#i have been called out already about the sweat and his hips

[enhani-ki]

round with my baby - reader x ni-ki

warnings: smut, pregnancy scare, cursing, etc.

sex with your boyfriend ni-ki had never really been possible before. between his packed schedule and the fact that his dorm was never truly empty, there was just never a right moment.

you both always kept things quiet and sneaky—stolen kisses behind closed doors, hands slipping under clothes when no one was looking. every moans was muffled against the crook of each other's necks, always heated and hurried but stopping just before things went too far.

ni-ki didn't have much experience either, but he admitted that with you, he feels more confident. being close to you made him curious—eager to touch, explore, and try all the things he'd only ever thought about before.

"fuuuck," he groaned, head falling forward to rest against yours. "you feelーyou feel so good, baby."

and ever since he got some time off, ni-ki didn't wasted a second and spent every moment with you. he doesn't even care now if there were people in the dorm while he's fucking you.

"faster, riki—please, please," you cried out, fingers digging into his back as you tried to pull him closer, like it would somehow make him go deeper.

your inside walls were so warm, so wet, he swore it should've been easy to move—but you were gripping him too well, it's so hard to think straight.

your head was spinning too. his hips slapped against yours with so much urgency, his breathless moans falls with every thrust. you felt his cock twitched inside of you. he was close.

"wait—shit, shit, shit," he gasped, eyes wide as he tried to pull out, but it was too late.

ni-ki's cum was already leaking from your swollen pussy. it was still spilling from his tip also, thick and hot... your boy couldn't help it as it really felt too good to stop in time.

"oh my god—baby…" ni-ki kissed you, guilt flashed in his face, though his rock-hard cock was twitching against your inner thigh, begging to be inside again.

"mmh, it felt good," you whispered. wrapping your arms around him needy, even after he had filled you.

"yeーyeah? can i put it back in?" he asked, wiping the sweat off your forehead before pressing a kiss on your lips.

"yes, riki... hurry," you moaned. ni-ki lined himself back into the mess he made between your thighs, groaning as he slid inside. your body was already sensitive, overstimulated, but the moment he filled you again, you suddenly prefer if he could fuck you 'til you go dumb.

your back arched off the bed. "how—how come you're so good?" you asked him. leaning to bite his lower lip, enough for it to sting and for him to hiss.

ni-ki cursed under his breath before chuckling, eyes locked on the way your body trembled beneath him. the sheets were already soaked from the juices of slick and his cum dripping from your swollen cunt. "you're so sexy,"

he leaned back to watch himself slide in and out of you—slow, deep, then fast. the sight made his breath hitch, seeing how his cock glistened each time it dragged out before sinking back in. "babe, you're dripping everywhere…"

you hands clawed at his shoulders, "almost thereーriki, i'm—!" ni-ki felt your pussy throbbing inside, he picked up his pace the moment he heard you call out his name. "cum," he demanded, panting while kissing the corner of your mouth. "let me feel you, baby."

he held you tight the moment your walls fluttered around him, locking you in place as you came. your sharp cries filled the room, trying to push him away.

and without missing a beat, ni-ki started thrusting harder and faster, pounding into your soaking pussy while covering your neck with sloppy kisses and licks. "that's it, y/n... cum on my cock," he whispered. "soak me, and i'm gonna fill you up—i swear."

his words shot pleasure straight to your core that you can't stop leaking. he started cumming too almost instantly after, the hot spurts of his release surged deep inside your womb.

"fuuuck, take it all," ni-ki gasped, slamming into you a few more times while you milked him for every last drop of his seed.

his cock were still buried inside, twitching as he collapsed on top of you. ni-ki looked up to press soft kisses to your neck, your jaw, your lips "i love you so much, y/n..."

"i love you too, baby."

the period tracker, which you both used more as a joke at first, now looked insane—full of hearts and entries of unprotected sex.

...too many "didn't pull out" notes to count.

even when he hadn't moved yet, you already felt like crying. all ni-ki did was stay still inside, cock throbbing gently, but your eyes welled up.

he pulled back, gave a shallow thrust, then froze. "y/n…" he whispered, staring at your heaving tits. his brows were furrowed like he's thinking about something mid-fucking. "i—fuck—i don't know," he said leaning down to kiss your cheek, then your lips. "if i finish inside you again… you might really get pregnant."

your breath got caught in your throat, "huhー?" ni-ki kissed you again before you could say anything, his tongue roamed inside that all you could do was to whimper into his mouth.

"i'm gonna take care of you, baby."

days passed, then weeks. your body starts to feel strange, your body felt heavy, and on top of that... your period didn't come.

you ignored it and blamed it on stress, but you also stopped texting ni-ki back. you stopped answering your boyfriend's calls because every time his name lit up your screen, your stomach flip.

you don't know what to say to him. you weren't even sure what you feel but you know you needed space, even though all it did was make your head hurt more.

riki: talk to me, please.

riki: baby?

ni-ki showed up at your place eventually. he didn't say anything at first—he just sat beside you and pulled you into his arms to hold you tight. he kissed your temple, your cheek, and the top of your head.

"why don't you talk to me?" he asked softly, hurt, but mostly concerned.

"iーi didn't know how," you whispered. "i just… i feel weird. and i don't even have my period yet."

"riki… i don't know if i'm just being paranoid or if something's actually happening." you sniffled, his arms tightened protectively around you.

"it's possible," you continued. "i mean… with how much we've been—y'know…"

"with how much i came inside you every chance i got?" he finished the words for you, smiling gently as he tucked your hair behind your ear.

you looked away, blushing at his words. "don't say it like that… i wanted it too."

"i know, but it's still on me," he said softly. "'m sorry, baby." ni-ki cupped your face and kissed you sweetly, brushing his thumb along your cheek... he loves you too much.

"i told you," he murmured. "no matter what happens—whatever you want—i'm going to take care of you... promise."

he then tilted your chin up until your teary eyes met his. "you're not alone, y/n."

"you're so pretty," ni-ki pulled you in his chest, letting you rest while his hand stroked your back gently. "you know what i'm thinking about sometimes?" he asked, burying his face in your hair. "coming home to you. you, wrapping your arms around me…"

"or letting me bend you over the counter, fucking you on the couch... having our mess all over the place."

"what?!" you laughed through a teary smile, feeling warm for the first time in days.

he chuckled too, "yeah. i want to see you walking around naked," he murmured, lips grazing your skin...

"you can be swollen, round with my baby."

you looked up at him and gave his arm a light slap, but your glare didn't last when he pouted, silently asking for a kiss.

you couldn't help it. you just chuckled and leaned in after watching your boyfriend turn to a man then back to being a cute ridiculous boyfriend again.

a/n: this is crazy T-T prayers for reader plzzz + posted this along with enhypen as your "stressed" boss check it out too (^_^) also made this listening to sweet love by chris brown.

masterlist: マスターリストm.list

[zoro-sremedy]

My backshots sound like bongos!

Synopsis. Your back hurts and they offer the best service!

Including. Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Toji, Sukuna.

Risk assessment 18+ mdni, smut and crack, stablished relationship, reader is unprotected, spanking, backshots, soft dom/dom vibes.

a/n: i did say a drabble might happen, and obvs i couldn't resist!!! Inspired by this beauty

GOJO SATORU—"LET'S LOOSEN YOU UP"

"My back's killing me. Come break it?"

You're half-joking. Maybe he'll bring a massage gun. Maybe he'll make a dumb pun.

Instead, Gojo shows up at your door thirty minutes later with a devil's grin and a bottle of oil.

"Emergency response team reporting for duty," he says, stepping inside like owns the place.

"You're not serious."

"I'm always serious about back-blowing."

You open your mouth to clarify—massage, not mayhem—but then his hands are on your shoulders, kneading casually while his mouth brushes your ear.

"You're tense," he murmurs. "You need something deep. Penetrating. Therapeutic."

Your protests die in your throat because… okay, his hands do feel good. Strong fingers work under your shoulder blades, slow and firm, and when he kneels behind you, straddling your thighs like it's nothing, you feel his breath hit the nape of your neck.

"Satoru—"

"Shh," he whispers, mouth grazing your skin. "Just breathe."

The shirt comes off first. Then your shorts. Then his hands slide lower, gliding over your hips with oil-slick precision, a finger dips between your thighs, testing your heat, and he lets out a low whistle.

"Damn. Didn't even have to flip you over. You're so ready to be fixed."

You turn your head to glare, but he's already lining himself up. Smiling like the demon he was.

"I hope your insurance covers maximum damage."

And then he's inside.

The first thrust knocks the air from your lungs. The second has your toes curling. By the third, you forget your own name.

He's slow at first—teasing, dragging his cock all the way out just to slam back in until your entire body jolts. One hand holds your hip steady, the other presses between your shoulder blades, forcing you down like this is some goddamn yoga pose.

"Good girl," he groans, rolling his hips. "Look at you. Taking it so well. Gonna break you in all the right ways."

The room fills with the sound of skin slapping, your breathy moans, and his sinful little chuckles every time your body arches under him.

"Feeling better yet?" he murmurs against your neck.

"No," you pant. "Harder."

He growls.

The pace changes. No more play. Just pure, ruinous rhythm—balls slapping your ass, hands gripping your hips like they're handles, the head of his cock hitting the spot that makes you tremble.

You come with a cry, body convulsing, nails clawing at the sheets. Gojo groans, deep and hungry, hips stuttering as he fills you to the brim.

Afterwards, he collapses beside you, glistening with sweat and absolutely zero shame.

"You're welcome," he says, smug.

Your voice is hoarse. "That wasn't a massage."

"Sure it was. I touched your back and blew it out. Multi-tasking king."

GETO SUGURU—"YOU CALLED, MY PRIESTESS?"

It started with a text.

My back hurts. Break it?"

He replies instantly, like he's been waiting for this moment.

"Physically? Spiritually? Emotionally? "Massage, dumbass." "Got it. All three."

You expect a bottle of lotion and a pervy smirk.

What you get instead is Geto Suguru in a black kimono, hair tied up, sleeves loose, and a slow, knowing smile like he just walked out of a shrine and into your depravity.

"Lay down," he says, voice velvet-smooth, already lighting incense like this is a ceremony.

"Is this gonna get weird?" you ask.

He glances over his shoulder, eyes glinting. "You texted me 'break my back' and thought this wouldn't get weird?"

Touché.

Still, you obey. You lie down on the mat he brought—yes, he brought his own mat, wtf—and let him straddle you. His palms are warm. Soothing. Sinfully slow as they glide down your back.

"Stay just like that," he says, voice deepening. "Arms above your head. Legs spread. Back arched—good girl."

Your breath stutters. That was a lot for a massage intro.

"This is how we start," he murmurs, leaning close. His lips brush your ear. "So your body's prepared. Submission is a sacred act."

You snort. "You sound like a cult leader."

"I am." He grins. "And tonight, you're my only follower."

And then you feel it: oil drizzled, fingers gliding down your spine, rubbing slow circles into the small of your back, working lower with every pass. His hands are hot. Intentional. Reverent.

Your brain short-circuits around the same time his hands slip lower, cupping your ass like it's part of the ritual. You try to lift your head, but he presses you down gently.

"Shh," he coos. "Let me heal you."

You're wet. Shamefully so. And he hasn't even touched you where it counts—yet. That changes fast.

One hand stays on the small of your back, grounding. The other slips between your thighs, fingers gliding through slick folds like a prayer. He groans low.

"You were made for worship," he whispers, tracing lazy circles over your clit. "Look at you. Ready to be blessed."

Before you can answer, he shifts up behind you. The rustle of fabric tells you he's already stroking himself, and then—he drags the head of his cock through your soaked folds like he's blessing the altar.

"I'm going to take my time," he says softly. "Make sure you feel eeeevery inch."

And then he sinks in.

You moan—loud. His name, a curse, maybe both. He's huge, thick, and it's all so deep from this angle—his cock hits you from behind like it's meant to change your fate.

"Take it," he murmurs. "Let me ruin you right."

He starts moving. Slow, grinding thrusts at first, pushing you flat against the mat. His palm presses between your shoulder blades, holding you down while he fucks you like a man possessed.

Geto groans like he's the one being ruined. "Fuck, this is divine. Look at you. Face down, ass up—made to be worshipped."

You babble something incoherent.

"Breathe, pretty thing," he coos. "You can take it. You asked for this."

He leans over you, still slamming into your soaked cunt from behind, and kisses your spine like he's reading a prayer off it.

"Gonna fuck you until your back gives out. Until your knees shake. Until this pretty little body remembers who you belong to."

Your moans are broken, loud, begging. Every thrusts slaps against your ass, each one rougher, deeper—until you're shaking under him, climax ripping through you so hard your vision goes white."

"Yeah, just like that," he groans, voice wrecked. "Come all over me, priestess."

He follows with a deep guttural moan, spilling inside you as he grinds his hips against yours, burying himself to the hilt.

You're both panting when he finally pulls out, slick dripping down your thighs, his hand rubbing slow circles on your back again like he's sealing the ritual.

“Feel healed yet?” he asks with a smug smile.

You wheeze. “You shattered me like a fucking cursed object.”

“Mm,” he hums, kissing your temple. “Praise be.”

NANAMI KENTO —"LET ME TAKE CARE OF YOU"

It starts with a simple message:

"My back hurts. You busy?"

He replies two minutes later, like he was already halfway out the door.

"I'm on my way. Don't do anything strenuous."

You think he means a shoulder rub. Maybe even tea and a lecture about taking breaks. You don't expect Nanami to show up in his rolled-sleeve dress shirt, tie secured around his neck, hair just slightly mussed like he ran his fingers through it too many times on the train over.

And that look he gives you? It says he's not here just to fix your posture.

"You could've called earlier," he murmurs, setting his watch on your desk. "You know I'd drop anything for you."

You smile. "Didn't want to interrupt your work—"

"I'll always make time for you."

You blink at the sudden warmth in his voice, but then he steps close. His hands are on your sides, raising goose bumps along the way, pressing softly against your lower back with soothing circles.

"Right here?" he murmurs. "Where it aches?"

"Yeah," you whisper.

"Let me fix it."

You expect pressure. Massage. Something clinical. But instead:

"Assume the position."

You blink. "You mean—"

"Face down. Elbows on the desk. Legs apart."

You do as you're told. Because of course you do. Because something in his tone makes your knees weak and your cunt throb.

He steps behind you, warm hands smoothing up your sides, over your hips, thumbs digging into the tight muscles. His touch is firm. Intentional.

And then—he pauses.

"Your lower back is tight," he mutters, voice deepening. "I'll fix it."

You thought he was going to press his fingers into your skin. What you get is his palm gliding under your waistband, fingers brushing against skin, tugging everything down in one motion.

"Nanami—"

"I said I'd take care of it. Don't talk back."

You gasp. Then you moan—loud—because his hand dips between your thighs, two fingers running through slick folds like he's confirming what he already knew.

"Hm. Wet already," he says, like it's a report he's filling. "I haven't even started."

Then you hear it. The sound of his belt. The hiss of fabric sliding down.

You arch your back instinctively.

"Desperate," he mutters. You just needed an excuse, didn't you?"

You tried to tell him that was not true, that you really just needed to have your back rubbed.

But he lines up. Grips your waist. Pushes in slow.

You choke on a moan. He's thick, long, steady as a metronome as he sinks into you, inch by inch, stretching you open like you were made for it.

Once he's fully inside, he leans over your back. His breath brushes your ear.

"This angle is perfect," he murmurs. "Let me realign your spine properly."

Then he starts moving.

Slow, measured thrusts that build tension like a clock ticking down. Every snap of his hips knocks your desk forward an inch. Every slap of skin against skin echoes off the office walls. His hands hold you in place—no escape, no mercy.

You look up—and catch his reflection in the glass window.

Loosened tie. Muscles flexing. Jaw clenched. Focused.

"Look at yourself," he says. "See what a pretty mess you are."

You do. And it makes you whimper, because Nanami is staring at your reflection too, watching himself fuck you with precision that borders on obsession.

"Taking me so well", he mutters. "Back arched perfectly. You'll thank me for this tomorrow."

You come with a cry, vision hazy, walls clenching hard around him. He groans, pace faltering as he grips your hips harder.

"Fuck—" he hisses, voice breaking as he buries himself deep, spilling inside you with a grunt. "Goddamn…"

Silence. Heavy breathing. His hand rubs lazy circles over your back as you tremble against the desk.

Then—

"Next time," he says, tucking himself away and smoothing your hair, "schedule me in advance. I'll bring proper equipment."

You laugh, breathless. "What, like a foam roller?"

He smirks. "No. Restraints."

FUSHIGURO TOJI —"DON'T TAP OUT NOW"

"Your back hurts?"

He grins like the devil he is as he pushes you flat onto the bed, tugging your hips up with a single hand and yanking your panties down with his teeth.

"Lemme guess. You want me to fix it?"

He doesn't wait for an answer.

You yelp as he flips you onto your stomach, manhandling you like he'd been waiting all night to throw you around. One big hand presses down between your shoulder blades, keeping you chest-down, ass up—exactly how he likes it.

"Cute," he mutters, dragging the head of his cock through your slick folds. "You wanted backshots, and didn't think I'd take that literally?"

You barely manage a breath before he thrusts in—deep, fast, merciless. No warm-up. No build up. Just a brutal, thick stretch that makes your eyes roll back and your fingers claw at the sheets.

"Fuckin' tight," he growls, snapping his hips into you with obscene force. "Gonna fuck the tension outta ya', princess."

Every thrust slams your hips forward. The bed creaks. Your moans are barely coherent, but he's eating them up like a man starved.

"Yeah, that's it. "You hear yourself? That sloppy little sound every time I slam into you? Fuck, you love this, huh?"

You try to speak. All that comes out is his name—half a whimper, half a plea.

Toji leans down, his body blanketing yours, cock still driving into you like he's trying to rearrange your guts. His hand fists your hair and yanks your head to the side so his mouth is at your ear.

"Say it," he snarls. "Say you wanted it just like this."

You moan. "I—I did—Toji—"

"That's right. Wanted me to ruin you, huh?" He grins against your skin, all teeth and deranged. "Back's gonna be fucked after this. And not 'cause you're sure. 'Cause I'm planting you on this mattress."

He fucks you harder.

Faster.

Filthier.

You're drooling into the sheets, ass smacking loud with every thrust, your body reduced to trembles as he pounds into you like it's a sport.

"Tap out if it's too much," he says smugly, already knowing you won't.

Because the second he angles his hips just right, your body seizes around him and you come violently, sobbing into the pillow as your thighs quake.

"Fuck," Toji growls, losing rhythm. "Takin' me so good, ma—shit, I'm gonna—"

He buries himself to the hilt, lets out a broken moan, and fills you with a load so warm and thick it drips from around the base before he's even pulled back.

For a second, the only sound is both of you breathing hard.

Then he leans back, slaps your ass, and grins.

“Still sore?”

You twitch.

He laughs.

“Good. We’ll go again in five.”

RYOMEN SUKUNA —"YOU ASKED FOR A GOD, DIDN'T YOU?"

"Back hurts, huh?"

Sukuna laughs like you just said something adorable. The kind of laugh that chills your spine—because he's already behind you, already hard, and already decided what kind of night it's going to be.

You poor thing," he coos mockingly. "Let me fuck the pain right out of you."

You're already chest down, ass in the air, thighs trembling from the first orgasm he barely let you recover from. And now?

Now it's worse.

Because all four of his hands are on you—one spreading your ass, another gripping your throat from underneath, the third one cradling your belly to feel every deep thrust, and the four slapping down over your spine just to keep you pinned.

His cock is buried to the hilt, thick and veiny and monstrously deep, rutting into you with relentless force. Every time he slams in, you jolt forward, breath punched from your lungs, drool slipping past your lips onto the sheets.

"Fuck, listen to you," he growls. "Sloppy, wet, desperate—my perfect little cocksleeve."

You moan something that might be his name, and his laugh turns darker.

"That's right. Cry for me. Moan for me. This is what you wanted, isn't it? On your knees for a god?"

He leans in, tongue dragging up your spine as he pounds into you harder—deep, brutal backshots that make your ass ripple, his name a broken chant on your lips.

"You wanted worship?" he hisses. "Then take it. I'll worship every inch of you—while I fucking ruin you."

He presses kisses to the back of your neck between thrusts, almost tender—if not for the vicious snap of his hips and the way his fingers bruise your skin as he holds you down.

"You think anyone else can fuck you like this?" he growls, voice a gravel rasp in your ear. "Think anyone else could own you like this?"

Your moans are incoherent now, your body a mess of pleasure and overstimulation. Your knees buckle, and he catches you with ease—two hands holding you up, the others lifting your hips back into place.

"Don't you dare fall now," he hisses. "I'm not done. Not until you forget what walking feels like."

Your climax slams into you like a tidal wave—legs shaking, mouth open in a silent scream, everything white-hot. You clamp down around him, and he groans, shoving in one last time before he fills you, cock twitching as he pumps you full.

He doesn't pull out.

Instead, he strokes your trembling sides with surprisingly gentle hands, his voice low and smug:

"You break so beautifully for me."

A pause.

Then his tongue flicks against your ear.

"…Round two, pet?"

[c4tluver02]

too hot!

wc: 2.5k

summary: Going over to Steves for a pool day turns into races and playing mermaids.

warnings: r had female anatomy, Steve has a dirty mind, Steves taller than r.. nothing crazy!!

a/n: i feel like ive written like three pool pics w steve but i am who i am.

The July heat was no joke. Not even the blast of Steve’s car AC was enough to stop the sweat from dripping down your neck. He had offered to pick you up to take you to his place to swim. A nice cold pool waiting for the two of you sounded like heaven in itself. 

You were already in your bathing suit when he got to your place, only a small pair of shorts covered you enough for Steve's liking. Good thing you're gonna be in the privacy of his backyard he thinks. 

The drive to his place is nice, the music is playing and the gold in his hair is really poking out today. You swear the sun makes his hair lighter. He’s also wearing his swim trunks, already been in the cold pool trying to clean it before calling you. However, he's wearing a shirt making it appear as a normal outfit. But you know those short swim trunks better than anyone, they show just the right amount of thigh that makes your mouth water. 

“I like these.” Steve says pulling at the bow on your hip. He’s talking about your swimming suit you so comfortably show off. 

“Thanks baby. I hope I get a good tan.” You say as turn your body towards him more. 

“Did you hear the UV on the news? It’s at like 9 right now.” He really wishes you had something on because to drive and look at you was something he was having trouble multitasking. 

The conversation from there flows easily, both of you happy to be in each other's presence. 

–

Once you get to Steve’s place he’s quick to take his shirt off, lazily discarding it to the couch as he goes to the kitchen. 

Copying the same motion to take off your shorts you lay them next to Steve's shirt as you follow him. Both of you are now ready to swim and Steve got drinks for you two. He’s even sweet enough to open the door for you, the ground is so hot you can feel it through your thin flip flops. 

The sweetness immediately stops when he presses his cold can on soda against you back making you squeal. He laughs as you try to do the same back but sigh when you don't get the same shocked reaction. 

Steve thinks about pushing you into the pool when you bend over to dip your hand in, feeling the water out. But with the open soda if your hand and the teasing he just pulled he goes against the idea. 

“I think you having a pool is the best thing that ever happened to me.” You say as you step down the stairs in the water. 

This makes Steve roll his eyes and flash a pretty smile. “Really? The best thing that's ever happened to you?” 

You turn to him as you stand on the last step, thigh deep in the water, pretending to think about his question. 

“Hm, yep! I am pretty sure it’s the best thing to happen ever actually.” 

“Funny, cause I could think of a few things that would actually top being in a pool.” He says going into the water himself. 

“What, like sports and beer?” You giggle, flicking some water at him. 

“Mmm no I was thinking something maybe like pus-” You slap your hand against his mouth before he gets it out. Already a step ahead of his dirty mind, knowing him too well. 

Taking your hand off his mouth when he stops talking. “You’re awful Steve Harrington.” But it’s said with a smile, cheeks already burning red. 

“You look really pretty in your little swimming suit, have I told you that yet?” He asks walking  towards you. The area of the pool you are standing in isn't deep, the water hitting him at his stomach. 

“You told me you liked it but not that I look pretty in it.” Your lying against the wall of the pool, both of your arms laying out of it as you put down your drink. 

Steve cages you in putting down his own drink. “Well I think you look really pretty. Even without the bathing suit.” He adds cheekily with a wink. 

“Oh well thank you! How sweet of you to say that.” You play along. Steve always acts the same when he sees you in a bathing suit, sweet but ready to turn it to something else if you asked. 

“I am known for being sweet so that checks out.” He responds, giving you a quick kiss, removing his arms from your sides where he was trapping you. 

“Wait, I'm gonna go under.” 

“Okay watch out for sharks.” Steve says getting a drink of his soda. 

“That's not funny, you know I hate sharks.” You say turning to him with a frown. The single mention of it taking away your light demeanor.  

“Baby you're in a pool there's no sharks. Go under.” 

You do as he says despite wanting to roll your eyes and fully submerge yourself under the water. When you get back up you push your hair out of your face and it gives you an idea. 

“Steve, did you ever play games in the pool as a kid?” 

His relaxed look tells you he’s not really in the pool to play games but to sit and chill. You on the other hand have been in the water for 3 minutes and can’t sit still.

“Uh, not really. Never had anyone to play games with. Also I never really went swimming since I was home alone.” 

He says it so casually but your heart breaks for a second at the information. You knew he was alone a lot but maybe it was worse than he lets on.

“Well good thing I’m here we can play.” You give him a soft smile and grab his hand. He’s following along but unsure by what you mean. 

“Did you ever pretend to be George Washington?” The smile that breaks on his face is wide and you can tell he is already interested. 

“Um no what's that?” 

“Okay so you go underwater and then flip your hair over and then when you come up you fold it and you’ll look like George.” 

Steve laughs at the way you say his first name like you know him. “Can you show me?” You explained it fairly well but if he's gonna embarrass himself by getting something wrong he’ll be over and done with the games. 

You nod and do as you just said, under the water, coming back up, and flipping your hair over itself. Steve lets out a loud laugh at how you look, he’s clearly never seen this and it makes your heart grow twice its size. 

“You do it! I think you have long enough hair for it.” 

Steve copies and when he comes up he tries to fold it but obviously not as familiar with the motion as you are, it falls before it has a chance to stand. 

“Here lemme do it. Go back down and come up.” It may sound demanding but your tone is so gentle it’s anything but. 

For the second time he goes down and comes back up and you fold the front of his hair for him. It doesn't look as George Washingotn as yours does but the idea is there. It still gets a laugh out of you all the same and Steve knows he looks funny but to hear your laugh he couldn't care less how he looks.

“It’s close enough, I guess it’s a girl thing.” You shrug as you bend your head back to dunk your hair in the water, getting it back to its original state. Steve just shakes his head to get the water out. 

“What's another game you played?” Steve asks.

“We could rate each other's hand stands? I would do a bunch of tricks and make my parents rate them like I was a gymnast.” 

“Okay, do you wanna go first?” 

“Sure, ok when I come back up, give me a number from 1-10 based on how well I did.” You walk back from him a little so you don't hit him in the face when you bring your legs up. 

Steve can tell you've done this countless times because of how fast you go upside down and poke your legs straight out. 

Coming back for air you ask “So? How’d I do?” 

“I think that was a solid 9/10 you did really well!” His smile is contagious and you blush at his praise. 

“Thank you, now you go.” You say giving him space. 

Steve does as asked and when he is upside down he realizes this actually takes a bit of core strength. Too busy focusing on keeping himself up straight he lets his legs fall apart. 

“Okay, how was I?” He asks floating back up.

“That was like a 2/10. Your legs didn't even stay together! And you had sickled feet!” Steve doesn't even know what sickled feet means but it was true. 

“2/10?! It was my first time, coach, go easy on me!” 

“Okay fine maybe you can do better with front flips?” Steve's eyes widened at that. He can do a front flip no problem. 

“Okay watch, ready? Don’t blink or you’ll miss it.” He says getting out of the pool. You meant a small flip in the water but he must be so confident he could do it out of the water. 

“I won't blink, I have laser focus on you.” You promise. 

Steve takes a running start and does a big flip into the water. It is impressive you know you couldn't do that. 

When he resurfaces he asks what you would rate it. 

“I think that was a 10/10 and many know I'm a harsh critic.” You say clapping. 

“Thank you, no thank you, you’re too kind.” Steve says bowing. “Okay your turn.” He says swimming over to you, lightly pushing you out of his way so you can get out. 

“Okay, but I haven't done a flip in years. I am probably rusty.” You say walking out of the water. In Steve's mind you look like a Victoria's Secret model sensually getting out of the water, but in reality it's really cold and you feel like you're hunching over.

“Well I’m not a harsh judge unlike someone else.” 

You think about a running start like Steve did but you go against it. You do however make a big leap trying to get higher, this gives you barely anything and your flip is barely a flip. It’s more so a dive but when you touch the water you're folding. 

When you get out of the water you can hear Steves loud cackling. “Holy shit I thought my boobs fell out of my top.” This makes him laugh even harder. 

“Baby that was like a 0.5/10.” He jokes as you look down to make sure your boobs, in fact, didn't fall out of your top. Not that literally anyone (you or Steve) would mind.

You make a high pitched scoff. “I thought you said you weren't a harsh judge?” You're smaller than Steve and the way you almost drown trying to swim over to him is adorable. The doggy paddle isn't doing you any favors. 

Grabbing your arms to quickly drag you over to him, he gives you a hug. “That was barely even a flip.” 

You hug him back and wrap your legs around his waist. He’s holding you but because of the water you hold no weight. 

“I told you I wasn’t very good at them. And my top isn't for tricks. If I would have known I was gonna do flips I would have worn something different.” You try to defend yourself, but really you just can't flip. 

“It’s okay, at least you can do a handstand.” He can feel you twisting the hairs at the nape of his neck and the fact that your so close to him in this outfit, dripping wet, is starting to get to him. 

“We have one more thing to see who the real winner is.” You say letting him go completely. 

“And what's that?” 

“We have to race each other, whoever gets to the other side of the pool first wins.” 

Steve nods as he sees you messing with the time of your top. 

“Can you tie this tighter for me Stevie?” You ask moving your hair up and out of the way. 

Ready to help you in any way he notices the burn you're already developing. “Honey, your shoulders are already red.” Oh you did forget sunscreen. 

“It’s okay.” Another problem for another time. “Did you do it?” 

When he pulls taught on the strings he can feel just how heavy your chest is and it doesn't help his case. Nonetheless he ties it tighter and you give his cheek a quick kiss as a thanks.

“Ready?” You ask walking towards the wall for you two to start at. Your voice takes Steve out of his mind and walks with you. 

Both of you have your backs flat against the wall. “On three we go?” You ask. 

“Yeah I’ll count. One, two, three!” 

You both push off the wall as hard as you can but Steve goes way further than you. Thankfully you can open your eyes in the pool and you use it to your advantage. Using your arms to push you towards him you pull on the hem of his shorts. You dont pull hard, just enough to see the line between tan skin and pale skin but it makes Steve stutter. 

However, despite the move you pulled Steve still wins. When you both arise from the water, out of breath. 

“You little cheater!” Steve says using the last bit of air he had.

You giggle almost feeling light headed at the lack of air. “You were so fast!” It almost comes out whiny. “How are you so fast? That's not fair.” 

“I was a lifeguard. I guess I should have told you that before the race huh?” Steves squinting at the sun in his face. 

This time you give him a big splash and he gives you one just as big, if not bigger, back. Your squeals are loud, anyone who was passing by could hear them. The sound of a great time. 

“Okay Stevie that's all the games I have.” You say sighing. This was a lot of exercise. 

“That’s okay, I think we did enough in the pool, yeah?” He says, swimming to the other side of the pool to get your drinks. 

You just hop onto the ground and get out that way but you meet him to get your drink. 

“Did you wanna tan?” Steve asks, giving you a towel to dry off with.

“Can we eat something and then tan?” 

Steve doesn't really wanna tan but he’ll do whatever you want to do. 

“Okay baby, I got the watermelon you wanted.” 

“We can have watermelon and chips?” Steve doesn’t know why you’re asking him, he's gonna say yes either way. 

“That sounds good.” He agrees and opens the door for you to walk in. You’re still towel drying your hair but Steve can't get over how happy he is right now. He can't wait to spend the rest of summer like this.

[noelletronics]

Welcome Home, General (Hetalia Alfred F. Jones x Reader)

(This is NSFW! MDNI!)

(cw: Breeding, Marathon sex, really REALLY needy Alfred, he just came home from a mission in the military and he is STARVING for pussy, established relationship)

It’s just past 1:00 AM when the door unlocks. No one hears it, not even you. Because you’re fast asleep on the couch, wrapped in a throw blanket, face softened in the pale glow of the paused movie on your TV. A half-finished mug of tea sits cold on the coffee table. The room smells like vanilla and home. 

And Alfred? Alfred’s standing in the doorway, duffel bag at his feet, breath gone. You weren’t supposed to know he was coming home tonight. He was supposed to arrive in the morning, let you know he landed. Walk through the door with flowers and some dumb grin like everything was normal.

But now, seeing you there like this… peaceful, curled up in one of his old t-shirts, your bare legs tangled in the blanket, mouth slightly parted? He snaps. He doesn’t call your name. Doesn’t clear his throat.

He drops the bag. Kicks the door shut. And stalks toward you like a man possessed. You stir slightly as his heavy boots thud against the floor, but it isn’t until he’s yanking the blanket off your body that your eyes flutter open.

“Alfie…?”

He’s already on you. His hands are everywhere. Dragging your thighs apart, grabbing your hips, hauling you upward until you’re seated, dazed, against the couch cushions. You barely have time to gasp before his mouth is on yours. Hot. Open. Claiming. No “I missed you.” No “I’m home.”

Just raw, unfiltered need.

“Couldn’t wait,” he growls against your lips. “Fuck… couldn’t fucking wait another second.”

He tears your panties down with one hand, already rutting against you, still mostly clothed. Tactical pants half-unzipped, belt clinking loose, groaning when he feels how ready you are beneath him.

“You were waiting for me. Always so warm for me, baby… fuck.”

“Alfred, I-ah-!”

You try to speak, but he’s already sliding into you in one hard, deep thrust, and you swear you see stars. You clutch at his shirt, his hair, whatever you can grab as he starts moving without hesitation. Fast, rough, possessive. Each snap of his hips slams into you like he’s trying to bury months of longing in your skin. His forehead drops to yours, sweat dripping, voice wrecked.

“Thought about this every fucking night… This pretty little cunt. My girl. My home. You’re mine.”

Your moans echo through the dark, your back arching as he thrusts harder. Deeper .His hands gripping your thighs to keep you exactly where he needs you. The couch creaks violently. The TV light flickers behind you. And all you feel is him. Filling you. Ruining you. Loving you in the only language his body knows right now: desperation. You tighten around him, gasping his name, and he snarls, low and dangerous.

“You gonna come for me already? Huh, baby? Been so good while I was gone. Don’t hold back now. Fucking give it to me.”

And when you do - shuddering, crying out his name, nails dragging down his back - he loses it. His mouth crashes to yours in a bruising kiss, hips slamming deep as he spills inside you with a broken growl, burying his whole body against yours like he wants to disappear into you entirely.

Your limbs are still tangled with his on the couch.

The sweat hasn’t dried. His cum is still dripping from between your thighs, your body thrumming with the aftershocks of round one.

But Alfred’s not done. He stares down at you like he’s been starving for months. and one taste wasn’t enough. Not even close.

“Get in the shower,” he mutters, voice gravel, thumb brushing over the bruise he left on your hip. You blink, still breathless.

“Alfie…?”

“Now.”

He stands. Drags you up with him. Doesn’t even give you time to fully catch your balance before he's walking you backwards into the bathroom, naked, wrecked, and already throbbing between your legs again. The lights stay off. 

Steam curls around you the moment he turns the water on, pressing your back to the cold tile while the heat builds in the air and in his eyes. He looks down at you like he doesn’t trust himself to speak. Then-

He grabs your jaw, tilts your face up, and kisses you hard.

“One round wasn’t enough,” he groans into your mouth. “I didn’t get my fill.”

You gasp as he drops to his knees in the steam. He spreads your legs with his shoulders. Presses you into the wall like an offering. Then he eats you. Desperate. Loud. Filthy. Tongue sliding through your slit, licking up his own cum like he wants it back. Groaning like it’s not enough to have been inside you. He needs you screaming his name again.

“Still so wet,” he pants. “Still fucking mine.”

You fist his hair, back arching, thighs shaking, but before you can even finish, before the orgasm can leave your lips, he’s standing again. And he’s already lining himself up. You try to speak-

“Condom-”

“No.”

He pins your wrists above your head with one hand, the other gripping your thigh, hiking it up around his waist.

“I’m going in raw,” he growls. “You think I came home to feel less of you?”

You barely manage to moan before he thrusts into you again, fully, without pause. You cry out, the tile scraping your spine, the water pounding down around you as his hips slam into you, skin to skin, no barrier this time.

“I need to come inside you for real,” he grits out, pounding into you. “Need it deep. Need to fucking breed you, baby.”

“Alfred… fuck-!”

“I wanna ruin you for anyone else. You get that?” His teeth scrape your neck. “Wanna leave you leaking for days. Wanna fill you up so bad you feel me every time you move.”

You’re barely hanging on, moaning into the steam, trembling as he drives into you relentlessly. No tenderness, just pure need and possession. His dog tags slap against your chest, water cascading off his back, your fingers locked in his wet hair, both of you slipping further into something primal.

“You gonna take all of me again?” he groans.

“Gonna let me come inside you raw and keep it this time?”

“Yes! Yes, Alfred… please…”

And he slams in deep, grinding, staying there as he bursts, gasping curses into your neck, biting down hard as your second orgasm hits like a tidal wave, clenching around him and dragging every last drop from his body. You both collapse, sliding slowly down the wall, his arms holding you in place as water washes over your tangled, shaking bodies. His forehead presses to yours.

“That wasn’t even close to enough.”

You smile, ruined and glowing.

“Then don’t stop.”

And he doesn’t. Your back is pressed to the steamy tile, your skin raw and your thighs trembling. You’ve already come - twice? Three times? You’ve lost count. Your legs barely work. But Alfred isn’t slowing down. He’s still hard, inside you. Still holding your hips in a bruising grip, his cock sliding deep again and again, the sound of wet, filthy skin-on-skin echoing beneath the rush of the shower. Your fingers claw into his slick shoulders, trying to anchor yourself.

“Alfie… please! I can’t…”

He cuts you off with a low growl.

“Yes, you fucking can.”

His hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, not to comfort — but to keep you still as he leans in and murmurs filth against your mouth.

“Matter of fact,” he pants, voice hoarse and twisted with heat, “We’re not sleeping tonight. Not till I’m sure. Not till it takes. Not till I know I’ve got my baby in you.”

Your body jolts, a mix of fear and pure molten want cascading down your spine.

“A-Alfred…”

He thrusts deeper, tilting your hips just right, hitting the spot that makes you cry out… That makes your knees buckle, and his expression turns feral.

“You feel that?” he growls. “That’s where it needs to go. That’s where I’m gonna keep pumping it in. Again. And again. Until this tight little cunt does its job and takes all of me.”

You're gasping. Breathless, trembling, dripping, but clinging to him.

“You're shaking,” he breathes against your ear, lips curling.

“Is that fear, baby? Or excitement?”

You can’t even answer. Your voice is gone. Only broken moans and whispered pleads and the sound of him ruining you.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to choose. You’re gonna give it to me anyway. Even if you cry. Even if you scream.”

He bites down gently on your shoulder. And he fucks you harder.

You can’t stop the way your body responds. The way you arch into it, into him, sobbing his name, your walls fluttering around his cock like you’re begging for it.

“That’s it,” he hisses. “That’s my girl. You’re made for this. For me.”

His fingers move to your stomach, splayed across the soft skin just below your navel.

“Right here,” he groans. “You’re gonna swell with me. Gonna carry proof of what we did tonight. And every time you look in the mirror, you’ll remember who fucking owns you.”

You come again.

It’s not graceful. It’s not quiet. It’s wild and wet and primal, body convulsing around him as he groans deep in his chest.

“Fuck… Gonna fill you again …Every last drop.”

And he does. Presses in deep, holds you tight, and unloads like he’s branding you with it. You’re barely conscious by the time he kisses you again - all tongue, no gentleness. And then he whispers against your lips:

“One more time, baby. Still not done. Not till I know it took.”

And he lifts your leg again. Still hard. Still desperate. Still not finished with you.

[aroonescape]

Just run it back give me five whole minutes I am thick tar on the inside burning

[theorist-fox]

Bug

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader x John 'Soap' MacTavish

Crossposted on AO3

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: Johnny eats you out in front of an audience.

18+

CW: smut (cunnilingus, masturbation, some sexual fantasizing, brief dubcon turning into enthusiastic consent), a bit kinky (voyeurism, exhibitionism) fluffy? sort of, pwp. Soap/Reader established relationship + Simon joining the party I guess

Masterlist 🦊

Your toes are cold. So cold that you think your body might never recover, that maybe you’re bound to be a corpse for the rest of your life.

Dramatic, you’re aware.

And Johnny is so delightfully there, isn’t he? On his side of the bed, in a deep slumber. He’s a heavy sleeper too, so you’re sure you could start sighing and coughing in subtle discomfort and he wouldn’t budge. 

You know his senses are perked when he’s on duty, and you’re glad to know he feels safe enough in the four walls of your home that he turns those alarm bells off.

But goddamnit, now would be a fantastic time to cuddle up. Wonderful to have those thick arms wrapped around your shoulders, his chest to your back. Pressed tight, until the coarse hairs on his abdomen would start to tickle and then scratch a little.

Clicked in place like two puzzle pieces, you’d be, with his knees tucked in the folds of yours, and your ass snug perfectly into his crotch.

And then you’d start rolling your hips slightly. You’d crane your neck back to meet his face, and you know he’d nuzzle your nape for all it’s worth. Sniffing the shampoo in your hair, burying his face until his nose would meet your skin. 

His kisses would be unhurried but open, slow but voracious. They’d make goosebumps sprout from your neck to your thighs, and you’d drench your knickers in the blink of an eye.

By then, his cock would have grown hard against the swell of your ass.

He’d hook his thumbs at the waistband of your pants. Slide his cock through your folds, already wet but now they’d be even more soaked with his prec—

Great.

Now you’re horny. Horny and freezing and frustrated.

Unable to sleep because you’re cold and Johnny forgot to call the plumber for the heating—leaky radiators, a boiler that's been fussing for the past couple of days. Not even taking a shower is safe anymore, for fuck's sake. 

Unable to sleep because you’re dreaming about your boyfriend fucking you into the mattress. Fucking the ice cold seeping into your bones right out of your body, melting it into delicious sweat.

Alas, unable to fuck, because his mate is sleeping on the sofa, and the walls of this stupid flat are thin.

"He’s got mold in his flat", Johnny had told you. "Give it a few days and he’ll go back."

Not. 

It’s been three weeks, and Johnny's lieutenant still hasn’t left. Actually, you think he might’ve moved in altogether,because you’re starting to have less and less space in your closet, and Johnny's socks are mixing up with Simon’s.

But you’d bend and break for your boyfriend, and by extension for whoever he cares about—including his fucking lieutenant. Spooky geezer. Walks quietly around the house and scares the living shite out of you when he materializes in the darkest corners of the room.

It’s not that you hate him. You tolerate him—or, okay, you like him. You would like him even more if it weren’t for the predicament he’s inadvertently stuck you in. 

He is a fun addition to the household and has wonderful chemistry with Johnny. Stores a sharp wit and a repertoire of horrible jokes that somehow make you laugh. He’s clean, buys groceries, cooks meals when you and Johnny aren’t home—he’s a decent flatmate, after all.

But still.

You want to fuck your boyfriend.

“Johnny,” you whisper, turning under the bedsheets to face his way.

Even in the darkness shrouding the room, you can spot his silhouette.

It takes a while for your eyes to adjust to the lack of light, but when you do, you can finally make out the lines of his face. 

He’s sleeping soundly, like nothing can wake him even if it tried. His lips are slightly parted, a habit that comes hand in hand with the crook of his nose—a curve that makes it a bit harder for him to breathe.

You don’t want to be the one who interrupts what looks like a dreamless rest, but it is his fault if the flat feels like you’re sleeping on a slab of ice.

You scoot closer. The tips of your noses touch.

“Johnny,” you whisper again. “Baby, can you wake up?”

Nothing. He doesn’t even flinch.

You kiss him. A swift peck.

“Baaaaby,” you singsong to his lips, quiet yet cheeky.

It’s then that Johnny finally grumbles something. You quickly agitate a victorious fist under the covers.

“I need you to warm me up,” you tell him. “Because I’m too cold and I can’t sleep and it’s your fault.”

There. Evil. Digging your thumb into the guilt wound you’ve carved into his very soft heart. 

Johnny’s eyes flutter open. It takes him a while to adjust. A smack of his lips to hydrate his tongue, the heel of his hand digging into one closed eye. When he comes to, and finally connects the dots, you hear him snort.

“Unbelievable,” he murmurs. “Could’ve grabbed 'nother blanket.”

You frown.

“But you’re warmer than a blanket,” you retort dramatically. “And to get one I’d have to leave the bed, go wander helplessly into the cold, look for it in the da—”

He groans and slaps his arms around you until your face is plastered to his chest.

You press the very cold tip of your nose into the warm skin on his sternum. He flinches.

“Fuckin’ Christ, hen,” Johnny rumbles. “Ye weren't talkin' shite, aye? Proper icicle.”

You giggle. He shushes you as his chest rumbles with a quiet chuckle of his own.

He thinks it's over, then. Thinks he’s done with it now that you’re cuddled up in his arms, and closes his eyes.

But sneaky little you leaves kisses on his chest. The cheeky thing that you are, you press your thigh against his crotch, where he’s half-hard already—but that’s just because of men’s weird physiology, not because he’s horny.

He hums. “Not now, love.”

“Please,” you say, lips dancing about his chest until you reach his nipple.

You tentatively lick there. Johnny hisses and you triumph.

“Please, it’s been so long,” you plead. You purse your lips and suck so gently that Johnny’s hips thrust forward in a twitch, rutting against your thigh.

“He’ll hear us, hen.” He warns, but his voice cracks and you know that you’ve won. 

Simon can handle a few moans just fine, you reckon. He’s old enough.

“Let him,” you mumble to Johnny’s skin. “I don’t care, I miss you.”

You feel his hand reach to the back of your head. Gently, his fingers thread through your hair, massaging softly at your scalp until you’re a puddle in his hold. 

“Aye? Ye don’t care, eh?”

His eyes roam your face. Hooded, already heavy with lust, but a tad more balanced—managing to rein it in, unlike you.

“No.” You insist. “He can fucking watch for all I care.”

Your tongue darts forward, and you lick a stripe bisecting his lips. 

Johnny fucking loses it. 

His hand slides to your nape and holds firmly, enough so he can crash his lips to yours in a searing kiss. You sigh contently in it, no matter how hungry it is—to you this is the most awaited moment in weeks.

Your hands are as frantic as his own. You tug at his pants as he tugs at your shirt. 

Johnny is very tactile, and you just know he wants to touch you thoroughly before he gives you the blessing of a fuck.

In fact, the first thing he does is flatten his palm on your sternum to guide you on your back. His mouth nips and tugs at your lips, then at your jaw. He finds that softer spot on your neck and sucks lovebites on it.

You moan like a slut, without a care in the world. Simon be damned. The neighbors be damned, too.

Johnny's lips finally wrap around your nipple, while his hand plays with your other breast. 

You get louder, and it's a clear sign for that man on the other side of the wall to go and pop in some earbuds because you’re not shutting up tonight.

“You’ve never been this loud I swear to Christ,” Johnny says with a hint of a chuckle that gets lost in your skin. “S’like yer doin’ it on purpose.”

He pinches your belly. “Are you?”

You look down at him. Eyes narrowed. Smirk barely hidden. “No?”

But he can see right through you like you’re made of glass.

“You like it, eh?” He says with a hint of surprise, like he’s discovered a goddamn goldmine. “Oh, you fuckin’ like it.”

And what if you do? What if there's a thrill in knowing the man in the other room might hear you getting railed the way you deserve? Are you deranged for it?

Probably.

But fuck it.

Johnny’s mouth travels lower, from your breasts to the hollow between your ribs, until he’s fully hidden under the covers. 

Instinctively, your fingers thread through his hair. Tight.

Oh, he’s gonna eat you out. 

It’s much easier to quiet down when you’re having sex, because Johnny’s a kisser and he always keeps your mouth busy. But he knows you’re not exactly prim and proper when he makes you cum on his tongue.

He knows what he’s doing, and it’s then that a lightbulb flickers on in your head. 

Bright, excited.

Johnny likes it too.

And you love that he does.

So, since he’s as into this as you are, you settle on giving him the show of a lifetime.

It takes Johnny very little to get to the gist of it. He’d usually nose at your clit through the cotton of your panties, bite at the flesh of your thighs to tease you and get you wet. There’s no need for it this time—your knickers are already past the point of salvation.

He pulls them down and off, not sparing an inch of your skin from the hungry onslaught of lips. Legs draped comfortably over his shoulder, the soft fat of your thighs cushioning his ears.

Johnny dives in.

Your groan scratches your throat when the flat of his tongue lands on your clit. Tingles ripple from your sex to your head—some electric shockwave that makes your toes curl and your throat tight.

You collapse onto the pillow, and you let go.

Johnny licks fat stripes or twirls his tongue around your clit, sucking it in at times. You moan and whimper like cameras are pointing your way, like you want the man who’s stolen your couch, your privacy and your sex life to know how good Johnny’s making you feel.

Your eyes are closed but your mouth is open, fingers curled in a fistful of his hair. 

It’s then that you start riding Johnny’s face. He stays perfectly still, tongue out and conveniently flattened against your sex for you to grind against it.

It’s been so long since you felt him pant against your cunt, so long since you’ve had him tucked between your thighs until your hamstrings ache.

So long that you think you might cum already, and you’re not even five minutes in.

And you feel it in your stomach first, taut and clenching. You feel your orgasm grow as Johnny allows you to take it from him, handing you the reins of your own pleasure.

“M’gonna cum,” you breathe.

The only way you know that he’s heard you from beneath the duvet is because a muted groan echoes from somewhere below you, and his fingers tighten around your hips.

“Gonna fuck her after this, Johnny?” 

Your orgasm withers, but not as much as your heart.

You jolt away from your boyfriend even though you're suddenly petrified, scrambling in an attempt to pull away from his tongue.

But he doesn’t let you go—no. 

Johnny, the bastard, holds you with a resolve you’ve never witnessed before, and uses one hand to quickly shove the duvet off both your bodies.

Cold air slaps your bare skin. Gooseflesh rises at the first icy touch, nipples perked and hard. Your eyes automatically follow the voice in the dark, until they land on a shadow lingering at the door—broad shoulders filling the entryway of your bedroom. 

As soon as your vision adjusts, you focus better on it. A pale face stands out on top of a body clad in charcoal black. A hand, you see, palms at the crotch of his sweatpants.

“Johnny—” You say, or try, in between pants.

His eyes finally poke from between your legs. Swiftly, his fingers take the place of his tongue, rolling more languid circles on the knot of clit—throbbing as your orgasm is rudely snatched away. 

You whine at both the loss of his mouth and the discomfort of being watched.

And yet why aren’t you trying to cover yourself? Why are you still there, naked, back arched to press further into Johnny’s hand, with your fingers uselessly grasping the sheets at your sides?

“Let him watch, bonnie. You said it yerself, aye?” Johnny coos softly.

He can fucking watch for all I care. 

Fuck. You. And your big mouth.

He presses kisses along the stretch marks of your thighs. “Bet he’s not seen a beauty like ye since Christ was born.”

“Cut it out, MacTavish,” Simon barks from the dark corner he's carved for himself. 

In response, Johnny’s breathy chuckle hits your skin.

And while your vision might be compromised, your hearing isn’t. You can clearly hear the soft thud of socks against the hardwood floor. You can definitely feel him looming next to the bed.

You have to blink furiously when Simon turns on the nightlamp, bathing your body in yellow light. 

His eyes, darker than Johnny’s, take you in as you writhe under your boyfriend’s skilled fingers.

You sigh helplessly. “Fuck.”

Perhaps this is too much. Perhaps you’re not ready. And yet—

Simon’s hand grabs a handful of his cock through his sweatpants. You can see the outline of it, fat and straining against the grip of his fingers. A sight so delicious it makes your mouth water.

Your boyfriend catches on the exchange of looks. The way your eyes drop to his lieutenant’s cock. His fingers slow down—and as enraptured as you are, you don’t notice the smile that blooms on his cheeks.

“What d’you want him to do, hen?” Johnny pitches in, finally diluting the soupy mess of your thoughts to reveal what this truly is.

A spotlight on you.

Both men are starving to see, touch, taste. This is heaven, even for an introvert such as yourself. 

Small bug on the wall, observing—for once, observed.

Suddenly, you want that. You want to see them both kneel for you and study your body to learn how to keep it warm, sated, happy.

“Touch yourself,” you whisper before you can think.

Warmth licks at your neck when your own voice reaches your ears.

You swivel your eyes to Johnny again, who’s looking at you with a dangerous glint in his eye—enjoying every bump on your body that rises from the cold, every shiver his fingers cause to wreck your spine.

“You heard her LT,” Johnny says at length.

And before you can utter a word, his mouth returns on you.

Your voice breaks into a moan, eyes rolled back. There’s an insistent fizz in your ears, like there are suds stuck in there. 

Simon’s “Yes ma’am” barely makes it through. 

Slow blinking yourself back to reality, you manage to focus on Simon’s hand which is now stroking his bare cock. Tip a furious red, glossy with precum he smears down his length.

Fuck, you’d pay good fucking money to have it on your tongue, but you’re not in the right headspace yet. You find yourself content with the idea that he’s that hard and that leaking just because you look that hot to his eyes.

Perhaps this is a first step. And it's okay.

It’s invigorating. You love it to bits. So much so that, once again, you hear yourself say “Touch me.”

Johnny’s chuckle vibrates against your clit, but he doesn’t stop. He palms at your lower stomach as he eats you out, keeping you still and comfortable, until you feel your thighs tremble.

The mattress dips under Simon’s weight when he comes to kneel right beside you. The anticipation might kill you, and you’re so focused on him that you don’t realize how impending your orgasm is.

A big hand comes to touch your lips. Simon fits two fingers into your inviting mouth, and you don’t fight it when he touches the back of your throat. 

Instead, you moan at his praise of “Good girl” slipping hoarsely past his lips.

He pulls them out and uses your own spit to lubricate the head of his cock. His cheeks glow red, mouth parted to catch his breath—you never thought a man as apparently indifferent as him could look so delightfully affected.

All because you took his fingers in your mouth like a champ.

You almost cum there and then.

His other hand comes to thumb your nipple. He pinches it, toys with it. He cups your breast in his big hand and squeezes softly just to feel the softness of it. 

He rises upwards, then. Curls those same fingers at the base of your throat in a grip that progressively tightens, until he can hear your breath get stuck in your throat.

It’s then that you cum. 

With the sound of Johnny’s mouth sucking at your clit. With the wet noises of Simon’s cock being tugged in rapid strokes, as if he’s forcing himself to cum earlier than intended.

Your orgasm is so strong that your mind blanks for a moment, not registering the way your voice breaks as you catch your breath again.

Not registering when sudden wetness paints your tits and puddles at your stomach, followed by a groan so loud that it breaks through the fog in your brain. 

When you come to, you blink at the ceiling. 

Your heart pounds viciously, so much that you can feel it on your tongue. It’s wonderful and it would be embarrassing, your current position, if it weren’t for Johnny’s face coming into view.

His lips land fondly on the tip of your nose. “Yer gorgeous when you cum.”

And you smile.

It broadens when another voice joins in, lower and panting, “Affirm. Fuckin’ lovely.”

As you reach down between your and Johnny's bodies with a trembling hand, if only to return the favor, he gently swats it away. However, your fingers make it just in time to feel his softening cock, how wet it is at the tip.

You bet there's a twinning stain on the sheets, too.

“Wee bit at a time, aye?” He offers, kissing your cheek. 

You don’t dare to rebut, as spent as you are. Instead, you allow yourself to be taken care of.

Your eyes blink closed. 

"Did you cum?" You ask dumbly.

"'Course I did." Johnny nibbles at your lip. "Ye taste like fuckin' heaven."

You giggle, obviously flattered, though it sounds quite weak, sleep already taking over your brain.

"You could've fucked me," you tease.

"Nah," Johnny replies, leaving a fat kiss on your mouth. "Woulda killed Simon to see ye—"

"That'll do, Johnny," Simon cuts in.

He doesn't sound angry—more exasperated than anything. He's still panting, though.

You crack one eye open and find him unabashedly staring at his cum dripping down the valley of your breasts.

His hand lands on your forehead, then, brushing back the hair that has stuck to it. It's awkward, like he's not sure what to do but still wants to check in on your well-being.

Through the fog of pure ecstasy, you think he wants to feel somewhat included. Which is why you reach out, your fingers searching blindly for somewhere to land. You find his thigh, the soft fabric of his sweats, and squeeze.

He tenses beneath your palm, but the muscles relax soon afterwards. Welcoming the touch—perhaps welcoming you altogether.

"Tired, aye?" Simon whispers, sounding uncharacteristically tender.

"Yeah," you reply wearily, though his was more of a rhetorical question.

You're too fucked out to realize it. Or to care about realizing it at all.

The comfortable silence that has settled in the room is broken by the shuffle of sheets. The creek of the mattress.

Simon disappears beyond the threshold of the room, only to return moments later with a warm towel in hand.

You get cleaned and pampered, dressed back into your comfy pjs. Sandwiched, at some point, by four arms instead of two, six legs intertwined instead of four.

Your toes are still cold, but the rest of you isn’t.

And you think it can't get any better than this, as you fall back asleep. 

Written for February writing challenge, to fill the prompt "Ghoap x Reader body heat trope"

[gojosconsort]

ridin’ out the attitude // TOJI FUSHIGURO

⁀➷ content. you’ve been pushin’ toji’s buttons all damn day. now he’s got you straddlin’ his lap, smirkin’ as he makes you ride that thick cock ‘til you’re beggin’, spankin’ your ass red just to remind you who’s boss.

pairing. afab!reader x older bf!toji

warnings. mdni. mean!toji, rough sex, spanking, dirty talk, manhandling, dubcon (?), but really he’s just messing with you, age gap, overstimulation

word count. 2,000

you’re not even sure how it got this bad today. maybe it’s the way you kept mouthing off at breakfast, rolling your eyes when toji told you to chill with the attitude. or maybe it’s how you “accidentally” spilled his coffee all over the counter ‘cause you were too busy texting some dude who’s been sliding into your dms.

could’ve been when you snapped at him in the car, calling him an old asshole for turning down your music. whatever it was, you pushed every damn button he’s got, and now you’re here—staring down at him sprawled out on the couch, that stupid smug smirk plastered on his face like he’s been waiting for this all day.

“you done actin’ like a brat?” he drawls, one thick arm slung behind his head. his legs are spread wide, black sweats hanging low on his hips, and you can already see the outline of that thick dick you’re about to regret waking up. “’cause i ain’t liftin’ a finger ‘til you fix this shit.”

you scoff, crossing your arms like that’s gonna do anything. “fix what? you’re the one actin’ like a dick all day.”

his smirk twitches, eyes narrowing. “oh, you think you’re slick, huh? talkin’ back like i won’t have you cryin’ on this dick in two minutes.” he leans forward just a bit, patting his thigh with one big hand. “get your ass over here. now.”

you hesitate, ‘cause you know where this is goin’. toji don’t play when he’s pissed, and you’ve been tap-dancing on his last nerve since sunrise. but you’re stubborn as hell, so you jut your chin out and mutter, “make me.”

wrong fuckin’ move.

he’s on you in a flash, big hand wrapping around your wrist and yanking you down onto the couch. you barely have time to yelp before he’s got you pinned, his weight pressing you into the cushions, breath hot against your ear. “you wanna keep testin’ me, doll? ‘cause i got all night to teach your ass a lesson.”

you squirm, half pissed, half turned on already ‘cause damn, he’s strong and you hate how much you love it. “get off me, toji, fuckin’ old man—”

“old man?” he cuts you off with a dark chuckle, flipping you over so you’re straddling his lap. “this old man’s about to have you beggin’ for mercy. strip.”

your heart’s hammerin’, but you glare at him anyway, peelin’ off your top real slow just to fuck with him. his eyes don’t leave you, dark and hungry, like he’s already picturin’ you a mess under him. you toss your shirt at his face, smirkin’ when it lands on his chest. “happy now?”

“bra too,” he says, voice flat, ignoring your little stunt and leanin’ back like he’s settlin’ in for a show. “and lose the attitude ‘fore i fuck it outta you.”

you huff, unhookin’ it and lettin’ it drop, and his gaze zeroes in on your tits, watchin’ ‘em spill out with that smirk, eyes trackin’ every bounce like he’s starvin’ for it.

“now pants,” he say.

you roll your eyes but shimmy out of your jeans, leaving you in just your panties. and he’s all casual, arms spread across the back of the couch. that smirk’s still there, and it’s pissing you off how hot he looks just sittin’ there, waiting for you to figure out what’s next.

“what now, huh?” you snap, crossing your arms again. “you just gonna stare at me all night?”

“nah,” he says, voice dropping an octave as he pats his lap again. “you’re gonna ride me. and you’re gonna do all the fuckin’ work since you wanna act grown.”

your stomach flips, heat creeping up your neck. “what?”

“you heard me.” he shifts, tugging his sweats down just enough to free that thick, heavy cock you��ve been tryna ignore. it slaps against his stomach, already half-hard, and your mouth goes dry. “you pissed me off one too many times today, baby girl. now you’re gonna make it up to me. hop on.”

you swallow hard, thighs clenching ‘cause you know he ain’t playin’. toji don’t bluff—he’ll sit there all night if he has to, waiting for you to figure your shit out. so you crawl closer, knees digging into the couch as you straddle him proper, hovering just above that dick that’s way too big for you to take without a fight.

“what’s the holdup, doll?” he drawls, low and lazy, like he’s got nowhere to be. “thought you were a big girl, talkin’ all that shit earlier. hop on already.”

you glare at him, hands on his shoulders for balance, but you don’t move yet. “you’re such an asshole,” you mutter, tryin’ to keep your cool even though your heart’s poundin’. “maybe i won’t. maybe i’ll just leave you sittin’ here with your dick out.”

he laughs—straight up laughs, deep and rough, like you just told the funniest joke. “oh, you’re cute. real cute.” his eyes narrow and he leans forward just a bit, voice droppin’. “you ain’t goin’ nowhere ‘til i say so. now quit stallin’ and sit on this dick ‘fore i make you.”

you huff, rollin’ your eyes like that’s gonna save you, but you start lowerin’ yourself anyway, holding the fabric of your panties to the side. the tip brushes your entrance, and you bite your lip hard, ‘cause even that little bit stretches you out. he don’t move, just watches you with that damn smirk, hands loose on your hips like he’s enjoyin’ the show.

“go on,” he says. “you wanted to piss me off all day, so take it like you mean it.”

you sink down a little more, and fuck, it’s a lot. he’s thick as hell, and you’re feelin’ every inch, walls flutterin’ just tryin’ to adjust. you’re halfway down when you stall out, breathin’ heavy, thighs shakin’ like they’re about to give up. “shit, toji—” you gasp, nails diggin’ into his shoulders.

“what’s that?” he taunts, tiltin’ his head like he’s tryna hear better. “you tappin’ out already? thought you were tough shit, huh? all that attitude and you can’t even take half.”

“shut up,” you snap, pushin’ yourself lower just to spite him, but it’s a mistake. he’s too big, stretchin’ you so wide it’s borderline painful, and a whine slips out before you can stop it.

“aww, poor baby,” he mocks, voice drippin’ with fake pity. “need me to hold your hand while you cry about it?” his hands tighten on your hips, but he still don’t help, just keeps watchin’ you struggle. “c’mon, doll, you’re takin’ too long. i ain’t got all night.”

you grit your teeth, glarin’ at him through the burn, and force yourself all the way down. you’re stuffed so full you can barely breathe, ass flush against his lap, and he lets out a low groan, finally breakin’ that cocky facade for half a second. “fuck, there you go,” he mutters, one hand slidin’ up your back. “knew you could do it.”

you’re pantin’, tryin’ to get your bearings, but he don’t give you a chance. “move,” he says. “you’re ridin’ me, remember? get to it.”

you start slow, rockin’ your hips ‘cause that’s all you can manage with him buried so deep, that fat cock kissin’ your cervix every damn time you move. every bounce has you moanin’, body tremblin’ from how full you feel, stretched so wide it’s like he’s rearrangin’ your guts, and he’s just sittin’ there, smirkin’ like a bastard, eyes locked on your tits bouncin’ like he’s hypnotized.

“that all you got?” he teases, leanin’ back further like he’s bored. “thought you’d be bouncin’ on this dick like you own it. c’mon, don’t half-ass it.”

“fuck you,” you hiss, pickin’ up the pace just to shut him up. your thighs are screamin’, ass clappin’ against him loud as hell, and the wet smack of skin on skin fills the room. it’s nasty, messy, and you’re lovin’ every second even though you’d never admit it.

“that’s more like it,” he says, eyes locked on where you’re takin’ him. “still ain’t enough, though. you’re actin’ like you don’t deserve a punishment for all that bullshit you pulled today.”

before you can snap back, his hand cracks down hard on your ass. the sting’s sharp, makin’ you yelp, and he don’t wait—lands another one right after, smirkin’ when you clench around him. “there we go,” he mutters, rubbin’ the spot he just hit. “keep fuckin’ yourself on me, and maybe i won’t spank you ‘til you can’t sit tomorrow.”

you’re a mess now, whinin’ and grindin’ down harder ‘cause that smack lit somethin’ up in you. he keeps it comin’, big hand crashin’ against your ass every few thrusts, timin’ it so you’re clenchin’ tight around him each time. “shit, toji—” you gasp, voice breakin’ as the sting.

“what’s wrong? can’t handle a little payback?” he mocks, slappin’ you again. “you were real loud earlier, runnin’ that mouth. where’s all that noise now?”

“please—” you whimper, too far gone to care about pride. your legs are jelly, rhythm all sloppy, and you’re leanin’ into him, tryna get him to help.

“please what?” he says, all smug and slow, finally grippin’ your hips tight. “thought you didn’t need shit from me. what happened to that?”

“toji, fuck, i can’t—” you’re shakin’, walls squeezin’ him so hard he groans low, and he finally takes pity on you. his hands dig in, liftin’ you up just enough to slam you back down, settin’ a brutal pace that’s got you screamin’.

“that’s what i thought,” he growls, thrustin’ up hard to meet every bounce. “fuckin’ brat. gotta do everythin’ myself, huh?” he don’t let up, poundin’ into you like he’s tryna break you, and you’re so wet it’s damn near embarrassing, slick drippin’ down your thighs.

he spanks you again, mid-thrust, and you choke on a moan, whole body joltin’. “keep goin’,” he orders, voice rough as hell. “you ain’t done ‘til i say so.”

you’re lost in it now, head spinnin’, clawin’ at his chest while he fucks you stupid. he’s relentless, hittin’ that spot deep inside over and over, and you can feel yourself unravelin’, pressure buildin’ ‘til you’re right on the edge.

“toji, i’m—” you can’t even finish, ‘cause he slams up one more time, spankin’ you so hard you see stars, and you’re gone. you cum screamin’, gushin’ all over him, body shaking. he don’t stop, fuckin’ you through it ‘til you’re whimperin’, overstimulated and damn near cryin’.

“fuck, that’s it,” he mutters, voice tight as he watches you fall apart. he keeps goin’ for a minute, drawin’ it out ‘til you’re a boneless heap on his chest, then finally slows, hands rubbin’ lazy circles on your sore ass. “good girl. now you gonna think twice ‘fore pissin’ me off again?”

you can’t even talk, just mumble somethin’ incoherent against his skin, and he chuckles. “yeah, that’s what i thought.”

you’re slumped against him, breathin’ heavy, whole body achin’ like you just ran a marathon. he’s still sprawled out, smug and relaxed, one arm draped over the back of the couch, the other restin’ on your back like he owns you. your ass is stingin’ from the spanks, thighs still tremblin’ from the ride, and you’re pretty sure you’re gonna feel him for days.

“you good?” he asks, fingers tracin’ idle patterns on your skin.

“fuck you,” you mumble, too wrecked to come up with anything better, and he laughs again, that deep, rough sound that makes your stomach flip.

“already did, doll.” he shifts, pullin’ you closer ‘til your head’s tucked under his chin. “next time you wanna act up, just skip to this part. saves us both the headache.”

you huff, buryin’ your face in his chest ‘cause you’re too tired to argue. he’s an asshole, yeah, but he’s your asshole, and you’re already wonderin’ how long ‘til you piss him off again just to feel this. ‘cause as much as you hate to admit it, you’re hooked—on him, on this, on the way he fucks you.

“whatever,” you mutter, closin’ your eyes, and he snorts, pressin’ a lazy kiss to your forehead.

“that’s my girl.”

[gracieheartspedro]

You Really Got Me Now

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 5.2k words

description: your best friend and roommate eddie is pissing you off, per usual. his way of making you feel heard is not very conventional.

warnings: 18+ content, MDNI, no use of y/n, roommate au, lowkey pwp, best friend!eddie, reader and eddie are both in their 30s, a bit of force proximity, reader is awkward as fuck (she just like me), reader hasn't gotten dick lately, mentions of voyeurism (eddie and reader have listened to each other having sex), kind of dom!eddie, fingering, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, unprotected p in v, lots and lots of dirty talk, eddie cums in reader.... annoying ass neighbors?

authors note: yeah i don't know. i'm just horny for this man. all of the time. thanks to lindsey @amanitacowboy who CONSISTENTLY feeds into my delusions. love u.

how to help palestine ~ dividers by @cafekitsune

He pissed you off for the fourth time today. 

You had spent most of your day doing yard work, trying to ensure the home you two shared did not look overgrown for your snooty neighbors. They already hated that there was an unmarried couple living next to them. Even worse they were not even a couple. 

Eddie and you had been friends for over a decade. When you two could not find someone to settle down with once you both turned 30, you decided to rent a house together. You were sick of living at home with your parents and everyone else around you was in love. Steve had Kira, Robin had Vicki, and well… you had Eddie. Eddie had you. But not in a romantic sense. 

That’s what you two told yourselves, at least. 

Made crystal clear years ago, you and Eddie knew your friendship meant more than some knee jerk desires. You had kissed once, and you would be lying if you said you did not enjoy it. He was tentative, kissing you like he was trying to melt all your worries away. At the time, it was a desperate attempt to distract your mind from a shitty break up and Eddie had gotten a bit too high. 

That next morning, you sat down with him and discussed boundaries. No kissing, no sex. That was the hard line, and for years, you two had kept that promise to yourselves. 

There had been moments. An evening out with friends where you two would dance all night together and when you parted to go to your separate rooms, you would linger in the hallway just staring at each other. No one ever caved because you both knew you would regret it in the morning. Or the tense nights where one of you said something to rub the other person the wrong way. Sometimes it would turn into you two apologizing in the dimly lit kitchen, hugging and swaying near the flickering oven lightbulb. 

Today was going to be one of those days for sure. Everything he did rubbed you the wrong way.

He had not done the dishes last night, deciding to stay up late and drink himself into a deep slumber. When you woke up, wrapped in your falling-apart-at-the-seams robe and saw the dishes, you wanted to throw an empty beer bottle at him. But you didn’t. You just did them and didn’t say a word.

Then there was leaving his wet clothes in the washing machine. The moment your nose got a whiff of the despicable scent of molding clothes, you slammed the top down and groaned his name. He was not even in the house, deciding as soon as he woke up that he needed to go get a pack of cigarettes from the gas station. 

Then there was him being adamant about washing his van with the hose you were trying to use to water the dying plants in the flower beds surrounding your front door. You just grit your teeth, jerking your head into a nod when he asked for it. 

Now here he is, making you mad again as you sweat all of your body weight over some weeds. 

“I’m having some of the guys over tonight for some burgers-” “No.”

He narrows his eyes at you, swatting a gnat away from his face as you place your hands on your hips. 

“Why not?”

You had a list. A big long list. The house was a disaster. The neighbors called a noise complaint last time. The grill needed propane.

This was the tipping point. “Eddie, I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you in our front yard,” You blow up, throwing off your gardening gloves, “You haven’t done shit for this house in months. I am like your own little personal housewife. I am the only person in this house that keeps it nice and clean. I haven’t had a night out in months because I am using my weekends to keep up with this shithole. I haven’t had a guy over in over a year, for fucks sake! No guy wants to fuck a girl who lives with a shitty roommate who can’t even clean. I need… I need your help.” 

His demeanor shifts, his shoulders slumping a bit. You did not mean for the word vomit to come out like that. You sounded vicious, but all of it needed to come out at sometime.

“Sweetheart-” But you do not want his excuses. You wave him off, storming towards the front door and swinging open the glass door, letting it shut behind you. You needed cold A/C on your face. You were about to pass out from anger and heatstroke. Damn Indiana summers. 

Eddie launches the door open, practically chasing you down to the kitchen. You stand under a vent, tilting your face directly towards the line of air. 

“What do you need my help with?” He asks, a slight arrogance in his tone. 

You don’t even look at him. You just hum as the cold air caresses your face. “The dishes. The laundry. Fuckin’ clean a toilet-”

“And what about guys not coming over?”

You finally tilt your head over at him, confused. “Huh?”

He looks at you with this fire in his eyes that you have almost never seen before. Maybe once or twice when one of his ex girlfriend’s said something based. He did not seem angry, per se, but he seemed agitated.

He crosses his arms over his chest, covering the Metallica logo on the front of his black tank top. His arms are toned and sprawling with randomly harsh lined tattoos. You had to thank Steve for the toned muscles as he was forcing Eddie to lift weights with him twice a week. You are definitely seeing the results. 

“You said no guy wants to fuck a girl who lives with a shitty roommate,” He states plainly, leaning against the kitchen island, “How am I supposed to help you with that?”

It’s like he’s trying to hint at something. Eddie was notorious for not saying what he really wanted to say, just simply talking around the subject. 

“Let me have a night off where I’m not cleaning up after you. Maybe I can bring a guy home.”

He cocks his head to the side, pursing his lips as his eyes take you in your sweaty clothing. You had sweat dripping into places you never knew you even had. You felt better being in the air conditioning, but that did not disguise the already stained areas of the front of your oversized t-shirt and biker shorts. 

“You don’t need me to… do anything else?”

Will this be fifth time Eddie Munson pisses you off today?

“Say what you need to say, Munson,” You warn, annoyed by the creeping smile on his face. 

You watch as he uncrosses his arms, leaning forward towards you. “Do you need me to fuck you, princess? Is that what this is?”

Your jaw hits the floor at his offer.

“What? H-how are you getting that from this-” “You just need a good fuck to release all this tension. It’s written all over you.”

He has never been this bold before. It’s blowing your mind. He has never propositioned sex to you, ever. Maybe jokingly. Wait, last week he did suggest it to get rid of your period cramps-

“You have to be kiddin’ me, Munson.”

He shakes his head, dipping his head down to meet your eyes, “I’m deadly serious, princess.”

“You’re just sayin’ this to piss me off even more-”

He presses his pointer finger to your lips, shushing you immediately, “All this talk and I’m not hearing a no.”

You swat his hand away, groaning in annoyance. You gave Eddie props, he was very convincing when he wanted to be. But you knew better.

But then again, it had been a year since a guy pleased you. 

“Eddie, you know the promise we made all those years ago. No kissing. No sex,” You lean further away, your back arching over the counter. “You can’t just propose this because I am angry at you and want you to take some accountability.”

“I’m not proposing this because I wanna weasel my way out of trouble. I’m doing it because you have been so tense these last couple months, I feel like I am walking on eggshells,” He explains, tossing his hands in the air dramatically, “Just let me get it out of your system. I know it’s been a year or so.”

“How do you know?”

You were trying to find a way out. The deepest darkest secret you held in the very depths of your heart was that you did have feelings for Eddie. You have since high school. But Eddie was occupied in every place in life and you got the permanent label as friend before you even had a chance. He dated around and you were stuck secretly obsessing over him, which- whatever. It was fine. 

All his passes at you were just normal at this point. You never gave them a second thought. You were idle in the idea that it was just jokes and that he never meant it. Even when he said he would give you head to make you feel better when the last guy you dated broke up with you. Or when he told you that he liked the way your hands felt pressed against his bare chest when you helped him apply sunscreen. Or when-

Wait... Did friends usually say that to each other?

“How do I know what?” He asks, his voice wavering a bit.

You huff, “How do you know it’s been a year?”

A mischievous smile spreads across his lips, “Because the last time I heard you through the wall moaning and begging, was about March of last year. It’s currently June.”

The heat rises back to your cheeks as you stare at him wide eyed. You did not realize he was even home when you last had someone over, let alone knew he heard it all.

“Eddie! You sick bastard! You listened?!”

You go to smack his chest but he snatches your hand away, the darkness in his eyes only hinting at his intentions. 

“How can I not? You were so loud for that guy,” He almost looks jealous. Almost. 

“I-“

“Just begging for him to let you cum. Did you, sweetheart? Did you cum for that slimeball?”

Your mouth opens slightly, realizing his hand is still wrapped around your wrist. No ease in the tension around it, just white-knuckling it. 

“I don’t remember-“

“Those moans sounded too good to be true, princess. But what do I know,” He sits back against the counter again, pulling your body closer as he does, “You’ve never cum for me. Maybe you actually do sound like that.”

You really should not. You should just yank your arm away from him and mark this down as Eddie just being a perv again. But something inside you, the tension, the annoyance, the desire, is starting to burn a pit in your stomach.

“I can.”

He raises his eyebrows, pulling your wrist and hand up to his shoulder so you rest it there. You grip onto his bare shoulder, while his arm snakes around your waist. 

“You can what?”

Your mouth goes dry, unsure if you can actually mutter the words. You usually had no filter with Eddie, but right now you felt like your voice completely cut out. He looks down at you, his head tilted in curiosity. “Say it, sweetheart. You can what?”

You grit your teeth, finally submitting. 

“I could cum for you.”

He arrogantly smirks, his fingers sneaking up under your shirt, “Yeah, princess? You wanna cum for me?”

Coming from his lips, it’s like melted butter. It seems so natural, his voice dropping as he speaks such absurd things to you. You smack your lips together, almost like you are contemplating giving in. But your mind is already made up. 

Before you can even give him a taste of his own medicine, your mind slips.

“If only you make me scream like those other girls.”

Fuck. Why did you say that?

His mouth only widens, shocked at the statement. “So you were listening to me, huh? You called me a sick bastard mere moments ago when you were doing the same thing!”

Your fingers pinch his earlobe, making him flinch a bit. “Eddie, you cannot help but be loud! Neither can they!”

Your defense is weak, but you try to sound convincing. 

“Well they are screaming for a reason, sweetheart.”

You dismiss the comment for a minute, really trying to mull this idea over. Would this cost you his friendship? Was it all really worth it? 

Your nails trail down and dig into his shoulder blade, warningly. “Do you seriously want to do this?”

He shrugs, casually, like this is the most normal conversation you two have ever had. “I’ve been trying to figure out a way to get you in my bed for years. Seems like I just gotta get you all angry and hot for you to even think about it.”

The revelation deflates you a bit. You mentally slap yourself, thinking back to all the times Eddie has offered you ‘time’ with him in bed. You always took his passes as jokes, because that’s just Eddie. He’s never been serious a day in his life. 

You press your body into him more, your nose getting closer to his, “You’ve wanted this for years?”

He nudges your nose with his, playfully, “Don’t act all surprised.”

The tension is at an all time high. The moment your eyes drop to his lips, you cannot peel them away from them. You have been close to him like this before, but never with explicit intentions. Maybe just to tease him or pester him. One time to inspect a possible bug that flew into his eye. 

Eddie was your friend. Best friend. 

Why was he looking different?

He notes the way you are silent, observing the way his lips curl upward into a toothless grin. 

He shifts down, capturing your lips in a hesitant kiss, testing the waters. When the softness of his lips makes impact on your slightly dry lips, you feel self-conscious for a beat. 

That was until you felt Eddie’s other hand sneak around your waist and pull you even closer. It’s the quiet reassurance you did not even know you needed. 

You lean into it, practically falling into his chest completely. The kiss only progresses from there. Your hand cradles his neck as his hands sneak down from your waist to your ass. You had seen Eddie kiss before, but having it be done to you is a completely different experience. He’s hungry for it, but he’s also so tender and calculated with the movements. 

The groping turns into him leveraging you upward onto the countertop. He slots himself between your legs, feeling up your thighs as his tongue slips past your lips. He’s good at stimulating you in every way, your body riddled with goosebumps. You cannot help the groans leaving your throat.

“God, you’re so hot,” He grumbles between kisses. You giggle into his mouth which makes him shake his head and pull away. 

You hold his face close to yours, smiling up at his lust-blown eyes. “Never thought I’d hear you say that. Well… in this situation at least.”

“Can you just shush and let me make you feel good?” His lips trail down from your cheek peppering wet kisses to your neck, “Lemme make it up to you, sweetheart. Been a bad friend. Bad roommate.”

You roll your eyes for two reasons. One, he’s a dork. Two, his lips feel way too good on your throat.

“Make it up to me by being a good lover.”

He barks a laugh, almost too loud for the joke. “Oh, you want me to make love to you?”

“Can you just keep kissin’-”

His lips touch your collarbones and suddenly your body stiffens. You look down at his sinful expression, his lips dragging lower over your chest. His hand returns to the hem of your shirt, slowly tugging it over your head. Your ratty old sports bra was the least sexy thing you could be wearing, but Eddie eyes you like you are in lacey red lingerie with his name stitched into it. You take it upon yourself to peel the sweaty bra off, luckily the only scent you smell when you lift your arms is your antiperspirant.

“You are more perfect than I imagined,” Eddie mumbles, his hands reaching out to cup your boobs. His hands still adorned with his gaudy rings. Makes the sight even more breathtaking. 

You roll your eyes, not believing him, “You’ve seen me in a bathing-”

His head dips down, catching your nipple in his mouth. The action silences you and instead of continuing your nervous babbling, you moan out his name. He rolls your pebbled nipple between his teeth while hissing in satisfaction. You can not stop yourself from raking your fingers through his curls. 

He pulls away from your chest, pressing a quick kiss to your other tit, “I can’t do this if you continue to give me grief.”

The dig makes you blush. You were always awful when it came to dirty talk. Making it awkward was, unfortunately, your specialty. You nod sheepishly, untangling your fingers from his deep chocolate brown hair.

“I’ll shut up.”

He shakes his head, his lips finding the spot right below your ear. You can feel the smirk on his face, "No, don’t shut up. Just keep making those other pretty sounds for me, sweetheart.”

His thumbs hook around the elastic waistband of your shorts, tugging them down. You lift your hips, using his shoulders to balance yourself. You don’t expect him to have you completely naked on your kitchen counter, but the moment your underwear peel away from your cunt, you realize that the wetness between your legs is not just sweat. 

He pulls away from your neck to look at your bare body before him and the groan he lets out makes your pussy clench around nothing. His hand skips down your body, eventually groping your hips. 

“Eddie,” You hum, tilting his chin up so his eyes meet yours, “I’m very naked and you are not.”

He smiles wickedly, shaking his head, “‘Cause I ain’t fuckin’ you here, sweetheart. This is just a really good place for me to get on my knees and devour you.”

You swallow hard, watching him drop to one knee, making him eye level with your glistening cunt, “And look at how beautiful and wet she is for me. This all for me, sweet girl?”

“You’re not the only one who’s been wanting this for a while,” You admit, your eyes drooping to watch his mouth move across your inner thighs. You are a bit self-conscious, not having prepared your pussy for this kind of activity, but Eddie does not seem to mind. He admires you like a piece of art at a museum.

He flicks his tongue out of his mouth, unhurriedly moving up your slit. Once he has his first taste, that smile returns, “Mmm, there’s that confession I’ve been waiting for.”

Your mind draws a blank as he dives back in, pressing his tongue between your pussy lips. He has never looked so happy doing a task in his life, his beautifully straight teeth bared as his tongue swirls around your clit. His grip only tightens on your thighs ensuring you do not move them together. He needs you nice and wide open while he tongue fucks you. 

He becomes more eager with his movements the moment you try to brace yourself on the edge of the counter. His fingers hook down into your flesh, dragging you to the edge of the surface. He does not miss a beat while he suckles on your clit, wrapping his plump pink lips around it and slurping it like a straw. 

The knot in your stomach is tightening as you study his actions. Somehow it is like he knows your body better than you do. 

The instant he sinks his pointer and middle finger into your soaked cunt, it is game over. Your body reacts before your mind does, vibrating against his mouth and fingers. He does not slow down when you clench around him, instead, he increases his speed and ministrations. 

“Jesus, fuck, Eddie,” you whimper, surrendering to the climax. You squeeze your eyes shut, letting your mouth hang ajar as random moans escape you. Your nerve endings have never felt so electrified in your life. 

Once you feel a slight come down, Eddie comes back up for air. His lips are shiny with his own saliva and whatever escaped you when you came. 

You drop your head back, hitting the upper cabinet. 

“You didn’t even have to beg for the first one,” He grunts, getting back to his feet. He locks his arm around your knees and drags your upper half into his other arm, “But the second one, you have to ask for permission, ‘kay?”

His lips are pressed to your temple, kissing you gingerly. 

“You want me to beg, Eds?”

He chuckles darkly, carrying you princess-style across the house and to the living room. He could take you to bed, but he is not sure if that feels too intimate. You just want him inside you, not caring much where he decides to do it. 

You bounce on the worn-down couch as he drops you down, your bare ass immediately sticking to the leather. His discards his tank top and practically jumps on top of you, his hips resting between your legs. You greedily tug at his basketball shorts, begging to reveal the length behind the tented fabric. 

“Mmm, eager, are we?”

You had seen Eddie’s ass plenty of times. His shirtless frame. But never his dick. His tight pants left little to the imagination most times. But up close, pressed against your palm, you cannot help but gasp about how big he is. 

He grabs your wrist firmly, his curls dropping down his shoulders as he shakes his head, “Wanna hear you beg.”

It spills right out of your desperate mouth. “Please, Eddie.”

“Please what?”

“Let me see your cock,” Your eyes reflecting faux innocence, “Please?”

He cannot help but giggle, assisting you in getting his shorts down his tattooed legs. You had been next to him for the big one on his right thigh, an ode to his favorite Metallica album. You did not completely understand the concept, but the black ink littering his body only added to his appeal. 

His cock is even better than your mind had mocked up before. Long, slightly curved to the left, and not too thick that he may split you in half. 

You truly cannot fathom the fact that this is happening. He is willingly showing you his dick and smiling at you while you gawk. 

He is naked above you, and God is he breathtaking. The mop of curls, the broadness of his shoulders, his very slight tummy from all the beer he drinks, the works of art littering his pale skin.

Your eyes finally make their way back up to his, only to note the serious look he’s giving you. 

“What?”

His lips twitch, “Just can’t believe I finally get to do this. And that it’s real and it’s not all in my head.”

Your heart stutters. 

You lick your lips, searching every crevice of your mind for a response. He realizes that you are trying to muddle up a reply and that he has broken your brain temporarily. So instead of letting you counter his statement, he captures your lips in a bruising kiss. 

He wastes no time after that, grabbing his dick and pushing it between your slick folds. You groan into his mouth, your pussy still very sensitive from the first orgasm he gave you. Your hand snakes around the back of his neck, holding his face close to yours. 

“Eddie-“

He pushes into you before you can say anything else, a hiss whistling between his clenched teeth. 

“God damn,” He throws his head back, shaking your hand away from his neck, “You’re fuckin’ tight, princess.”

The moan that leaves your throat is a whole octave lower than your actual voice. Eddie looks down at you, the widest smile painted across his face. You feel his hips inch closer and closer to you and you realize he is not fully inside you yet. 

You take a breath, trying to relax your muscles, “Please, please, please.”

He snaps his hips forward, a dark guttural chuckle taunting you. “There she is. Beggin’.”

Eddie had changed into a completely different person. Sure, he was always picking on you, but this was a stark contrast from your silly best friend. The man above you, slowly rocking his hips inside you, was feral. His confidence only burning brighter the more you whimper for him. 

“Please, faster.”

The wet squelching noise that emits between your bodies is borderline embarrassing. You had never heard such a sound with any other man. Eddie loves it, though. The idea that you were just gushing for him is enough to send him into overdrive. 

“Yeah? You want me to go faster,” He pushes your thighs apart, spreading you wider. He wants to look at how beautiful your pussy looks stuffed full of him. “Look at that.”

You shift yourself up on your elbows, looking down at the sight he cannot peel his eyes away from. “Jesus, I cannot believe…”

You drift off, watching Eddie slowly retreat back only to sharply snap forward. Your jaw goes slack as he drives himself into you, disappearing over and over again. 

Eddie‘s eyes are now on you, watching your tits jiggle every time his cock pierces your squishy walls. 

“You really needed this, huh, princess?”

You watch as he reaches down between your bodies, swiping your clit with his thumb.

Your eyes roll back, unable to hold yourself together, “I really did, oh my god.”

Your legs stiffen and Eddie’s hands loosen up, letting you squirm and adjust yourself. Your hips burn and your mind is mush. Eddie’s erratic movements against your swollen bud and his rapidly moving hips are overstimulating, you cannot help but lock your legs around him. 

“Yeah, I can fucking feel you clenching around me,” He babbles, licking his lips, “You just take my cock so well, don’t you? Just fuckin’ made for me.”

He does not stop talking as you grunt your response. You have never seen the man so driven to get something done in your life. He wants to cum, but he wants to feel you fall apart on him even more. His words are just pouring out of him.

“Yeah? You want me to make you mine, huh? Gonna make this pussy somethin’ only I can have.“

Your eyes fly open in shock, his words ringing in your ears. You feel his dick twitch inside you, hitting the same perfect spot over and over again. “Please, please.”

“Fuck, say it, baby. Say that you’re mine.”

He is so desperate, his usual calm, cool, collected voice faltering. 

“I’m yours, Eddie.”

His thumb presses hard down on your clit, causing your hips to shift upward. The nerve endings that were ablaze before are now imploding. 

The vibration of your body catches him off guard at first, so he locks his hands on your hips. You lurch your body into a crescent shape as he continues to chase his high. A final scream rips through your body, chanting his name. 

Every snap forward was another word slipping from his practically drooling mouth. He fucked his cum deep inside you, his words bouncing off the walls.

“Yes.” “The.” “Fuck.” “You.” “Are.”

Your body goes completely limp under him the moment your high dissipates. He is panting like he just ran 10 miles as he slowly drifts to his side, positioning his nude body between your body and the back couch cushions. When his cock leaves your cunt, he dribbles cum over your mound and lower tummy. You glance down at your body, completely blissed out. 

You have never felt more appreciated in your life.

He lays his head right on your shoulder, fanning your sweaty body with his warm breath. He does not say anything, just settles next you, throwing his arm over your midsection.

You swallow, trying to regain your composure. You thought after doing something like this with Eddie, you would feel some guilt. Regret, maybe. But none of those emotions spring up.

You felt relaxed and at peace. Like you walked off the edge of a cliff and instead of landing on a rocky bottom, you landed on a sea of fluffy pillows. It was a relief. 

Your eyes fall onto his lazily smirking face, “I did really need that.”

He hums his response at first, before clearing his throat. “Yeah, I could tell. I can read you pretty well, huh?”

That’s the understatement of the century. He can read you perfectly. 

You start to reflect on every word that spilled from his lips during the entire interaction, and suddenly your stomach is in knots. You start to wonder if he really did feel those things, or if he was just lost in the moment. You almost don’t ask in fear that he will tell you something you didn’t want to hear. 

“Did you mean everything you said,” You press, your hand absentmindedly tucking some of his hair behind of his ear. His fingers dance across your flesh, eventually swirling around your collarbones.

“Yeah, ‘course.”

He says it so simply. You wanted to believe it was that easy, but there is logistical things that needed to be discussed. Feelings and thoughts that needed further explanation. 

Eddie can see that your mind is racing. Your expression gives you away every time. His mouth slowly opens to further elaborate on his response, but before he can get out a word, there’s a pounding at your front door. 

It is so sudden and loud, you both sit up from the couch. 

“Mr. Munson! You left your hose on! There’s a drought-”

You tune out the rest of the rant from your elderly neighbor because Eddie starts chuckling and rubbing his eyes. He looks down at you as the rant starts to get louder, pressing a chaste kiss on your lips before grabbing his boxers off the floor. 

“You stay there, beautiful. I’ll deal with this.”

You do as he says, the bliss he left you in after the kiss enough to hold you over until he comes crawling back on top of you. He stumbles back into his boxers, going to the front door and cracking it so he can get eyes on your neighbor. 

“Yeah, my fault, Mr. O’Connell. Had to comfort my lady because she cut herself on the shovel. I’ll be right out to shut off that hose and save the rainforest or whatever.”

You hear a scoff from behind the door, the older gentleman taken off guard. “Oh, so she’s your lady now?”

You can hear the smile that spreads across his face. “Always has been, sir.”

[cumironi]

HII!!! the fic where they realize you like praise is TOOOO good! i was wondering if you could do a sort of part two but where they realize you like being degraded instead of praised? 🫶🫶

ARE YOU A FILTHY GIRL? jjk men.

feat. gojo, geto, nanami, toji, sukuna, shiu, higuruma

summary. “he calls you his good girl, then his whore.” seems like your boyfriend couldn’t even decide what you really are, no? even after they know about you and the whole degrading things? will they ruin your life after that discovery? oh, definitely.

warning. non-sorcerer! jjk au, college au!, 23 you & 31 them, degrading kink, praise kink, filthy, some of them are so meannn, hair-pulling,

GOJO SATORU

the sheets are a mess. the air is thick with heat, musk, and the obscene sound of skin slapping skin. you can’t even tell what time it is anymore — not that it matters. satoru’s late-night visits always have a way of warping time, bending reality until the only thing that exists is you beneath him, delirious, overstimulated, and stupidly in love.

he’s still in his dress shirt, unbuttoned just enough for you to see the tattoo on his chest (it’s stupid. it says limitless, because of course it does). the tie is hanging off his neck like it’s purely ornamental, swinging as he fucks into you like he’s trying to make you forget your name.

"mmh—look at you, baby," he pants, eyes bright with sweat and sin, his lips wet from where he kissed down your stomach just minutes ago. "so pretty when you’re ruined like this. my sweet college girl, letting her old man fuck her brains out between classes.”

“you’re not old,” you gasp, nails dragging down his back. “just—just a pervert—”

“correction,” he huffs a laugh. “i’m your pervert. certified, licensed, and addicted to the way you moan my name like it’s your fucking major.”

his pace slows for just a moment, giving you that signature smirk. the one that always gets you in trouble. the one that says i know something you don’t.

“god,” he groans, rolling his hips deeper, letting your whimper melt into the air. “you’re so fucking good like this. eyes all glassy, mouth open, like a good little—”

you moan, louder than you meant to.

he freezes.

“…wait.”

your breath hitches.

he blinks. leans in real close.

“do that again,” he whispers. “what did you just react to, sweetheart?”

your face burns. “i—I didn’t—”

"no no no," he grins like a shark with a credit score of 850. "don’t get shy on me now. that sound you made? the whiny little oh satoru please ruin me noise? yeah, that wasn’t just because of the angle, was it?"

“satoru—”

he pulls his cock out.

you make a noise of protest — a whimper, a whine, a borderline sob — and he raises a perfect white brow.

“look at you. desperate already?” he hums. “and here i thought you liked being treated like my precious little angel. but now…”

he runs two fingers down your spit-slick chin, thumbing your bottom lip as his tone drops to something dark and thrilling.

“…now i’m wondering if my baby likes being treated like a dumb little fucktoy instead.”

your thighs twitch. your eyes roll back just slightly.

he laughs. oh, he fucking laughs.

“no way.”

“shut up—”

“no fucking way. you’re telling me…” he leans down, pressing a filthy kiss to your lips, “…you’ve been getting off on me being a little mean to you this whole time?”

his voice is pure sin now. a low rasp in your ear as he slides his cock back in, slow and deep and deliberate.

“you like when i call you a dumb slut, huh? when i make fun of you for being all brain-dead and cockdrunk on a school night?” he groans, moving faster again. “fuck. no wonder you tighten up every time i tease you. you’ve been hiding this from me?”

you nod, barely able to think, tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

“god, that’s why you blush so hard when i tell you to shut up and drool. i thought you were just shy—no, you were getting off on it.”

he presses his forehead to yours, eyes wild and affectionate and unhinged.

“baby,” he whispers sweetly. “you’re so fucked in the head. and i love that for us.”

you whimper his name, breath hitching, and he slams into you harder, making the headboard crack against the wall.

“you’re my stupid baby, aren’t you?” he groans. “my filthy girl with her brain between her legs—”

your whole body trembles. he can feel it.

"oh fuck, you came on that?" he groans. “jesus. i didn’t know i was dating such a nasty girl. i’m gonna have so much fun with you.”

and yet — for all the filth and teasing and dirty, obscene words — he kisses you like you’re made of stars. he holds you close like you’re the most important thing in the world.

“my dumb little angel,” he murmurs against your lips, heart hammering against yours. “mine. only mine. gonna keep you all fucked out and smiling forever.”

GETO SUGURU

“look at you,” he sneers above you, hand fisted in your hair, making you arch back. “acting like a needy little bitch in heat the second i call you a slut.”

you’re moaning, gasping, incoherent — barely hanging on to the frayed edge of your sanity. and he’s not even giving you a break. not slowing down, not letting up, not giving you one second to recover.

because he knows now.

he knows.

you like it when he’s mean.

“so that’s what gets you off,” he growls, slapping your cheek with a sharp little tap, just enough to make you blink and whimper. “not my sweet words, not the nice shit i say to make you feel loved. no. you wanna be put in your fucking place, don’t you?”

he laughs. it’s low. cruel.

“you’re disgusting.”

his cock slams back in. deep. hard. like he’s trying to make you feel it in your throat.

you sob, a broken moan twisting into something animal.

“you like this,” he bites out, hand gripping your jaw to force you to look at him. “fuck. you’re dripping down your thighs, making a goddamn mess of my sheets. and for what? getting called a dumb little fucktoy?”

you nod. you nod. you’re too far gone to pretend anymore.

“you’re unbelievable,” he groans, voice rough with heat and hunger. “i’ve been treating you like a fucking goddess. and the whole time? this is what you wanted? to be used? to be broken down and ruined?”

he slaps your thigh, grinning when you jolt.

“go on, tell me what you are.”

you hesitate, panting, teary-eyed. and that pisses him off.

“say it.”

his hand wraps around your throat, his hips never missing a beat. he’s fucking you fast now — brutal, relentless, like he wants you hoarse and mindless by the end of this.

“say it, or i’ll stop right now.”

“i’m your—your dumb little whore,” you sob out. “fuck, suguru—i’m your fucktoy—!”

he moans. actually moans. like he just got handed the key to his own personal heaven.

“that’s right. my dumb little slut. no thoughts in that pretty head except cock and cum. pathetic.”

he spits on your chest. drags two fingers through it, then shoves them in your mouth.

“suck. maybe if you’re good, i’ll let you come.”

you do. immediately. desperate. like the perfect little pet he just unlocked.

he watches you with dark, gleaming eyes, like he’s thrilled by the monster he’s unleashed.

“you think i’m ever gonna be gentle with you again?” he breathes, mouth brushing your ear. “you think i’m gonna let you forget this?”

another thrust, hard enough to knock the wind from your lungs.

“nah, baby. you’re fucked now. you just told me exactly what you are.”

he grabs your face, forces your eyes up to his.

“and now you’re mine to break.”

NANAMI KENTO

“you were so proud of yourself earlier.”

his voice is calm. deadly calm. too calm for the way he’s got you bent over his kitchen counter, pants bunched at your knees, panties torn and hanging off one thigh. his belt’s undone, hanging from one hand. his other hand? buried in your hair, gripping tight.

“you walked in here all smug, all talk—acting like you’re some well-behaved little student who knows everything.”

he yanks your head back just a little, just enough to make your back arch.

“and now look at you.”

he slaps your ass once, loud and sharp, just to hear the sound of it echo off the marble.

you moan.

and that’s when he knows.

“…you liked that.”

you freeze.

and nanami, ever the gentleman, laughs—slow and dangerous.

“oh. i see now.” he tsks, voice low, amused and cruel. “so that’s what this is. you pretend to be my sweet, smart girl—taking notes, asking questions, playing innocent. but the moment i get you alone, all you want is to be treated like a brainless fuckdoll.”

your cheeks burn. you try to shake your head, to explain—but your mouth won’t work.

nanami chuckles.

“don’t try to deny it. i’ve been fucking you for almost a year. and not once have you sounded like this.”

he leans in, presses his lips to your ear.

“you want me to talk down to you. degrade you.”

he grabs your jaw, turns your face to look at him over your shoulder.

“say it.”

you squirm, gasping, dripping onto his cock that’s barely pressed between your thighs.

“s-say what—?”

his grip tightens. “say what you are.”

“i’m—” you hesitate. but he waits, patient and devastating.

“i’m your dumb little fucktoy,” you whisper.

he groans, low and broken. “god. you really are disgusting.”

his cock slides in without warning, thick and deep, and you cry out so loud it makes your knees buckle.

“is this what you wanted?” he snarls against your neck. “to be bent over like a filthy little whore, drooling on my counter, so cockdrunk you can’t even remember your own name?”

you’re sobbing. nodding. cumming—maybe. you don’t even know anymore.

“pathetic,” he breathes, thrusting into you harder, faster, one hand on your hip, the other around your throat. “all that education, all that ambition—and this is what you really want. to be treated like trash. like nothing more than a wet, willing hole for me to use.”

you moan at every word. filthy. desperate.

and then he softens. just a little. lips brushing your temple, his voice like velvet over razors.

“don’t worry, darling.”

he kisses your cheek. tender. almost cruel in its contrast.

“if that’s what you want…”

he pulls your head back again, growling against your jaw.

“then that’s what i’ll give you.”

TOJI FUSHIGURO

“fuckin’ knew it,” toji laughs, dragging your panties down your thighs with one hand while the other shoves you down flat into his mattress. “knew from the second you started giving me attitude you were all bark and no bite. nothin’ but a needy little slut underneath.”

he watches you struggle — watches you try to act tough while your legs shake and your soaked cunt practically begs for his cock. he’s grinning like the smug bastard he is.

“mm? where’s that sass now, princess?”

you whimper.

wrong answer.

he slaps your ass, hard, making your whole body jerk forward.

“use your words.”

“i-i’m your slut,” you gasp, voice trembling. “please—”

he cuts you off with a sharp tug of your hair, dragging your head back to make you look at him. “oh, no. no, no, no. don’t go beggin’ now. you’ve been mouthing off for weeks. actin’ like you’re too good for me.”

he nudges the thick head of his cock between your folds, slow, teasing, not pushing in just yet.

“but you dress like that around me? bend over every chance you get? call me ‘mr. fushiguro’ in that sweet little voice like you don’t know exactly what you’re doin’?”

he slaps your ass again.

“you wanted this, didn’t you?”

you nod, choking on a sob. “yes, sir—”

he fucking moans.

“ohh. sir, huh? god, you’re disgusting.”

he finally pushes in. one deep, thick stroke that makes your whole world shatter. and then another. and another. ruthless. like he’s trying to fuck the brat right out of you.

“you hear yourself?” he grits out, fucking you hard enough to bounce the bed. “making all these pathetic little sounds like a dog in heat. bet your professors would love to hear what kind of slut their top student really is.”

you sob into the sheets.

“don’t cry now,” he smirks, leaning in close to growl against your ear. “you wanted to be used, right? wanted me to ruin you?”

his hand wraps around your throat, squeezing just enough to make you gasp.

“wanted to be nothing but a dumb little hole for me to fuck whenever i want.”

he’s grinning. cruel, condescending, eyes gleaming with heat.

“well, sweetheart—congrats.”

another brutal thrust.

“you got it.”

RYOMEN SUKUNA

“you like that?”

his voice is low. dark. teasing.

you’re on your knees, drool smeared down your chin, eyes glassy, lip trembling as you look up at him. your clothes are somewhere behind you, discarded in the haze of him manhandling you onto the bed like a toy. his cock is resting against your cheek, thick and twitching, the skin flushed. and you’re already a mess.

but that grin—

that wicked, sharp-toothed, smug fucking grin stretches across his face when he sees the way your thighs press together from just that one sentence.

“ohhh,” he laughs, dragging his thumb across your bottom lip. “so that’s what it is.”

you flinch.

he grips your chin, hard, forcing you to look him in the eye.

“all this time, you acted like you were scared of me. like you were just some shy little college girl who didn’t know what she was doing.”

he leans in, mouth by your ear.

“but deep down—you’re just a filthy, depraved little fucktoy, aren’t you?”

you whimper. your thighs tremble.

his smile widens. cruel.

“look at you. shaking. moaning. fuck—your cunt’s probably soaked already, isn’t it?”

he shoves you backward without warning, watches you fall against the bed, spread out and breathless. he drags his cock along your folds, not even pushing in, just letting it sit there—heavy and taunting.

“you like being talked down to? degraded? used like a worthless little hole?”

you nod quickly, like it’s the only thing you know how to do.

“then open your fucking mouth and beg for it.”

your lips part—eager, desperate.

but he pauses.

“no. wait. i changed my mind.”

you blink, confused, until you hear him laugh again, darker this time.

“i’m not gonna fuck your mouth, princess. not yet.”

his cock slams into you in one brutal thrust and your scream is instant.

“i want you to feel it when i ruin you.”

his pace is unrelenting. his grip on your hips? bruising. and his words?

they never stop.

“you really thought someone like me would take it easy on you? someone like you? you’re nothing but a dumb little plaything. just a wet hole for me to use whenever i feel like it.”

he leans over you, one hand around your throat, the other pressing your knees up against your chest.

“say thank you.”

you’re barely coherent. moaning. gasping. totally gone.

he slaps your thigh. “i said say it.”

“t-thank you—thank you, sukuna—!”

he laughs, proud and cruel, kissing your temple with mock sweetness.

“that’s my good little fuckdoll.”

SHIU KONG

you’re bent over his desk, face pressed against cold wood, wrists pinned behind your back with one of his silk ties.

your thighs are trembling. lips parted. eyes glazed.

his cock is buried inside you, deep and slow, dragging along every sensitive inch until you’re whimpering from just the stretch.

and he’s still dressed.

not even a button undone.

just his sleeves rolled up and his tie loosened—like this is just another part of his shift.

“you’re lucky i’m even touching you,” he says coolly, glancing down at the wet ring your cunt’s leaving on his cock. “filthy little dropout like you.”

you whimper. he laughs—mean.

“you think any real man would keep you? spoiled brat with a mouth that won’t shut and a cunt that clenches when i call her a fucking toy?”

he leans down, lips brushing your ear.

“that’s what you are. a toy.”

his hips roll, slow and grinding, and your moan catches in your throat.

“a warm, wet, stupid little thing i use between meetings.”

his hand slips down, fingers flicking over your clit once—twice—and you sob, hips twitching.

“oh?” he coos mockingly. “are you close already? pathetic. i’ve barely done anything.”

and you’re gasping, begging under your breath, “please, please, please—”

he cuts you off with a sharp slap to your ass.

“what did i say about whining in my office?”

you go quiet, biting your lip.

“good girl.”

he slams into you—once, twice, hard—and you wail.

“you should be grateful,” he growls. “i could’ve left you dripping and untouched. instead, i’m wasting my time fucking you through the desk like some cheap little fuckdoll.”

he leans back just enough to see your reflection in the glass cabinet ahead. the way your mascara’s smudging, your mouth falling open with every thrust, your body wrecked and desperate and completely his.

he grabs your face, turns it toward your own reflection.

“look at yourself.”

you do—and you whimper.

“look at what i’ve turned you into.”

he grins, low and dangerous.

“and say thank you.”

you moan. “thank you, shiu—thank you—!”

his breath hitches.

“that’s right.”

his hand closes over your throat again.

“now take it.”

and he fucks you so deep, so rough, you’ll be limping back to campus in his spare dress shirt because your clothes are ripped to shreds.

HIGURUMA HIROMI

he’s always been so polite.

held your hand across the table, remembered your coffee order, adjusted your jacket when it slipped off your shoulder. he’s older, calm, grounded—your quiet man in the storm of your busy, chaotic little college life.

but not now.

not when he has you sprawled out on the soft leather couch in his office, legs over his shoulders, face flushed, breath ragged, hands trembling as you cling to the lapels of his suit jacket—like you can hold on to any sense of composure when he’s pounding into you.

“what did you say?” he asks, breathless, low, eyes burning into yours.

you can’t even remember what you said. everything’s fuzzy. everything’s hot.

he slows, hips dragging back, his cock sliding against every hypersensitive inch of your soaked, fluttering cunt.

“you said you were nothing, didn’t you?”

you flinch.

“that you like being talked to like you’re beneath me?”

your lips part—barely a nod—and his jaw clenches.

“fuck.”

his pace shifts, rougher now. mean. and it’s like something in him shatters—all that calm gone, replaced by low, filthy groans and sharp thrusts that make you scream.

“you want to be treated like a good girl?” he pants, hand curling under your thigh, keeping you wide open.

you nod, whining.

“then why are you dripping like a whore when i call you worthless?”

your whole body jerks at that word. he notices.

and now you’re done for.

his grip tightens. his voice drops to a gravelly whisper against your ear:

“you like that? being called a whore?”

you gasp, clutching his sleeves.

“my sweet little honors student,” he snarls. “always so smart. so well-behaved. and yet here you are, soaking my cock just because i called you fucking pathetic.”

his hand snakes down, fingers circling your clit.

“you’re disgusting.”

you clench around him and he groans.

“god. you really like that. my perfect little doll’s a filthy, degrading-obsessed slut.”

he leans in close, mouth hovering over yours.

“say it.”

you blink up at him, dazed.

“say what you are.”

you whisper it, shameful, breathless.

“…i’m a slut.”

he smiles—mean, but affectionate. a kiss drops to your cheek.

“good girl.”

and then?

he ruins you.

[hearts4hughes]

hiii could you do a rafechella where she drags him around to see all the artists, makes him wear glitter, and he pretends to hate it but is obviously so down bad for her? thank u angelll

RAFECHELLA 2025

“no way you’re putting that shit on me.”

rafe sits shirtless on the bed of your airbnb, watching you apply glitter onto your rosy cheekbones.

your bottom lip juts out. “all the hot coachella boyfriends will have it on,” you mumble. “guess you’re not one of them.”

he straightens his spine, cursing under his breath before caving. “whatever, just make sure it’s blue and not some pink girly color.”

you squeal, pressing a wet kiss to his cheek. your lipstick stains his tanned skin, but he does not attempt to wipe it off.

you straddle his lap, a compact of glitter in one hand while the other swipes it onto his face. he furrows his brows, muttering complaints about how you’re using too much, but his eyes sparkle with pure admiration and affection.

“perfect,” you stand back to admire your work. “now every bitch in california will want you.”

“well, the only one i want is right here.”

~

coachella hits the second you step through the gates. bass thumping, bodies glittering, sun blazing overhead. you’re practically vibrating with excitement, hand interlocked in rafe’s as you drag him through the crowd.

he’s already brooding in his white tank, aviators on, looking way too serious for someone surrounded by fairy wings and shirtless dudes in mesh.

“okay,” you start, breathless, “we’re hitting mojave first. tyla goes on in fifteen, then we swing by dolab, and then—”

“you said there’d be beer,” he grumbles, cutting you off. “you promised beer.”

you glance over your shoulder, grinning.

“there is beer,” you say like it’s obvious. “but first? vibes.”

he groans dramatically but doesn’t stop walking. you know he won’t.

you’re halfway to the stage when your favorite song starts. you don’t hesitate, just start dancing, right there in the middle of the crowd, your boots kicking up dust, your hands in the air. rafe just watches, arms crossed, trying (and failing) to look unimpressed.

“you’re not even pretending to have fun,” you call over your shoulder, laughing.

“i’m trying to pretend you don’t look hot as fuck,” he mutters, and your stomach flips.

he lets you pull him in, your back pressed to his chest, his hands resting low on your waist. he smells like sunscreen and sweat and a little bit like the lemon vape he swore he wasn’t bringing.

later, in the middle of the set change, you pull your glitter pot out of your bag and swipe another streak across his cheekbone before he can dodge you.

“seriously?” he deadpans. “again?”

you just blow him a kiss.

he doesn’t wipe it off.

~

when the sun sets, the real festival begins. you encounter more cleavage, joints, and glitter than you ever have.

your arms are looped around his neck, bouncing to the beat of the music while he stands behind you, big hands holding your hips as an anchor.

you tip your head back to look at him.

“you’re having fun, huh?”

he lifts a brow. “i’m drunk, deaf, covered in glitter, and my girlfriend’s been screaming in my ear for six hours. what’s not to love?”

you laugh, eyes crinkling, and he leans in closer, lips brushing your ear.

“plus,” he adds, “i get to watch you dance in that tiny little skirt. honestly? best night of my life.”

you gasp, shoving his chest.

“you’re so gross.”

“you made me wear body glitter. i’ve lost all dignity.”

“you never had any.”

“fair.”

the crowd screams just then, and rafe doesn’t even flinch. he just grabs your face and kisses you like he’s been waiting all day to do it.

your hands fist in his shirt. his lips are warm and soft and everything inbetween.

when he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, and his voice is quiet, almost shy.

“you look like a walking disco ball and i think i might be in love with you.”

your heart stumbles so hard it nearly faceplants.

“you think?” you say, breathless.

“i know,” he says quickly. “shut up.”

“mmhmm. sure.”

he rolls his eyes and kisses you again anyway.

~

the night ends how everyone should: aching feet, smudged makeup, drunken giggles.

your body’s practically limp against him, forehead resting against the back of his neck, words slurred and sleepy.

“you’re gonna drop me,” you mumble, not even lifting your head.

“never,” he says like it’s a promise. “unless you throw up on me. then all bets are off.”

you let out the tiniest laugh, which fades into a sigh as you close your eyes again. your glitter, makeup, and who-knows-what-else have smeared all over the back of his white tank, but he couldn’t care less. his arms are firm around your thighs, holding you like you weigh nothing. like you’re his favorite thing to carry.

“you’re heavier than you look,” he mutters.

“rude.”

“truthful.”

“i hate you.”

“you love me.”

you hum something that sounds suspiciously like agreement.

your head lols and your breathing softens. he leans his cheek against your arm and lets the quiet settle around you both. he knows you won’t remember half of what he says right now. that’s kind of why he says it.

“you were the prettiest girl there,” he whispers. “and i’d wear glitter every day if it meant ending up with you like this.”

no response. just the slow rise and fall of your chest against his back, the sound of your soft breathing, the occasional clink of bracelets as your arms sway gently around his shoulders.

“you’re my favorite part of all this,” he adds, voice low, almost a secret.

you don’t stir, and he smiles to himself, carrying you the rest of the way home.

[littlelamy]

title: catching him cheating

warnings: 18+, language, angst, part 1 part 2 part 3 (mon)

your fingers trace the tiny locket sewn into the soft fabric of his ralph lauren sweater, the little heart stitched onto the chest like a secret. you’d spent hours threading it in, thinking of how cute it would be when rafe saw it—how he'd smirk, maybe tease you, then kiss your head murmuring 'i love you' because, despite everything, he was soft for you.

except he wasn’t. not really. because when you push open the door to his house, already grinning, already calling his name, all you hear is the wet slap of skin against skin, a low groan that is unmistakably his.

“fuck—sofia—”

it’s a wrecking ball to the ribs, a sharp inhale that never makes it out. you stand frozen in the doorway, your hand still mid-air from where you'd been about to wave, like an idiot. like the world hadn’t just caved in beneath your feet.

sofia is bent over the couch, hands gripping the leather, her back arching as rafe pounds into her, his fingers digging into her hips so hard they’ll leave bruises. she moans his name, and his head is thrown back, sweat-damp hair sticking to his forehead, lost in the pleasure of it, of her.

then he sees you.

“fuck.” he rips himself away so fast sofia stumbles forward, making a choked noise. but your eyes are on him, the way his pupils blow wide in something that is almost fear but not quite—more like the horror of being caught, of knowing exactly how bad this is but being powerless to rewind time.

“baby—no, no, please, it’s not—”

you don’t hear the excuse because your ears are ringing, heartbeat a war drum against your ribs. the blood drains from your face, leaving only cold, only static, only the unbearable weight of betrayal pressing down on your chest.

sofia scrambles to gather her clothes, half-stammering apologies as if she weren’t just moaning his name, but she isn’t the problem here. he is.

“you don’t get to call me that,” you whisper, voice shaking but sharp enough to cut. you swallow hard, jaw tight. “you don’t get to fucking call me that.”

rafe moves toward you like he actually thinks he can fix this, like he can close the distance and make you forget the image already seared into your mind. “please, you have to let me explain—”

“explain what?” your voice cracks, eyes burning. “that you’re a liar? a fucking cheat?”

“it was a mistake,” he swears, desperation creeping in. “i fucked up. i'm drunk, i—”

“no.” your laugh is humorless, sharp. “you don’t just trip and land inside someone, rafe.”

his face twists, frustration curling at the edges, and suddenly the remorse cracks, something uglier slipping through. like a switch flipping.

“fuck, fine,” he snaps, raking a hand through his hair, voice laced with irritation now. “you wanna be a drama queen about this? go ahead. but don’t act like you’re fucking perfect.”

it’s laughable. disgusting. you shake your head, staring at him like you don’t even know him anymore. maybe you never did.

“you are such a fucking coward,” you murmur, voice quiet but scathing. you take a step back, one foot already out the door. “don’t ever speak to me again.”

and for the first time, he looks scared. really scared. because he knows you mean it.

tags: @rafesbabygirlx @namelesslosers @drewsephrry @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @rafedaddy01 @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @lil-sparklqueen @rafessweetgirl

[crushmeeren]

// ⋆ well shit…here i am, back on my bullshit, writing about the man who inspired me to start this blog in the first place.

// ⋆ no warnings, fluffy fluff with my main man katsuki. take it!!! (.づ◡﹏◡)づ.

master list

Some of the best moments in your relationship are in the evening. When Katsuki crawls into bed right after his nightly shower.

It’s late. Super late. So late, in fact, you’ve completed your own routine and have curled up under the covers. Dinner, shower, skin care, putting on your favorite lotion, etc. You’d reached the point of scrolling on your phone without a care, the TV playing in the background for white noise.

Katsuki comes home from patrol just as the grip on your phone starts to become lax, eyelids drooping, mind jerking awake to find the same video has played on an endless loop for the past five minutes.

Katsuki calls out as he strides down the hallway. “You in bed already princess?” He’s shoeless entering the bedroom, headband pushed up to hold back his bangs, and he reeks of sweat.

“Mhmm. Was gonna try and wait up for you so we could shower together, but I got too tired.” You drop your phone and reach both arms out for him. “C’mere.”

Katsuki hums, bending down once he reaches the bed, wrapping you up in a warm hug when you meet him halfway. “Careful, I smell fuckin’ terrible. I didn’t shower at work.”

“Don’t care,” you say, squeezing him tight. His tank top is a bit damp. “You smell like burnt caramel mostly, so it’s not too bad.”

“You’re fuckin’ lying,” he says with a laugh, pressing a kiss to your temple and releasing you from the hug. You flop onto the mattress, boneless. “I was soaked in sweat before I left, it’s more than just fuckin’ caramel. It’s ass.”

Laughter bursts out of you. “Alright! Alright, you caught me, I was lying. You stink. Go shower please.”

Katsuki returns to the kitchen and eats whatever leftovers you put in the fridge first, then jumps in the shower, eager to end the night with cuddling. Once done he turns off all the lights, leaves the TV on, and slips under the blankets in his briefs only.

Clean, fresh, and something salty reminding you of the ocean fills your nose. Katsuki’s been trying a new body wash and it’s amazing. He relaxes on his back, arm raising to welcome you in, and waits. You snuggle into his side instantly.

He’s a touch too warm from the water, skin so soft and so smooth. Satisfied and in love, you rest your head on his chest, unable to recall a time you’ve ever felt safer or happier in your life. The feeling of contentment radiates to the tips of your toes.

You search for the covers and pull them up, an arm draping across his stomach as he hugs you close. Katsuki runs his free hand through his hair to shake out the access water, and a few cool drops hit your cheek, which he then wipes off with his thumb and mumbles an apology.

His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, fingers tracing idle patterns on your hip. Fighting off sleep is close to impossible now and the TV is still on.

“Kat,” you murmur. “I’m not making it through the next episode.” Your voice cracks with sleep.

“S’okay, princess. I’ll be up for a second, go ahead and knock out.”

You sigh and push into him even more. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he replies, tone as sweet as honey. “To the moon and back.”

[steddiealltheway]

As soon as Steve hears the phone ring, he sighs.

Robin is away visiting her family in Kentucky for the holidays, and the only other person to ever call would be...

"Dustin," Steve says, his free hand coming up to rest on his hip, "why are you calling?"

There's a pause on the other line before Dustin whines, "How do you always know when it's me."

"Because your irritating energy bleeds through the phone."

Another pause. "You got that from Robin, didn't you?"

Yes. He did. Sue him for wanting to be witty and taking a few notes from Robin. "What do you want?"

"Okay, so..." Oh boy. "I've been meaning to talk to Suzie for a while now, and we made plans not to talk on Christmas because she would be with her family all day, and I knew my mom wouldn't want me to be away for too long so-"

"The point, Dustin."

Dustin mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like multiple curse words before continuing, "The point is that I'm taking Cerebro to that hill, but I'm going to need a ride."

Steve frowns, walking toward the nearest window until the phone cord is fully stretched so he can pull a curtain open. He winces a bit at the bright light. "Dustin, it's freezing out, and the hill will be covered in snow."

"You would've done the same for Nancy!"

Steve's eyebrows raise. "Not the best approach if you want a ride, dude."

"I'm not trying to approach the whole you and Nancy thing. I'm trying to make a point," Dustin emphasizes a little too loudly into the phone. "You would do anything if you were in love! Even sit out in the snow for a few hours just so you can talk to the person you love."

"Have you ever heard of the phone?"

"Have you heard the number of siblings she has that would jump at the opportunity to listen in on our call? Plus, Cerebro is our thing."

Steve really wishes Dustin were in front of him, so he could see the way his cheeks are flushing during this exact moment. "You just like using your Cebro thing because it makes it feel like your love is forbidden."

"I do not!"

"Alright, Romeo," Steve says with a laugh, "I'll give you a ride. If you promise to only be there for an hour."

"Not including the time it takes to get there, set it up, and leave."

Steve sighs and knocks the phone against his head for a second before reluctantly agreeing, "Yes, but you better be bundled up so much that you're sweating out there. I don't want to hear you complain." He also secretly worries about the kid getting frostbite or something, but he'd never admit to it.

"Fine I'll see you in an hour?"

"Yeah, I'll see you then," Steve says as Dustin hangs up. "A thank you would've been nice..."

He really hopes he doesn't regret this.

-:-:-:-:-:-

When Dustin climbs in the car, he's bundled from head to toe but still manages to laugh at Steve who is wearing the same amount of layers as him. "Look in the mirror," Steve comments dryly before driving off.

The drive there isn't too long, and although Steve saw Dustin a few days ago - after Claudia insisted he spend Christmas with them instead of home alone - he's kind of glad to hang out with Dustin again. It's not often he gets a lot of one-on-one time with the kid anymore.

Which is why Steve is particularly bitchy when he pulls up to the familar area below the hill and find a familar van there.

"Dustin..."

"I didn't think you would agree to take me here and stay! So, I asked Eddie to give me a ride back this morning-"

"This morning?"

"And he said he was already going to be in the area and wanted to briefly meet Suzie and my Cerebro, so he's here now! And if you want, you can just drop me off. Think of it as a late Christmas gift."

Steve shakes his head. "And leave you in Munson's capable hands only to find out you two froze to death? No thanks." He gets out of the car with thoughts of a mourning Claudia Henderson on his mind.

"We wouldn't freeze to death!" Dustin practically shouts as he climbs out.

At that same moment, Eddie exits from his van, wearing his usual attire, only with maybe an extra added layer - a leather jacket.

Steve turns to Dustin, raising his eyebrows and gesturing toward Munson. Dustin sighs before going to the trunk to dig out all the different Cerebro parts.

Before Steve can join him, Eddie approaches him with a big smile. "Steve Harrington. Looking awfully toasty."

Steve rolls his eyes in response before openning his car door and reaching toward the back, grabbing the spare pair of gloves and a hat that he keeps whenever Robin forgets the extra layers - which is often. He hands them to Eddie without a word then helps Dustin grab his things before heading to their snow covered destination.

Eddie only lasts a few minutes up the hill before he manages to push into Steve's space while Dustin hurries ahead of them. "So, you look happy to see me."

"Just peachy, Munson."

Eddie snorts. "I'm guessing Dustin didn't tell you I would be tagging along when you got here?"

"And I'm guessing Dustin didn't tell you I was planning on staying."

"Actually," Eddie says, nudging Steve's shoulder, "I told him you would jump at the opportunity to hang out with him, and there was no way you would drop him off to freeze to death."

Steve narrows his eyes as he looks at Eddie.

Eddie shifts things around in his arms to grab his shirt and jacket and lift them up enough to show off some of his scarred skin. "Our matching battle scars will forever bound us, Steve. I wonder if the bats gave us telepathic abilities," he says, way too cheery for Steve's liking.

"If it did, then I would teleport up to the top of the hill right now."

"Telepathic means the ability to read each other's minds. The word you're thinking of is 'teleportation.'" Eddie corrects him without judgement - something Steve's always found surprising.

"Oh. Then guess what I'm thinking about right now."

Eddie hums before leaning in to mumble in his ear. "You're thinking about getting a piece of this."

Steve laughs and shoves him away. He's glad it's cold out so he blame his blush on the cold. For some reason, he's still not entirely immune to Eddie's flirting. "Definitely not what I was thinking about."

"You are now," Eddie teases.

Steve swallows heavily, pressing down those thoughts and many... many.... images. "I think you're confusing my thoughts for your own thoughts."

"Tell me about it," Eddie sighs dramatically.

Steve is relieved when he sees they've reached the top of the hill. He's even more relieved when Dustin doesn't ask for his help to put Cerebro together, but Eddie is all too happy to help while calling Dustin a genius - in various annoying, dramatic ways.

It's not long before Dustin is awaiting Suzie's response while Eddie bounces on his feet. Steve's not sure if it's from excitement or being cold - probably both.

"Dusty bun?"

Dustin's face lights up in a way that is entirely too endearing for Steve's heart to handle. The jedi has learned the art of love from the master - or something like that. "Suzie poo! I'm here with Steve and Eddie for the next few moments. Eddie wants to say hello."

Steve frowns and raises his voice, "I want to say hello, too! Eddie just wants to be dramatic about it."

"Because I haven't had the pleasure of meeting the lady," Eddie argues before turning up the charm. "Suzie, it's a pleasure. I'm sure you've heard nothing but wonderful things about me just like I've heard nothing but wonderful things about you. Unlike Steve over here who you've probably never heard a good thing about."

"Hi, Eddie, it's nice to meet you," Suzie replies, giggling. "And hi Steve!"

"Hey, Suze. Don't let Eddie win you over with his charm just yet. It's bad for his ego."

"You think I'm charming?" Eddie asks, batting his eyelashes.

Steve makes a see? gesture before realizing Suzie can't see him.

"Alright," Dustin says, "Now they're going to leave us alone for the next hour."

"Hour? It's already been at least five minutes," Steve complains.

Eddie grabs him by the shoulders and steers him away. "Don't worry, Suzie! I'll make sure you get the fulll hour!"

Steve lets Eddie guide him a little down the hill, ignoring when Suzie asks, "Do they always bicker like an old married couple?"

When they get a comfortable distance away, where they're out of earshot but Steve can still see Dustin to make sure he doesn't freeze to death, Steve sits on the ground. He glances up after he gets as comfortable as he can get on the side of a hill, only to find Eddie frowning down at him.

"What?" Steve asks.

Eddie shrugs. "Doesn't seem fair that you get to sit on the ground, and I can't."

Steve's eyes scan over Eddie's body. "Not my fault that you didn't wear a long enough jacket to cover your ass when you sit."

"Not my fault that I wasn't born into a wealthy family that can afford those jackets."

Steve's stomach flips, but he knows Eddie isn't looking for an apology. "Why don't you sit in your van then?"

"Wouldn't want to miss my chance to hang out alone with Steve Harrington," Eddie says with a wink.

Steve nearly scoffs and gives him a snarky reply, but his thoughts go out the window when he notices Eddie's teeth chattering. "Shit," he mutters.

"What was that?"

Steve groans and stands up before unzipping his large jacket.

"Am I in a dream?" Eddie jokes, but his voice shakes a bit.

"You're about to be living one," Steve says dryly as he stands in front of Eddie and opens his coat. Eddie just stares at him. Steve huffs out a breath that becomes visible in the cold air between them. "Come here."

"What?"

Steve raises his eyebrows at Eddie before tugging at his coat. But Eddie continues to stare at him with wide wandering eyes. "I'm not letting you freeze to death up here, so come here before I tell Dustin to pack it up because you're cold."

Eddie crosses his arms a little tighter. "I'm f-fine." A shiver visibly runs through Eddie's body.

Steve rolls his eyes for what feels like the hundreth time this day and wraps Eddie in his jacket before he can protest.

He's stiff for a moment, then Eddie relaxes enough to wrap his arms around Steve who is able to close the jacket around them. They linger in each other's arms long enough that Eddie stops shivering and Steve wonders how much time Dustin has left with Suzie.

"Better?" Steve asks to break the silence.

He feels Eddie nod over his shoulder before he pulls back enough to look him in the eye, nose brushing against Steve's as he whispers, "I know something we could do to keep ourselves warm."

Steve's heart beats a little faster in his chest.

Eddie laughs and tucks his head into Steve neck, his lips far away enough from Steve's that it's no longer the only thing on Steve's mind. With the new brain space, he can feel Eddie drum a nervous rhythm onto his back and bounce a little on his face. He wonders if maybe Eddie was onto the whole scars making them read each other's minds thing because he swears he knows the first part of what Eddie's about to say before he says it.

"Sorry if that was too much. No guy has ever let me flirt at them the way you do."

Steve gets stuck on flirt at and, "No guy?"

Eddie lets out a short humorless laugh. "No guy."

And for some reason, Steve has to ask, "Has any guy let you kiss them before?"

Eddie pulls back to look at him with a frown tugging at the corners of his lips. "What are you getting at, Steve?"

Steve glances at Eddie's lips, slightly chapped but they've never looked more inviting. Maybe it's time to listen to Robin's knowing looks whenever Eddie is around and Steve finds himself simultaneously drawn to him while also wanting to run to the bathroom with Robin to have another floor talk. "What if one guy let you kiss them?"

"Steve..." Eddie whispers, his eyes flicking over his shoulder.

Steve turns to find Dustin, facing away from them. Still he loosens his hold on Eddie and says, "Wrap your arms around my neck instead of my back."

Eddie does as he's told, and Steve gives him no warning before saying, "Hopefully this goes alright." Then, he slightly picks up Eddie before falling back, letting the snow break their fall as he lays back with Eddie on top of him.

"That went better than I thought it would," Steve says with a big smile then asks, "Can Dustin see us?"

Eddie glances up and shakes his head.

"Perfect," Steve says, heart practically beating out of his chest when Eddie looks down at him. When he doesn't make a move, Steve can't help but tease, "So you really are all bark, no bite."

"Shut up, Harrington," Eddie says before finally kissing him.

For only a moment, Steve nearly laughs at the fact that Eddie Munson told him to shut up. But then his brain goes nearly haywire yet completely silent when Eddie's lips meet his in what he thinks might be the single most transformative kiss of his life.

His arms tighten around Eddie's back, and Eddie's hands move to cup the back of his head as they deepen the kiss. Somehow, laying in snow, Steve has never felt warmer.

They eventually break the first kiss reluctantly, both of them going back to steal more as they catch their breath, which turns into laughter and giggles between more kisses. Then, Eddie breaks away long enough to say, "You know, the van is seeming like a really great option at the moment."

"And Dustin's a smart kid. He knows how to not freeze to death," Steve says, kissing Eddie every chance he gets.

"You're right. No need to stay here in the snow," Eddie replies.

"Right."

Neither of them make a move to get up, but they both move to kiss again.

It's only a little while later before they hear Dustin yell out, "Guys?" And that's when they finally break away.

Eddie pops up first and calls out, "Yeah?"

"Let's pack up! It's been over an hour! Come on!"

Steve pulls Eddie back down into the snow one more time for a kiss before stomping up the hill. "Alright, alright. We thought you'd be happier that we gave you more time and that we both waited for you."

"it's cold," Dustin complains.

Steve nods, but he still feels warm.

Eddie joins a few moments later, stealing glances at Steve before asking Dustin what they're doing next.

"I'm thinking we change out of our snow clothes and get food somewhere maybe..." Dustin trails off and frowns at Eddie. "Why are you covered in snow?"

"We were making a snow angel?" Eddie hurriedly says.

Steve tries not to laugh.

"One?" Dustin asks.

Eddie nods. "You'll see it on the way down."

Sure enough, on the way down, they all see one horribly disfigured snow angel.

While Steve laughs and Eddie smiles proudly, Dustin shakes his head and mutters something like more curses to himself. In a volume that's able to be picked up by the other boys, he asks, "Eddie, you'll drop me off at my house, and we'll meet back up in an hour at my house?"

"Hour and a half," Steve says. When Dustin opens his mouth to complain, Steve explains, "I need to take a shower so I don't get pnemonia. Plus, I'm not letting my hair freeze on my way to your house."

"Fine," Dustin sighs. "See you then."

"See you then," Eddie echoes to Steve, winking at him once.

Soon after Steve gets home, he hears a knock on the front door, and when it's Eddie on the other side, Steve pulls him in and says, "Maybe you were right about the telek- tele-"

"Telekentic abilities?"

Steve nods as he closes the door behind Eddie and traps him against it. "I definitely know what you're thinking about now."

Eddie cocks his head to the side and wraps his arms around Steve's neck. "Yeah? What am I thinking about?"

"Kissing me again," Steve says, leaning in.

"Actually," Eddie says turning his head away, "I was thinking about a lemon."

"Crazy. I happen to have lemon scented body wash," Steve comments as he grabs Eddie's hands and tugs him up the stairs.

They're both a little late to Dustin's house. And maybe their hair freezes a bit.

But Dustin was right. There's a lot of things Steve would do for love.

[dilf-hunter-fantasies]

fantasizing about…

Sneaking filthy mouthed dbf!joel miller into your dorm room to fuck you on your xl twin size bed in front of your ten dollar Walmart floor length mirror.

2.7k words 🍒 warnings: explicit smut, no outbreak, age gap, female reader, f masturbation, size kink, pussy pronouns, unprotected piv, creampie, use of: daddy, darlin', girl, baby, praise and teasing

click here for more of my writing

shout out to everyone who supported my first little fic about bf joel!

let me know if you wanna be tagged for more joel fantasies

Joel grumbled and fussed the whole way up the back stairwell when you snuck him onto your floor. And it was so late you didn’t even have to bribe a friend to run interference with your RA. And when you get into your closet sized room and lock the door he has more complaints!

Bitching about how he’s too old to be sneaking around and worrying about some 20 year old kicking him out. His gravelly drawl is music to your ears though, even if he’s got nothing positive to say.

“Joel,” you warn, but the way your name falls from his lips a second later unravels you completely.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” he murmurs, hooking a finger into the waistband of your sweatpants. He tugs you closer, his free hand sliding under your shirt to rest warm against the small of your back.

“Missed you.” It’s a whisper when you let the words slip out.

“I know,” he rumbles back at you.

You don’t linger on his response thought, not with his mouth already brushing against yours, rough and sure and utterly Joel. You kiss him back, hard and needy, tangling your fingers in his soft curls.

His growl hums low in his chest as his hands gripped your hips, firm and possessive, steering you back until the edge of your bed hit the backs of your knees.

Then he’s slipping his hand into your sweats and nothing else matters but the touch of his rough, working man hands against your smooth skin. When he dips beneath the hem of your panties you gasp and he chuckles, a low, husky sound.

“Shit, darlin’,” he rasps. “She missed me that bad? Got ya tremblin’ already?”

“I told you I missed you.” You make a pouty frown in the dim light.

“You still ain’t find a college boy to keep her purrin’?”

“Fuck n-no,” you choke out the last word as his hand skims lower. “Need a real man.”

“Yeah,” he reluctantly grumbles, “and here I am, at your beck and call.”

When his thick fingers part your slick folds, your breath catches in your throat. When Joel finds just how fucking wet you are for him a scowl depends the lines of his face.

“Oh, this is bad, sweetheart,” he grumbles.

“Bad?”

“Yeah, ya know…bad. As in, no good? Thought you had to be smart to get into college?” He mocks you with his low, manly drawl. But at the same time, he drags his slick coated fingers from your messy entrance to your clit.

Your knees start to wobble. You got so caught up the second he touched you that you’d froze in place, just standing there dumbly while his hand dove between your legs. Weakly, your dig your fingers into his soft flannel shirt for support, biting down on your lip to dampen a moan when he starts rubbing circles around your throbbing bundle of nerves.

“You been neglecting her all week? She’s gushin’ on me like she never been touched by a man before, and we both know that ain’t true.

“No,” you argue weakly, eyes fluttering shut as he works you with the precision of a man who knows exactly what you need. “Jus’ not the same as when you do it.” 

He retracts his hand, your waistband snaps back, and you glare at him for edging you like that. “Hey—” 

“Show me.”

“No, Joel, please.” You whine needily, “Need your fingers or,” you rest your hand over the bulge in his jeans, giving it a gentle squeeze. Your next words come out as a whipser. “Or this.” 

He exhales slowly and you can feel the air in the room shifting. A stern look pulls his brows together and his eyes are dark as midnight. “You gonna argue with your Daddy now, girl?” 

Your face flushes with heat, cheeks burning at the question, and your cunt clenches so hard you squirm. You’ve almost let it slip a few times, but you’ve never called him Daddy before. Not in all the hookups you’ve had since that first summer night. The night when you’d both crossed the line you’ll never regret. 

You shake your head.

“Use your words now, darlin’. I know you can do it.” 

You take a breath to steady yourself before continuing. “M’sorry, Daddy. Not gonna argue, just need you bad.” 

“C’mere,” he says, sitting on the edge of your twin sized mattress. He pats his lap, expectantly. You move to straddle his lap, but he stops you. 

“No, baby,” he spins you by the hips, “face forward. You’re gonna show me how you take care of her when I’m not around. But I’ll letcha sit on my lap.”

Joel’s hands move deliberately, peeling your shirt off and tugging your sweats down, leaving you completely bare. He stays fully dressed, the rough fabric of his jeans brushing against the soft skin of your thighs as he pulls you onto his lap. The thick bulge pressing against your bare ass makes you moan, grinding against him instinctively. His hands grip your hips tightly, holding you still.

“Easy, baby,” he rasps, his breath hot against your neck. “Ain’t even started yet, and you’re already so needy.”

His lips trail over your shoulder, his stubble scraping your skin as he kisses and bites, marking you with soft growls of approval. One of his hands moves up, cupping your breast, his fingers pinching and rolling your nipple while the other slides between your legs.

“Go on,” he rumbles against your ear. “Let Daddy see how she likes it.”

Your cheeks burn, but you obey, your fingers trembling as they find your clit. Joel watches in the mirror across from the bed, his dark eyes locking on yours as you rub slow, teasing circles over your swollen bundle of nerves.

“Look at that,” he says, his voice low and rough. “That’s real pretty, darlin’.”

Joel’s grip tightens on your hips as your fingers work your clit, his eyes fixed on the mirror. His voice is rough, almost taunting. “Don’t be shy now, girl. I know you’ve done this before. Bet you’ve been thinkin’ about me every time, haven’t you?”

You whimper, your motions faltering, but Joel doesn’t let up. His hand slides up to your breast, squeezing hard enough to make you gasp. “Keep goin’. Don’t make me do all the work.”

Your reflection in the mirror is a mess—skin beading with sweat, mouth parted, your body trembling on his lap. Joel’s gaze stays glued to it, and he smirks. “There she is. Knew you’d be a good girl if I told you how.”

His free hand moves down, gripping your thigh as you rub faster, the pleasure building unbearably. He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. “Don’t stop until I tell you. Wanna see exactly how you make yourself cum when I’m not around.”

Your fingers move faster, the slick sounds filling the room, and Joel’s grip on your thigh tightens. “That’s it,” he growls. “Look at yourself. Drippin’ all over me like the needy little thing you are.”

The tension in your body coils tighter, and a soft cry escapes your lips as you teeter on the edge. Joel’s smirk deepens, and he leans closer, his breath hot against your neck. “Don’t hold back now. Make a fuckin’ mess for me.”

Your body obeys, the pleasure cresting all at once as your orgasm tears through you. Your legs shake, and you gasp, grinding helplessly against Joel’s lap as your fingers work frantically. He chuckles low and dark, watching you ride out your high.

“Good girl,” he rasps, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Knew you had it in you. But don’t think we’re done yet.”

He shifts his hips, the thick bulge in his jeans pressing harder against your bare, oversensitive core. His hands skim up to your tits, squeezing roughly as he murmurs, “Gonna give you something to think about the next time she’s achin’ for me and I’m not here.”

You’re still shaky when the words slip out, breathless and desperate. “Need you inside me, Daddy.” 

Joel groans, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he presses you down harder against his lap. “Already beggin’? Thought you’d last a little longer than this.” 

“Can’t,” you whimper, your voice breaking. “Need it bad.” 

He chuckles darkly, his lips curling into a smirk. 

He shifts you forward, and the sound of his zipper echoes in the small room as he frees himself from his jeans. The thick, flushed length of his cock presses against your folds, and you shudder, the heat and size of him making you ache with anticipation. 

Joel strokes himself lazily, dragging the tip through your slick, and growls low in his throat. “Gonna stretch this tight little pussy so good, you’ll be feelin’ me for days.” 

“Please,” you whisper again, your hand reaching back to grip his wrist. “I’m ready.” 

“Ready?” He laughs, the sound rough and mocking. “Look at her, baby. She’s so fuckin’ desperate she’s droolin’ on me. You think she’s ready?”

Joel doesn’t wait for your answer. His grip on your hips tightens, and he shifts you just enough to line himself up. The blunt head of his cock presses against your entrance, catching on your slick folds as he holds you there, teasing. 

“Yeah,” he mutters, dragging his tip up and down and smearing your wetness along his huge, veiny shaft. “She’s so fuckin’ messy already, and I haven’t even started.” 

You try to sink down, but his hands keep you still. “Ah, ah,” he chides. 

“We do this how I say. Gotta let Daddy ease you open first.” His tone and the way he takes control makes your eyes nearly roll back. And then he starts to work his fat cock into your warm, wet cunt. 

The first push is devastating. 

Joel groans as the thick head of his cock stretches you wide, your body resisting before giving way, inch by inch. It’s such an intense sensory experience. He’s so hard you can feel his pulse in his dick, every pump of blood beating a steady rhythm as your body adjusts to the intrusion.  

The stretch burns, overwhelming and perfect all at once, and you gasp, your nails digging into his thighs for balance. “Fuck, baby,” he growls, his voice tight. “She’s so tight, it’s like she’s never been fucked before.” 

You can only nod, your breath hitching as he sinks deeper, the obscene wet sounds filling the air. Joel watches the mirror, his dark eyes glued to where his cock disappears into you, stretching you wide. 

“Look at her,” he grunts, his hand sliding up your stomach to grip your chin. He tilts your head forward, forcing your gaze to the reflection. “Watch how she takes me. Watch how fuckin’ perfect she looks creamin’ all over my cock.”

Joel’s hips flex, driving himself deeper, and your jaw drops at the sheer fullness, the way he stretches you far past what should be possible. 

“That’s it,” he grunts, his voice raspy and uneven. “Takin’ me so fuckin’ good, baby. Thought this little college pussy couldn’t handle it, but look at her. Greedy as hell.” 

The mirror captures everything—the way your body shudders with each push, the shiny mess coating his thick length as it glides in and out, and the dark, possessive look in Joel’s eyes as he watches you take him. 

His words register dimly in your mind, making you giggle as you bounce on him. “You’re such a dirty old man. Probably been dreaming for–ah–for ages about having your own college slut to fuck.” 

He growls, one hand sliding to your lower stomach. He presses down just enough to make you gasp. “You said ya wanted a man, now you’ve got one inside you…so, watch.” 

Your head lolls against him, but you watch in the mirror. Where he’s drilling into your sloppy, drooling cunt.

“Feel how deep I am? Fuckin’ you so good you’ll feel me in your guts tomorrow.” 

You whimper, your body clenching around him, and Joel laughs low in his chest. “Shit, you like that, don’t you? Filthy girl. Sittin’ here on Daddy’s cock, makin’ a fuckin’ mess.” His rhythm picks up, the sounds of skin slapping and your breathless moans filling the room. 

Joel’s hand dips between your legs, his rough fingers finding your clit and circling it just hard enough to make your thighs quiver. “Rub it for me,” he orders, his voice dark and commanding. “Wanna feel you gush while I’m buried in this tight little cunt.”

He’s fucking you so deep you swear you can feel his dick in your lungs. All you can do is pant out desperate moans and curses, getting more and more frantic as he drives up into you.

“Fuck, holy s-shit, oh, oh, oh my god Joel, I-I’m gonna cum,”

You’re nearly wailing the closer you get. You can’t restrain your voice anymore. Not when the only thing you can think--no--the only thing that exists, is the sweet bliss when he hits that perfect spot inside of you. Your fingers work furiously, chasing the release, the pressure in you has you strung taut, ready to snap—or scream. 

Joel clamps a massive hand over your mouth, his palm pressing firmly against your lips. The sharp, possessive motion sends a shudder down your spine, and your cunt clenches around him so hard he groans.

“Quiet,” he rasps, his breath hot against your ear. “Don’t need the whole fuckin’ dorm wakin’ up just to hear you screamin’ my name.” 

You moan, muffled by his big hand, and gush around his cock at the thought of people hearing both of you. 

His voice dips lower, laced with dark amusement. “Or maybe you do. Huh? Wanna let all the boys on campus know exactly who fucks this pussy? Who you’re Daddy is?”

The taunt pushes you right over the edge. Your body spasms violently as your orgasm slams into you, your walls pulsing around him like a vice. You’re soaking him and dripping onto his thighs, the wet, filthy sound driving his hips even harder.

“Oh, fuck,” Joel groans, his rhythm faltering as he feels you milking his cock. “You’re fuckin’ unreal, baby. Such a dirty little thing. Can’t get enough, can you?”

Your head is spinning, your body limp against his as the waves of pleasure roll through you. Joel doesn’t let up, though, his thrusts relentless.

“Fuck, baby,” he growls, his voice thick and strained. “She’s fuckin’ sopping wet, clenching so tight.”

Joel’s grip tightens on your hips, his fingers digging into your skin as he pounds into you, harder and faster. The wet, obscene sound of his cock driving into your soaked cunt fills the room, and the pressure in his movements tells you he’s close.

“You feel that?” he rasps, his hand slipping from your mouth to cup your jaw, tilting your head so you can see the mirror. “Look at her, baby. Look how perfect she looks takin’ every inch of me. This pussy was made for me.”

You’re too far gone to respond, your lips parted and your breath coming in shallow pants. But the way your body contracts around him is answer enough, and Joel curses low under his breath, his thrusts growing erratic.

“Gonna fill you up,” he grunts. 

With one final thrust, he buries himself as deep as he can go, his cock twitching inside you as he spills hot and thick ropes of cum, filling you to the brim. The heat of his release pushes you into another shuddering climax, your body clutching him so tightly, milking every last drop.

Joel stays still for a moment, his chest heaving against your back. His lips brush against your ear, and he murmurs, “Mine. All fuckin’ mine.”

He dips his head, kissing and nipping at your neck, the hinge of your jaw, along the top of  your shoulder. Your breathing starts to settle as he soothes you with his ministrations. When he sucks hard enough to leave a mark on your shoulder, you smile dazedly, unbothered. 

You hope he marks every inch of your flesh. 

Because you are his. 

And you wish everyone could know. 

click here for more of my writing

please let me know if you liked this

let me know if you wanna be tagged for more joel fantasies

divider credit

[abbotjack]

Abbott with a ‘sir’ kink just feels right

(ps love your writing)

Oh absolutely—Jack Abbot with a ‘sir’ kink doesn’t just feel right—it explains so much. Man spent years in the military, still walks like command never left his body, and the second you call him "sir"? His jaw ticks. His breath catches. The air shifts. This is very him—and very you, ruined by him. 18+ ONLY. Do not interact if you’re a minor.

warnings/content: sir kink, emotionally repressed man finally losing control, rough sex, power dynamic tension, mentions of military trauma and death, alcohol (beer), reader is a fourth-year resident, Jack is Not Gentle™ p.s thank you so much to everyone who’s left kind words about my writing lately. it means more than you know <3

You weren’t supposed to be on shift. Memorial Day, supposedly protected on the schedule. But half the roster called off and you got the text at noon from Dana: we need you.

Jack was already in the trauma bay when you walked in—sleeves stained, voice low and clipped, the kind that made everyone fall in line without thinking. He didn’t say a word when he saw you. Just handed you a pair of gloves.

Now it’s past midnight. You’re outside the hospital, undershirt sweat-stuck to your spine. You could’ve walked home—it’s not far—but when Jack mutters, “You need a ride?” with his keys already in hand, you don’t say no.

His truck smells like unscented soap, clean cotton, and the faintest trace of leather—lived-in but scrubbed down, like everything else he keeps close. There’s nothing on the seats. No wrappers. No dust. Console organized, glove box latched. The kind of vehicle that’s been through things but still runs quiet—because he keeps it that way.

There’s a trauma kit in the backseat. You know without asking. Probably an extra pair of scrubs folded under it. Probably gloves in the door pocket, a stethoscope stuffed between the seats.

He drives with one hand on the wheel, wrist loose, posture upright. No music playing. Just the low, occasional murmur of the police scanner tucked under the dash.

He doesn’t talk while driving. He doesn’t fill silence for the sake of it. Jack Abbot isn’t wired for background noise. He reads intersections like patients—measures, anticipates, adjusts. Everything he does has a reason.

Even the way he glances over at you at the red light, like he’s making sure you haven’t slipped out of his orbit yet.

“You eat today?” he asks, like he already knows the answer.

You shake your head. “When would I have?”

He doesn’t respond right away. Just lets out a breath through his nose, turns the wheel one-handed.

“You’re coming back to mine,” he says.

Not a question. Not even an offer.

Just... routine.

You don’t answer. You don’t have to.

You’ve done this enough times to know there’ll be cold beer in the fridge, maybe leftover pasta—if Robby didn’t steal it last time he dropped by. Jack won’t say a word when you kick off your shoes at the door like you live here, too.

The house is dark when you step inside, but it smells like cedar and clean soap and something warmer beneath it—wood polish, maybe. His kind of clean. The kind that comes from knowing where everything belongs and putting it there, every time.

He moves through the space like it’s muscle memory, like the floor was built to match his stride. The quiet step of his prosthetic against the hardwood is as familiar to you now as the creak in the cabinet hinge he still hasn’t fixed.

“You want one?” he calls from the kitchen, already pulling open the fridge.

You murmur a quiet yeah and drift in, leaning your hip against the counter as he cracks two beers open. He sets one in front of you without looking. The cap lands in the little dish on the windowsill with a soft clink—just like all the others piled inside it. A dozen, at least. Maybe more.

The house is nice. Not just for a guy like him, but nice by any standard. Exposed beams. Matte black fixtures. Shelves that look like they belong in a magazine but you know he built them himself. It’s the kind of place that doesn’t need decorating because it was built right the first time.

You take your beer and head into the living room. Sit where you always do.

He follows, lowering himself into the armchair across from you with practiced ease. Weight shifts left, then the soft tap of his prosthetic finds the floor. You know the rhythm of how he moves—how he balances, how he settles. He doesn’t hide it. Doesn’t explain it. And you’ve never needed him to.

You glance at him.

“What,” he says.

“You always sit like that,” you reply.

He arches a brow. Not challenging—just neutral.

“You lead with your left,” you clarify.

“I don’t think about it.”

You nod. “Yeah. I know.”

You both sip in silence for a while. There’s a radio scanner in the corner near the window. It’s on, low. Something crackles and fades out.

“Why do you always work Memorial Day?” you ask.

He shrugs. “Don’t like being told to take the day off.”

That makes you smile. “So, spite.”

He doesn't smile back, but his voice shifts just enough to tell you it landed. “Something like that.”

You stretch your legs out. Rest the bottle on your thigh. “You ever miss it?”

Jack looks at the wall behind you—not through you, just past. Not escaping. Recalling.

“No.”

You wait.

“I miss the parts that made sense. Waking up every day with a mission. Knowing the rules. Knowing what mattered.” He looks at you. “But I don’t miss the heat. The sand. The sound a man makes when he thinks he’s going to die.”

You nod, slow. He’s not looking for sympathy. You don’t offer it.

You shift a little on the couch, not even thinking before you say, “Do you miss the authority? Like... being called ‘sir’ all the time?”

He glances at you. Not sharply. Just long enough to let the question hang.

Then he looks away again. Back to the bottle in his hands.

“I miss not having to explain myself,” he says. “That’s about it.”

You smile a little, trying to cut through it. “Well, you’re still kind of terrifying when you want to be.”

His mouth twitches. Almost a smile.

You tip your head toward him. “Sir.”

Just a murmur. Barely there. But he hears it.

He stills.

Doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t answer.

He just... sets his beer down.

Carefully. Quietly.

Jack leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped like he’s walking himself through something he already decided an hour ago.

He doesn’t raise his voice.

“Don’t say that unless you mean it.”

He holds your gaze, steady. Doesn’t push. Doesn’t move.

Just waits—like he’s giving you a last chance to pull back, even if part of him knows you won’t.

And when you don’t—when you just sit there, breathing quiet and not taking it back—

He stands and crosses the room—measured, quiet, with that same deliberate ease he always has right before everything changes.

You set your beer down without thinking.

When he stops in front of you, he doesn’t speak. Doesn’t touch you.

Just looks at you.

You’re still sitting, hands loose in your lap, heart loud in your chest. You tilt your head back to meet his eyes.

“Still sure?” he asks.

You nod.

That’s all it takes.

He leans in—both hands coming to your face, one curling against your jaw, the other threading into your hair—and kisses you like he’s been trying not to for a long time. His body tilts over yours, braced, sure.

It’s not gentle. It’s not rough. It’s need—heat, breath, a scrape of teeth. You tilt into it, fingers catching the front of his shirt, anchoring yourself like you’re afraid he might pull away.

When you stand—rising into him—it’s instinct, seamless. That’s when his hands find your waist, gripping like he’s finally letting himself touch what he’s wanted all along.

“You want this?” he asks, breath hot against your cheek.

You nod, already breathless. “Yes.”

He steps back—not far. Just enough to let you follow.

You do.

No words. No second thoughts. Just the sound of your breathing and the quiet creak of floorboards beneath his steps.

The bedroom is like the rest of the house—dark, clean, minimal. Black sheets. Hardwood floors. A space that’s only ever held him, until now.

The door barely clicks shut before he’s already working your pants down—no fumbling, just intent. Mouth on your jaw, breath hot and uneven as he pulls them past your thighs.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he says, almost under his breath.

You do. Of course you do. Every look, every shift in his voice, every beer he handed you with his jaw clenched too tight.

You step out of the last of your clothes. He does the same—fast, practiced, stripped down to nothing but need.

He backs you toward the bed, then pushes you gently by the hips. You go easily, falling back onto the sheets, legs parting before you even think about it.

Jack stares.

His body over yours—solid, scarred, familiar—but his face?

Wrecked.

“This,” he says, low, like he’s not even speaking to you, like he’s talking to the version of himself that told him not to touch you. “This was always gonna happen.”

Then he’s on you.

No teasing. No delay.

Just his mouth, hot and heavy between your legs, tongue dragging slow and purposeful until you’re arching off the bed with a sound you barely recognize as yours.

You grip the sheets. His shoulders. Anything.

He doesn’t stop.

He doesn’t even look up.

Just groans low into you like he’s addicted to the way you fall apart under his hands.

You’re already shaking when he pulls back, mouth wet, chest rising.

“Turn over,” he says, voice wrecked.

You hesitate just a beat—enough to see the way he breathes when you do it. When you shift onto your stomach, hips lifted, arms bracing.

You hear the sound of the condom, fast. Efficient.

And then—

Jack’s hand on your lower back. Steady.

And the way he slides into you? Slow. So deep it knocks the air out of you.

He curses under his breath. Grips your hip with one hand and the back of your neck with the other—not to force you down. Just to hold you there. Like he needs you solid. Still.

You moan into the mattress. He groans above you, pace already building.

Every thrust is measured. Heavy. Earned.

“Fuck, you feel—” he breaks off. “I can’t—Jesus.”

You push back into him, and he snarls something low and wordless. One of his hands slides around to your front, fingers finding you again.

“Come for me,” he growls. “Right fucking now.”

And you do.

Hard.

So hard your voice breaks.

He groans—sharp, wrecked, desperate—and follows you over the edge with one last thrust, hips grinding against yours as he comes with a sound that tears right through your spine.

You both collapse, tangled, shaking, breathless.

Nothing moves for a long time.

You stare up at the ceiling, lips parted, chest still rising and falling.

Then, quiet—almost lazy—you murmur, “I guess I should start calling you that more often.”

Jack doesn’t lift his head, but you can feel the tension in his body change. Loosen. Settle.

“You do that,” he mutters, voice half-buried in your neck, “and I’m not gonna make it to shift tomorrow.”

You turn toward him, drape an arm across his chest, skin still hot against yours.

“Guess we’ll test that theory.”

Jack exhales, something low and rough in his throat—just close enough to be a laugh.

[rbfclassy]

QUICKIE! — TOJI FUSHIGURO

SYNOPSIS...toji just can’t keep his hands to himself after not fucking you for a week...which results in a quickie

INFO...toji x fem!reader, reader and toji have kids, toji calls reader mama, doggy, groping, spanking, missionary (?), praise, cream pie, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

“Hey do you have anything to wash?” You walked up to Toji holding the laundry basket in your hands as he played with your two kids.

He looked up at you from the floor. “Nah, I’m all set, mama.” He smiled, handing your son his favorite toy. With a nod, you walked away with the full basket, heading towards the laundry room. You sighed at the clean pile of clothes that you had to fold, rolling your eyes in annoyance.

You threw the dirty clothes in the wash before grabbing the detergent. You let out a small squeak at the feeling of your husbands hands snaking around your waist. “You scared me,” you chuckled.

“Sorry,” he responded, pulling you against his chest, sinking his head into the crook of your neck. He placed a small kiss on your skin, hands rubbing up and down your waist. “Should’ve asked me for help.”

You closed the detergent, placing it back on the shelf as you started the washer. “It’s fine, I got it,” you replied. Toji hummed in response, his hands moving lower and lower down your body. “Toji, what are you doing?” You giggled.

You tried to turn and face him but he kept you from doing so. “Uh uh, stay just like this for me,” he whispered. He pushed his hips against your ass, his cock semi-hard. “We haven’t been able to do anything for the past week. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little pent up, and you walking around with these shorts and tank top isn’t helping one bit.” He smacked your ass before giving it a harsh squeeze.

You bit down on your bottom lip, feel him grow more hard as you moved your against him. It was true, you and Toji haven’t had sex in the last week or so. Both of you so tired from work and the kids, running errands, it always got in the way of your sex life. You hadn’t really thought about it much before, but now that Toji brought it up, you were feeling quite pent up too. “So, what’re you gonna do about it, hm?” You asked, teasingly.

A low chuckle left his lips, his fingers grazing over your skin, making their way under the fabric of your clothes. His hands came up to your chest, cupping your tits and squeezing them, groping them. Your skin started to heat up and arousal pooled in your panties. Just his touch alone was enough to get you all hot and bothered. “We gotta be quick.” He hurriedly bent you over the washer, a swift hand pulling your shorts and underwear down. “I’ll never get tired of seeing this ass…fuck,” he groaned. He palmed himself through his sweats, admiring the view of your dripping cunt.

Toji wasted no time in pulling his sweats and boxers down, cock springing free and leaking pre cum. He let out a shaky breath, rubbing his tip up and down your slit, mixing his arousal with yours. He could already feel how warm and wet you were, cock throbbing at the thought, anticipating how you feel around him. Slowly, his head pushed past your entrance, your lips wrapping around him, sucking him in. “Ohhh fuck, baby—mmm shit,” he breathed. His hands grabbed your hips, pulling you back on him, going deeper to reach your sweet spot.

“Ah, oh my god.” The stretch was so deliciously intoxicating, sending your brain into a spiral and he’s barely moved yet. “Baby, we gotta be quick, please,” you begged, afraid that one of the kids might knock on the door and interrupt. You felt him thrust slowly, letting you get used to the feel of his cock before going any faster.

“Shhh, it’s fine. They’re watching a movie.” He began pulling you back against his hips so you met his thrusts, your walls clenching around him each time he threatened to pull out. “This pussy is so wet for me, goddamn,” he grunted, moving faster.

“F-fuck!” You stammered, feeling how hard and fast he was going. “Feels so fucking good!” Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, hands gripping onto the edges of the washing machine as you tried to hold yourself stable. “Nnngh! You’re so deep! Oh my god!” You squealed.

Toji pulled you up, your back pressed against his chest as he continued to pound into you. “Shh, mama. I know it feels good, but you gotta keep quiet for me, okay?” He placed his hand over your mouth, his arm wrapped around your waist to hold you steady. Your eyes fluttered shut, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix with each thrust. “Ohh fuck yes. Shit, this pussy feels so fucking good.”

Your muffled moans fell upon deaf ears, your legs felt like they were jelly. Pleasure clouded your mind, all you could think about was him fucking you until you came over and over again. Suddenly, he stopped. He grabbed your hips, turning you around and lifting you on top of the washing machine. He pulled you close to the edge, your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck. Both watched as he slowly slid back inside, a shaky breath leaving his lips as he felt you wrap around him again. “Look at me, don’t take your eyes off me,” he demanded.

You stared back at him with lustful eyes, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you fought so hard to hold back your moans and whimpers. Your brows furrowed in pleasure, feeling how close you were to cumming. Your jaw dropped, head falling back as he grazed over your g-spot. “Oh fuck you’re gonna make me cum!” You cried, gasping for air. “Fuck! Fuck! Baby!” You whimpered.

“I know, mama. Let it all out for me. Cum on this dick.” He kept his pace the same, feeling you clench around him, a sign you were close. His hand wrapped around your neck, pulling you in for a sloppy kiss, tongues messily moving against each other as he swallowed your moans. Finally, the coil snapped. You pulled away from the kiss, eyes rolling back, body quivering as you came. Toji covered your mouth again, muffling your curses and moans. “There you go, that’s my good fucking girl.”

He pulled his hand away, staring back at you with half lidded eyes, loving the cum drunk look written all over your face. “Cum in me,” you spoke.

“But, your not on—”

“I don’t care, cum in me,” you said with desperation.

“I fucking love you,” he chuckled with a smile, his thrusts growing sloppier. He was fixated the way his cock disappeared in you, each time he pulled back out he could see your cum at the base. It only drove him more crazier. “Nnngh, ah! Oh, baby I’m gonna cum!” His hips stuttered against yours before he buried himself deep inside of you, feeling him coat your walls with his sticky cum. “Fuck!” He grunted. “Ah, yes!” He breathlessly chuckled.

“I think we both needed that,” you laughed.

“I agree.” He smiled, pulling you closer to place his lips on yours. He slowly pulled out, his cum slowly dripping out of you. “We made quite a mess.” He looked down between your legs and then back up at you.

“We’ll clean it up—”

A knock on the door startled both on you, thankfully Toji had locked the door. “Mommy, daddy, the movie is over! We wanna watch another!”

“It’s your bedtime, sweetheart! Maybe tomorrow!” Toji shouted back. Both of you looked at each other, sharing a few seconds of silence before laughing. “I think we might have to start doing quickies more often, yeah?” He whispered.

“Once you put the kids to sleep, meet me in the shower.” You kissed his lips, entangling your fingers in his hair.

“I just can’t get enough of you, mama.”