one of your published works and he can’t help but grow curious. the way you wrote about him, how you portrayed him as whiny and submissive, it does something to him—he personally always thought he was dominant. cute. .

“oh, don’t worry about that, baby,” you timidly utter, trying to conceal an incoming moan once his cock buries its way deep in yet again. he’s nice and snug everyone and it drives him crazy. choso’s got a pout—but it quickly turns into a lewd expression once your sopping pussy swallows him right up again. two jittery hands creep their way onto your rickety hips and he moans once he feels himself already bottoming out. “f- fuck, cho.”

his eyebrows were still all furrowed and he’s got a cute scrunched up expression. “ ‘m not a bottom,” choso grumps, leaning in to sneak a kiss near the corner of your mouth. despite the raspiness lingering underneath his tone—you could hear the incoming whine desperately trying to escape. choso’s black ponytails had cute ribbons in them—by you, and he’s biting his lip at the feeling of your hips starting to grind. “i- i can be dominant too.”

“prove it,” you whisper, a bratty impish glint forming in your eyes. choso scoffs, narrowing his eyes at you but it doesn’t last at all because he’s already pussy drunk to the max.

those two words. . those two words was all it took for him to manhandle you like a rag doll, politely and respectfully tossing you into the springy soft mattress.

it bounces from the abrupt weight crashing down and you gasp once choso backs up his words, and oh, he’s fucking you stupid. you let off a gargled three second moan once choso spanks your ass, using one hand to repeatedly drag you back into his chiseled hips. sharp thrusts plow into you with such speed that you’re left with a dumbfounded expression. your eyes were rolling back and your tongue was lolled out as choso was fucking you in doggy.

as much as you write about him, he doesn’t like doggy, mainly because he can’t see your pretty face. it kills him—but he can’t deny that the view of you like this was so pretty, so enticing. your buckling knees lock as you’re cupping a hand over your mouth, eyes practically bulging out of their sockets.

choso’s cock was so weighty and thick that it’s got a lazy curve, a mean curve that makes itself known in every part of your insides. he’s no stranger to your body, he knows the exact layout. such stamina—you didn’t expect him to be so feral, it’s as if he was an entire different person. “fuck, fuuuck,” he throws his head back, giving your ass more and more hard spanks. the recoil was his favorite. it was just the way your pretty shaped ass would bounce back onto him. he’s in love with love, in love with your pussy, in love with you. “ngh, gotta show you ‘m not a bottom, baby.”

“c- choso,” you whimper, and his fat base swings against your ass, almost shocking you from the electric friction. you’re drooling—he’s got you stupid as your swollen chaste clit bumps up against his pelvis every single time. the bed hollers out a plethora of cries as he’s jerking more and more into you. your cunt’s drooling dewy slick all down the undersides of your thighs. you even make an attempt at trying to touch yourself. with slickness though, choso snatches your wrist away.

“no baby. ‘s my pussy,” he grumbles, pinning an arm behind your back. you’re babbling—squatting forward as he’s feeding your needy pussy with such inches. choso hisses at the brief twinges of pleasure all due to your sloppy grip. you’re brutal, wetting up his base with your dewy slick. he can’t help but stare and gawk at the way your ass presses up against him. choso’s bottom lip quivers at how good it feels and how good you feel. no matter how much of a front he puts up, he’s gonna whine. “f- fuck. teasin’ me with your hips, baby. so mean.”

yet as he’s dragging you back and forth, watching as your chest heaving and your thighs try to clamp inward—you abruptly cum, gushing all over choso’s cock. he huffs at how sudden it was, and he knew you didn’t expect it in the slightest. so pretty, your final orgasmic cries sounded like a sweet candied harmony and he could feel your quavering body breaking down with his shaft still shoved deeply inside. your mess soaks up the entirety of the dark sheet, now being drenched in a damp grey color. “fuck, fuck,” you whimper, shaking as your head slumps into the pillow. choso whines at your own pleasure, and he doesn’t even care if he doesn’t finish. he pulls out, crawling toward you before burying his face into the nook of your neck. “c- choso, oh my g- god.”

as your flimsy arms hold him close, accepting his embrace, he goes back to his clingy needy self again, speaking in a shivering soft voice. “h- have you ever wrote about squirting yet?”

with droopy eye lids, you were longing for a kiss. as if he read your mind, he leans in—planting a sultry balmy kiss right onto your lips. “no,” you mumble, moving a few strands out of his face.

choso licks near your neck, one of his hands sprawling your sticky legs apart and he brushes a finger against your slick wet cunt. “w- well, you can always write about that,” and you gasp once he lifts your leg up, easily tossing it over his shoulder. with pleading eyes, choso sighs. “but, can we do that again, baby? i- i think i like when you squirt on me.”

SUKUNA ☆

“breeding kink, interesting,” the demon gruffs, hearing you whine after he swipes his phone from your hand, wondering what in the actual hell could be so important.

he’s reading a strange explicit story of himself that’s apparently called a ‘one shot,’ according to you. how stupid, he thinks. sukuna’s irked vermillion-shot eyes skim through the many paragraphs of filth before he spanks your ass, making you keep your most recent arch.

“ah, seems like y’r even more nasty than i thought,” and your breath hitches once he circles a palm over your stinging rear cheek— an attempt at soothing the sudden pang. hearing your cute muffled whimpers, he mocks your noises. “aw, if you wanted me to ‘breed’ you princess, you could have just asked.”

“ ‘kuna, ‘s embarrassing,” you moan, gasping once he smears his leaky tip against your entrance. he was right - you could’ve ask, you could have asked him to do all the little dirty things you wrote about, you could have . .

swallowing the invisible lump that resides at the roof of your mouth, you imagine yourself being stuffed full of sukuna’s cum. so much to where he ends up getting you all swollen—you’d be nothing but sitting pretty with a cute plump tummy, wads and wads of glossy runny cum just slickly dribbling down the sides of your ass and thighs.

“write like a slut ‘n you even act like one too,” he hums, using a thumb to slide down your pussy. sukuna’s staring openly at how you’re already so soaked, so drenched and he looks like he’s ready to feast. your puffy folds glisten with your own arousal and it’s so so cute. “wonder if you write while havin’ a pussy this sloppy too,” and he smacks it raw, feeling your entire body jolt from the sudden impact. you fall into the soft padded mattress and he darkly chuckles at your weakly spot-on reaction time, aligning himself. “poor baby. spendin’ all this time writing when you could’ve been getting . . ah, what’s the word? oh, right. bred, heh.”

and sukuna does more than just breed you—he quite literally overflows your cunt. he’s a demon, and demons cum a lot.

you’re an entire puddled mess that was filled to the brim.

the sheets were all damp and stained and you’re glistening with droplets of perspiration—radiating from his heat entirely. “s- sukuna, fuck,” you weep out his name, hearing the sloppy spurts of cum still dribbling out of you. such a mess, your mouth waters as you realize just how full you are. you always wrote about this sort of thing but never knew that your silly fiction could turn into mere reality. both of your thighs stick together as you’re left trembling with an arch in your back. he’s cackling at your state, watching as globs of creamy ropes leak out of your slobbering pussy.

“how cute, jus might mess around ‘n get you pregnant, yeah,” the demon jibes, a sharp fang poking underneath his bottom lip. you’re haplessly quivering. your panties that were lazily dragged to the side were all torn and ripped, coated in a ivory white color also. as you’re trying to collect breaths—you then let off a moan once he presses himself deep against you.

your womb was completely flooded, you’re drowning with his stringy cum and with his hot burly body right up against you, you feel him right there. you couldn’t miss it, he’s so long and thick that he’s practically tickling your goopy insides. sukuna wraps a hand around your throat whilst another hand sneaks toward your pussy. “bet you’d like that, fuckin’ freak,” and he’s smearing circles against your folds. you twitch at his cursed hand, his cock still tucked inside of you before he laughs against your ear. “you want a baby, huh. wanna carry my demon babies, don’t ya princess?”

you nod and he lets off a snicker of amusement. “keh. bet you do,” and his voice lowly pitches. you moan, feeling him pull out of your dripping cunt, plugging his spilling cum back in with a single thumb. “fuck, better write about this too, princess. let all your pathetic readers know how much of a sloppy pussy their favorite author has,” and you gasp once he quickly flips you over. sukuna suddenly dives head first between your legs, lapping his flick tongue against your folds. “mmph, now watch me clean you up,” and he spits on your pussy only to then look at it with disgust. “messy girl.”

TOJI ☆

“nuh uh, get the fuck back here babygirl,” he grabs you by the hip, and you let off a moan once his fingers trail up your skirt. a wavering crinkle prods near the edge of his left twitching eye as he’s processing such raunchy words about him. a dry chortle leaves from toji’s mouth as he makes you lie on your tummy, multitasking by slapping his swollen cockhead on your dribbling folds. “ya always told me you were a writer but i didn’t think you write ‘bout this,” he purrs, and your toes curl once he’s aligning himself against your slick heat. but fuck was your cunt just was drooling for him. both folds were weeping for him to just go in already, and yet here he was - teasing you. “really? what’s with the whole ‘toji daddy kink’ thing? i look like the kinda guy that’s into that?”

you feel embarrassment creep up your shoulder. he was reading that part, the part where reader calls him ‘daddy.’

sheepishly trying to crawl away from his grasp, you swallow ignominy. “ ‘s not real, i just made it up toji,” you try to explain through gritted teeth. but as he’s reeling you back into his keen structed hips, you lewdly mewl. he’s just so fucking big, happily massaging your walls freely with just a few inches. your mouth widens as you hear him lowly snickering in the background. a snickering laugh that never failed to make your pussy throb.

toji grabs at the fat of your ass, stubby fingertips poking through your skin. with a mean spank, it’s a non-verbal sign for you to stay still. “y’er a fuckin’ slut with your writing, baby. i bet ya haven’t even tried these kinks,” he teases, and you moan again once his cock delves deeper into your walls. with such ease, you back raises up into an even sluttier arch. “hm, lets see if y’er as nasty as you write,” and you hear him grunt briefly, one of his hands gently wrapping around your neck. toji gets right up close to your ear, flicking his tongue against your soft earlobe. “go on, say it.”

“s- say what?” you squeak, but you knew exactly what he wanted. never in a million years would you have thought toji would discover your little erotic hobby. by now, he’s balls deep—you whine, feeling yet another sharp swat smack against your left ass cheek at the lack of response. you’re chewing on the inside of your cheek in guilt before you hear toji smack his lips in sheer vex.

“c’mon, don’t get shy on me now,” he murmurs in a hoarse tone, salacious timbre pouring on his entire voice. toji feels your pussy dripping around him and he hums, giving you just one single tease of a thrust. your body jerks forward and you whimper sweetly. he’s so close up to you, hard washboard abs of his that were proudly flexing grinds against your back. he’s pressing his muscular weight onto you, careful not to crush you but just enough to. inching his lips back toward your ear, he kisses near your neck. “call me daddy. jus like how you write me, little girl.”

as you’re feeling a few throbbing pangs between your thighs, you shiver underneath him. burying your head in shame between your arms, you whine. “ngh, daddy,” and a weird feeling pools around the insides of your stomach. butterflies and a mixture of flutters swarm inside of you and you moan. once those words slip past your lips so prettily, toji raspily groans. he pistons his hips before not even seconds later, he’s fucking you stupid. babbles of babbles leave from you, and you’re acting just like the main character you write for. ironic, you’re clinging onto the silky cream-colored sheets, bawling up the thinly-made fabric with your clammy fists before squealing. “fuck, daddy ‘m not gonna last.”

“should hear how stupid you fuckin’ sound, baby,” he growls, merciless hips snapping into you at full throttle. you were gonna break, you just knew it. toji’s thrusts were so powerful that you’re left squeaking out pathetic whimpers—his cock stretching you out as if you were elastic. “fuck,” he runs a hand through his messy dark tresses. his shaggy strands were unkempt, overgrown a bit and running down his eyes. he’s got to cock his head up a bit just to see your pretty face and your even prettier ass. “c’monnn, do that cute arch you describe in y’r slutty fics.”

“t- tojiii,” you whimper, the weight of the bed dipping after each continuous stroke. he’s thorough. toji’s maddened fat tip has your legs becoming more and more unstable before he smacks your ass. the powerful hit against your rear rings through each of your ears—and you pout, gnawing on your lip, knowing he wants you to correct yourself. “ngh, i- i mean daddy. ‘m gonna cum, fuck.”

but right when you’re about to finish, you’re interrupted by the ear-splitting sound of wood. you’re moaning—feeling your pussy continue to squeeze around his throbbing length that’s coated with veins all the way down to the tan swollen base. it’s loud, you gasp once the weight of the springy bed suddenly drops and you both collapse—toji falling on top of you. he doesn’t even say anything, and he pulls you up to continue fucking you but you let off a whiny whimper. “you just broke my b-bed.”

“yeah, so.”

“so..? you’re gonna have to buy me a new one.”

“right. about that . .”

[luvbabydoll]

more to love — simon “ghost” riley

simon “ghost” riley x chubby!fem!reader

the gym had never been your favorite place.

it was hot, crowded, and full of people who made it look easy—like lifting weights and running on treadmills was second nature. meanwhile, you were here, struggling with a machine that looked like it was built for torture rather than exercise.

you adjusted the seat, tried to grab the handles, then frowned when they felt too far away.

frustration bubbled up in your chest. maybe you were just doing it wrong. maybe you shouldn’t even be here.

“need a hand, love?”

the deep, accented voice startled you. you turned—and immediately regretted it.

because holy shit.

the man standing behind you was massive. tall, broad-shouldered, built like he could snap the machine in half with one hand. he was dressed in all black, a hoodie pulled up over his head, a skull mask covering the lower half of his face. and yet, even with all that, his presence alone made heat crawl up your neck.

“i—uh—” words? gone. brain? empty.

his eyes flicked down to the machine, then back to you.

“you’re set too far back.” his voice was gruff, like he wasn’t used to talking much. “lemme show you.”

before you could protest, he reached past you, adjusting the seat effortlessly. his arm barely grazed yours, but it was enough to make you hyper-aware of how close he was.

“try now.”

you swallowed hard, nodding, trying to ignore how warm your face felt as you reached for the handles again. this time, it fit better.

“better?”

you nodded again. “y-yeah, thanks.”

he huffed, stepping back, arms crossing over his chest. “good. no point in doin’ it if you’re just gonna hurt yourself.”

at first, that was all it was. he’d spot you now and then, offering the occasional correction, always watching with that unreadable gaze. sometimes, if you did something right, he’d murmur a quiet "good girl," and it sent a shiver down your spine every time.

but then, he started noticing things.

the way your shirt rode up when you stretched, the peek of soft skin at your waist. the way your thighs pressed together when you sat down to catch your breath. the way you avoided looking in the mirror, adjusting your clothes like you were trying to hide yourself.

and it pissed him off.

because, fuck, how did you not see what he saw?

one day, you were tugging at your shirt again, mumbling something under your breath as you glared at your reflection.

ghost heard it.

“quit that.”

you froze, looking up at him, wide-eyed.

he stepped closer, his voice dropping low. dangerous. “ain’t gonna stand here and watch you tear yourself apart. not when you’re the prettiest thing i’ve ever laid eyes on.”

your breath hitched. “i—”

but he didn’t let you finish. he grabbed your wrist, tugging you toward the locker room—empty, because it was late—and backed you against the wall.

“y’know what i see when i look at you?” his gloved hand trailed down, fingers brushing over your belly, gripping at the soft flesh with something close to reverence. “i see somethin’ perfect.”

then his mask was up just enough for you to see his mouth, and before you could process it, he was biting.

your belly. your thighs. your love handles. he had his hands on you, all over you, pressing you against the wall as he nipped, kissed, worshiped every inch of soft skin he could reach. he growled between bites, “so fuckin’ soft,” and, ‘could spend all night right here.”

and when you tried to protest, tried to tell him you weren’t—

he growled. actually growled, sinking his teeth into your thigh before pulling back, lips curling into something almost smug.

“don’t wanna hear another word about it,” he muttered. then, hoisted you up—like it was nothing—and carried you over to the bench.

“now. y’gonna let me sit you on my lap, or you gonna make me take you home first?”

[robinsgrl]

toxic baby daddy rafe does something to me. no soft rafe (only with his girls and only sometimes). he’s abrasive and harsh. even more when someone messes with you. yooo where my panties at

mdni 18+

It’s been three months. Three months without Rafe as your boyfriend. Three months of his only title in your life being your baby daddy. There were days where you would refuse to even call him that.

In high school, you loved the sound of his voice. You loved how the palm of his hand felt at the small of your back. You loved that being around him brought you a sense of peace.

Now, all you two do is argue. About everything and anything. Even if you do start half of them. Not now, though.

“What I do in my spare time is none of your business!” Luckily, Samara’s in the living room, her noise cancelling headphones on as she watches some YouTube show, giggling when something funny comes up. You’d usually try and pay attention to her screen time but you can’t when Rafe is in your home and bitching at you.

“So you’re whoring it up when Samara’s with me?” His words are harsh, spitting them at you.

Your eyes are wide and bewildered as you look up at him, chest rising and falling from the intense match you’re having. “Listen to yourself! Whoring it up? Are you from the fifties? Women can have sex without being called a whore nowadays!”

“So you are fucking someone? Who is he.” It’s not a question. It’s a goddamn demand and you hate the way it makes your knees feel weak.

You scoff loudly, rolling your eyes. “I’m not fucking anyone.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me, ___, Topper fucking saw you.”

“Topper’s your dick rider.” You spit back out. It comes without warning. His big hand falls on your neck, tightening around you. Your back pushes up against the wall, eyes wide and up on his as he stares down at you angrily.

His face nears yours, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. A shudder runs through your body and you want to shut your legs to help ease the sensation between them but he forces his knee to you. “I’ll kill any man who gets near you, do you fucking hear me?” His words are low and menacing. From anyone else, it’d be scary. It’d drive you away and straight to goddamn police station. But from him? You can’t deny how good it feels.

Rafe’s always been protective of you. Since you two met, he’s hovered around you like a scary dog, growling at anyone who came your way. It grew when you got knocked up in your senior year of high school. And it grew tenfold when your baby girl was born. But it got to be suffocating. You broke it off with him and it took him two weeks to realize you were being serious.

You would never admit that you made a mistake. Not ever. Admitting that you miss him only lets him win. It gives him a point. And yes, you should be mature enough to realize this isn’t a game but he’s so damn cocky about it. The last thing you need from Rafe is a bigger ego.

“Who is he?”

“Eric. Eric Jones.” You admit easily, breath shaky and full of a need for him.

“Did he fuck you?”

You can’t answer. He repeats himself.

“Did he fuck you?”

You nod, hands falling to his arm as his hand tightens on your neck. His eyes won’t leave your face, taking you in completely. You can see it all. The anger. The jealousy. The twinge of hurt. He pulls his hand from your neck and pulls away from you. “Call your mother. Tell her to pick Samara up.”

“What?”

“Just fucking do it.” And you do. Like always, you do as told and Samara’s off with her grandma for the night.

“He can’t fuck you like I can.” You’re a drooling mess as he pounds into you from behind, the sound of skin on skin meeting fills the room. His hand is in your hair, forcing your head back. “Tell me. Tell me how good I make you feel.”

The moans and whimpers coming from you won’t stop. You try to form words as he keeps shattering your world but it won’t come out. “Fucking slut. Answer me.” His hands trail down to your neck, pushing you up slightly to sit as he keeps fucking into you. Your back arches up against him, toes curling as you feel the building ache in the bottom of your belly.

He groans loudly as he feels your walls clench down on him as you curse out loud, grinding down on him to reach that peak you want so badly.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so fucking tight. He couldn’t even fuck you right, could he? My poor girl, getting fucked by amateurs.” His fingers trail down to your freed tits, pinching at your pebbled nipples. “I don’t care what break you think we’re on, when you need a good fucking, come to me. No one can ever make you this cock drunk.”

You’re nodding frantically, “yes, yes, fuck, Rafe! Rafe! Oh, fuck!” You come undone when his fingers find their way to your clit, rubbing at your sensitive and pulsing bundle of nerves.

At this very moment, you’re grateful for the house that Rafe bought you instead of cooping up in the one bedroom apartment you wanted when you moved out of his place. You had hated the power he had for giving you such a nice place but you’re grateful now as you moan and yell his name, body convulsing as his fingers keep working against you.

“Raaaafe, fuck!” He’s pushing deep and deeper as he pushes your front side back onto the bed. The overstimulation is making you writhe beneath him, pretty whimpers leaving your swollen and reddened lips. You can tell he’s reaching his own end when his thrusts become harder and longer, momentum slowing.

One pump. Two pumps. Three. Four. And he’s groaning in your ear, his front pressed up against your back as he comes inside of you from behind, your cunt fluttering around him at the full feeling of his load.

—

You awaken hours later to the bed dipping beside you. You had fallen asleep in Rafe’s arms after he had cleaned you up and whispered soothing and sweet nothings into your ear.

“Rafe?” You sit up tiredly, rubbing at your eyes to wipe the sleep away. His back is turned to you, the most relaxed you’d seen him in a while.

You scooch closer to him, pinched eyes trying to take a look at him. A small gasp leaves you as you see his bloodied and scarred hands. “Go back to sleep, baby.” His polo is covered in dribbles of blood, some drops of it drying up on his face.

You want to ask questions. You want to clean him up. But you can’t. You’re not a very good liar and the last time the police came around asking for your help, you almost broke, but Rafe was always thinking of you, his lawyer cleaning up the mess you made with the police. He had kissed and soothed you down from your teary apologies that night for being weak.

You nod, yawning softly, “okay… just… put the shirt in the wash.” It’s his turn to nod, a soft smile on his face as he presses a kiss to the top of your head.