#i hope this was toe-curling enough for you

[this-is-tiny-mia]

Table 11 (H.S One Shot)

ceo!harry x fem!reader

Summary: based on this request.  An encounter at a restaurant brings together Y/N, a hardworking waitress with little time for love, and Harry, a successful yet guarded man who fears opening up. Both hesitant to risk their hearts, they find themselves drawn to each other, their bond growing through late-night conversations, stolen moments, and quiet acts of understanding.

A/n: Hi again!! my second one shot out there! i’m so excited! i hope you all enjoy it and thanks to @panini for sending the request i enjoyed writing this sooo much. And as always thanks to @eileenrry for hyping me up always. If you wish to be tagged in other works please comment, or dm me.

Word count: 8k

Warnings: A tiny bit of angst, use of y/n, casual alcohol consumption over dinner, 700 words of SMUT at the end, use of puppy and daddy, unprotected sex. (If i missed something please do not hesitate to tell me)

“Can you grab table 6 for me?” you asked Mandy while balancing three cocktails on a tray, your fingers trembling slightly from the weight. It was Valentine’s season, and Velours et Flamme was packed to the brim. The sound of laughter and clinking glasses echoed through the gilded dining room, where even the flickering candlelight seemed to exude wealth.

It didn’t matter that it wasn’t Valentine’s Day yet—everyone wanted their moment under the chandeliers. For them, it was romance; for you, it was a chaotic shift.

You’d been working at Velours et Flamme for a year now, and you knew the drill: smug diners with wallets thicker than your rent, checks that could pay off your student loans, and that absurd scotch on the menu—£1,500 a pour. To this day, you were waiting for the kind of client who would actually order it. 

“Sure thing,” Mandy said with a wink, swooping past you with practiced ease. She had a knack for smoothing things over, whether it was with a picky customer or a stressed coworker. If Mandy wasn’t here, you weren’t sure how you’d survive these shifts.

London was unforgiving, and the pay barely covered the essentials—your rent, your transit card, and the occasional discount coffee from the café down the street. Your shoes, now with a small but growing hole near the toe, told the story of just how tight things had become. God forbid you needed to replace anything.

As Mandy headed for table 6, you stole a moment to glance around the room. The scent of truffle oil and roasted lamb was in the air, mingling with the sharper scent of overpriced cologne. Couples leaned in close at every table, champagne glasses raised, their conversations drowning in the clinking cutlery and soft piano music. Mandy, as usual, glided effortlessly between the chaos. She was stunning—like she belonged on the cover of Vogue instead of weaving through tables at Velours. The way she carried herself, you wouldn’t guess she was struggling just as much as you were. But you knew better. Beneath her flawless smile and the perfectly knotted apron, she was just like you: one bad week away from disaster.

You adjusted the tray in your hands and sighed. This was your life now. Maybe someday you’d climb out of this rut, but for now, it was all about surviving one shift at a time.

Just as you turned to deliver the drinks to table 9, the heavy oak doors of the restaurant creaked open, and the cold London air swept in. You glanced toward the entrance, catching sight of a man walking in. His tailored coat was with some raindrops, and his dark hair was just long enough to curl at the edges.

He was greeted by the host, and you caught his name—Harry Styles. You watched as the host confirmed his reservation.

Harry was alone, which was odd for this time of year. Valentine’s season practically demanded companionship at a place like this. But maybe his date was running late. Or his wife? You glanced at his left hand, but from this distance, it was impossible to tell.

He looked about 33, though it was hard to pin down exactly—youthful yet mature, effortlessly put-together in a way that suggested his wardrobe cost more than your yearly salary. His tailored black coat hung perfectly over broad shoulders, and when he ran a hand through his hair, the movement seemed practiced, like he was used to being observed.

And worth a million dollars? That part wasn’t in question. Everything about him screamed money—the subtle watch peeking out from his cuff, the polished leather boots, the way he carried himself like the room was his even though he’d just walked in.

The host gestured for him to follow, leading him straight to a table in your section. Your section.

You felt a flicker of something—nerves? Annoyance? You couldn’t quite put your finger on it. All you knew was that your curiosity had been piqued. You adjusted your apron and reached for the notepad tucked into your pocket, readying yourself to take his order.

Before you could take a step, Mandy appeared at your side, her lips curving into a sly smile.

“Think that’s the guy who’s finally ordering the scotch?” she teased, nudging you with her elbow.

You snorted softly, shaking your head. “If he does, I’ll frame the receipt,” you muttered.

Mandy’s grin widened, and she winked before sashaying off toward table 6.

You took a steadying breath and made your way toward his table. As you approached, you couldn’t help but notice how his gaze briefly flicked up from the menu he’d been scanning

“Good evening,” you said, forcing your voice to steady as you reached his table. “Welcome to Velours et Flamme. Can I start you off with something to drink?”

He looked towards his phone on the table “Just water for now, thanks,” he said, his voice rich and smooth, but maybe with a tired undertone

Not the scotch, then.

“Of course,” you replied, scribbling it down. You walked towards the bar and Mandy was there patiently waiting

“The scotch??” she asked, her smile mischievous as her eyes flicked over your shoulder in the direction of his table.

“Water,” you said, your voice tinged with mock defeat as you plopped your notepad on the counter.

Mandy looked at you for a moment before the bartender slid the glass of water across the counter. She grabbed it and handed it to you with a knowing smile. “C’mon don’t be so sad, we will find that scotch guy”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you headed back to his table. As you approached, you couldn’t help but glance at him again—his fingers tapping idly against the edge of the table, his eyes scanning the room but never settling on anything. There was something about him, something you couldn’t quite place.

“Here you go,” you said, placing the glass of water on the table.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “Can I get the smoked salmon, the asparagus salad, and…” He paused, finally looking at you. The pause lingered longer than you expected. “A Blackthorn Reserve. Neat,” he finished, his gaze still fixed on you.

“Smoked salmon, asparagus salad, and Blackthorn Reserve,” you repeated, trying to read him, but his expression gave nothing away.

“Thanks…” he said going back to his phone No date, no wife—just him, casually dining in an absurdly expensive restaurant while everyone else was tangled in whispered conversations and candlelit stares. He was the only one alone, a stark contrast to the Valentine’s frenzy buzzing around.

Something about him tugged at your curiosity. Why was he here, of all places? Who was he? How much was his coat, and why did it cost more than your rent? Rich men came and went every day, dripping with smugness and entitlement, but he was different. There was no show, no pretense. He treated this place like it was McDonald’s—calm, unbothered, as if the exclusivity and extravagance meant nothing to him. That nonchalance only added to the mystery, making it impossible not to wonder what his story was.

The bar hummed with activity, a low symphony of clinking glasses, muted laughter, and the occasional scrape of chairs against polished wood. You navigated the crowd, the weight of the tray in your hand feeling oddly grounding amidst the chaos.

“Can I get a Blackthorne Reserve, neat?” you said to the bartender on call. He barely glanced up, focused on shaking a cocktail for the group at the other end of the counter. The momentary wait was a blessing—giving you a second to steal a glance at him again. He sat at the corner table, the one slightly shrouded in shadow. His posture was relaxed, one hand tracing the rim of the empty glass in front of him.

When his drink was ready, you balanced the tray carefully and made your way over. The coaster slid neatly onto the table before you placed the drink on top.

“Blackthorne Reserve, neat,” you said softly, your voice steadier than you felt.

He looked up, his expression calm yet unreadable. “Thanks... Can I get your name, please?” His tone was casual, but his words carried a strange weight that made your heart stutter.

“Y/N, sir,” you replied, meeting his gaze for a second longer than you intended.

“Thanks, Y/N.” He smiled then—a small, soft smile that you could feel, inexplicably, in your chest.

You nodded and turned away, heading to the next table, though you were suddenly more aware of the way you moved. You kept busy—taking orders, clearing plates, laughing politely at some table’s joke. Yet, every so often, your gaze wandered back to him. He wasn’t demanding, not like some of the regulars who snapped fingers or tapped glasses. No, he sat with an air of quiet patience, occasionally checking his phone, occasionally glancing around the room. You wondered what had brought him here tonight. A celebration? A distraction?

When his dinner order was ready, you rushed to the kitchen pass, grabbing the plate with a precision born of habit. You steadied your breathing as you approached his table, placing the dish down with care.

“Smoked salmon and asparagus salad,” you announced.

“Perfect, Y/N. Thank you so much,” he said, and there it was again—the faint curve of his lips, his voice as soft as it was warm.

The evening rush began to taper off, leaving the restaurant quieter but no less busy. You caught sight of him still at his table, the remnants of his meal neatly pushed to the side. His glass sat empty now, save for the last amber droplet at the bottom, and you found yourself wondering if he was ready to leave.

Before you could approach, he raised his hand slightly—a small, deliberate gesture that seemed to summon only you.

“Another Blackthorne Reserve?” he asked when you were close enough to hear.

“Of course, sir.”

“Drop the ‘sir,’ please,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching into a barely-there smile. “Harry, my name it’s Harry”

You felt a flush of warmth creep up your neck but nodded. “Coming right up, Harry”

At the bar, you relayed the order, watching out of the corner of your eye as he leaned back in his chair, gaze drifting lazily around the room. By the time his drink was ready, you were certain he had no intention of rushing out. You placed the glass in front of him with the same careful precision. “Blackthorne Reserve,” you said softly.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he said, his voice quieter now, as though the dimming energy of the restaurant had reached him too. “Anything else?” you said softly

He didn’t immediately answered instead, he cradled the glass in his hands, staring down at the dark liquid for a moment before lifting his gaze again. His eyes roamed the room, landing briefly on each table. Couples sat scattered around the restaurant—some leaning close, sharing quiet conversations; others laughing over shared plates. A few tables sat in comfortable silence, the kind that came from years of companionship. And then at you.

“Busy night,” he murmured, catching you lingering nearby.

You looked around as if you didn’t knew it ws a busy night, then nodded. “Always is, especially with so many couples out. Valentine’s coming up”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice carrying a wistful note. He swirled the drink in his glass before taking a slow sip. “Guess I picked the wrong night to dine alone.”

The words caught you off guard, but you managed a polite smile. “Some people prefer it. A quiet drink, good food—it’s not a bad way to spend an evening.”

He looked at you then, a glint of curiosity in his eyes. “What about you? Do you get much time for quiet evenings like this?”

The question was unexpected, and you faltered. “Not much,” you admitted. “Work keeps me busy.”

He nodded, as if that answer satisfied him, but there was something in his gaze that lingered. It felt like he wanted to say more but didn’t. As the evening wore on, he stayed longer than most, nursing his second drink and watching the world around him with a quiet attentiveness. You found yourself glancing his way more often than you meant to, wondering what kept him there—and whether he might ask for something else before the night was over. The restaurant was nearly empty now, the hum of conversation replaced by the clatter of plates being cleared and the occasional murmur of the remaining people. You passed by his table one last time, noting the way he stared into the near-empty glass, lost in thought.

As if sensing your presence, he looked up and offered a faint smile. “Can I get the check, please?”

You nodded, quickly retrieving the bill and placing it on the table. “Here you go.”

He glanced at it, pulled out a sleek black card, and handed it back to you. “Thanks, Y/N.”

The transaction was quick, and when you returned with the receipt, he stood, slipping the signed copy back into your hands.

“Have a good night,” he said softly, pausing just long enough to meet your eyes before heading toward the door.You watched him leave, his figure disappearing into the cool night air. The faint sound of the door closing behind him was a strange punctuation mark to the evening—unremarkable, yet lingering all the same.

And then, the rhythm of work pulled you back, but you couldn’t quite shake the weight of his presence. “Y/N? C’mon there’s a lot of mess here” you heard Mandy and glanced at her, plates, glasses, napkins. It was going to be a long week.

-----

Valentine’s day arrived and the soft murmur of conversations filled the elegant space of Velours et Flamme. You were just adjusting a neatly folded napkin at your station. It was already late, just 2 hours before closing, couples were coming and going, but this was the last shift of reservations

“Good evening, welcome to Velours et Flamme. Do you have a reservation?” the host asked.

“Yes, Styles. Harry Styles,” came the reply. His voice was smooth, distinct, and enough to draw your eyes toward him. Standing tall in a sleek coat.

“Table 11, if possible,” he added with a polite nod, his gaze drifting briefly over the dining area.

“Table 11 is currently busy, but I can offer you 19. It’s a lovely table by the window.”

There was a brief pause “19 it is,” he said, his voice tinged with reluctance.

The host gestured toward the far side of the room, leading him past softly glowing tables and couples lost in intimate conversations. He sat down, still looking for you but his perspective was interrupted by Mandy, the epitome of calm under pressure, She greeted him warmly, placing a menu on the table. “Good evening, sir. Welcome to Velours et Flamme. Can I start you off with a drink tonight?”

He looked up from the menu, his polite smile softening as he spoke. “Thanks, but before I order… Is Y/N working tonight?” 

Mandy blinked, caught off guard, but quickly recovered. “Y/N? Oh, yes, she’s here tonight. She’s been covering the other section.”

He leaned back slightly in his chair, his expression unreadable “Do you think she could take my table instead?”

Mandy’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “Of course. Let me check with her, and I’ll be right back.”

As Mandy walked toward you, you noticed her smirking like she was holding onto some juicy secret. “You’ve got a request,” she said, her tone teasing.

Your brows furrowed. “A request? For what?”

“For you,” she said, nodding toward table 19. “Mr. Styles wants you to take his table. Any idea what that’s about?”

Your stomach flipped at the mention of his name. You clearly remembered him from two nights ago. You wiped your hands on your apron, trying to steady yourself. “I’ll take it and you can take table 10 for me” you said, as you headed toward his table.

When you arrived, he looked up, his expression softening into a warm smile. “Y/N,” he said, your name sounding effortless on his lips. “Good to see you.”

“Good evening, Mr. Styles,” you replied, your voice steady despite the quickening beat of your heart. “I’ll be taking care of your table tonight. Can I start you off with something to drink?” “Wine, Soléne Blanc, Truffle-infused Fettuccine and sparkling water” he said not even looking at the menu “Coming right up” you said smiling, you somehow felt happy, you had your usuals clients, but they were cold, smug, mostly annoying, him? totally different vibe. You kept serving him with a small smile, always checking in case he needed something, but he didn’t ask for much. He ate quietly, sipping his wine and enjoying his pasta like it was just another evening out. Like if the restaurant wasn’t all decorated with heart balloons and cupid stuff.

The night went on, and the restaurant slowly emptied. Couples left hand in hand, tables were cleared, and the soft hum of conversation faded away. Eventually, it was just one other customer in the far corner—and him. You busied yourself wiping down tables and resetting for the next day, glancing at his table now and then. He didn’t look like he was in a rush, finishing his wine and leaning back slightly in his chair.

Finally, he raised his hand, and you walked over, thinking he was ready to leave.

“Would you like the check, Mr. Styles?” you asked politely, ready to grab it for him.

But instead of nodding, he looked up at you, his expression calm but curious. “Not just yet,” he said. “Are you allowed to sit down for a bit?”

The question caught you off guard. “Yes, of course,” you said, glancing around. The manager and the host had gone home early that day to be with their SOs, but you? Along with the servers, chefs, and cleaning staff? Yeah, no such luck.

You sat down across from him, feeling a bit nervous, not sure what this was all about.

“You know,” he started, his tone hesitant, “I don’t know if this is weird at all—and you can tell me to fuck off if it is—but...” He paused, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t have many friends, and tonight... I just need to vent.”

“Well, I’m a good listener,” you replied, suddenly way more curious than before.

He exhaled deeply, his hand still resting on the base of his glass. “It’s Valentine’s Day, you know?” he started, glancing out the window. “Supposed to be about love, connection... all that.” He let out a dry laugh. “But here I am, eating dinner alone, wondering if I’ve got it all wrong.”

You tilted your head slightly, encouraging him to go on.

“My love life?” he said, leaning back in his chair. “It’s... nonexistent. And it’s not like I haven’t tried. But most people don’t stick around. They see me, and they assume—‘CEO,’ right? So they’re either intimidated or they expect me to be some larger-than-life, perfect version of myself. I end up pushing people away because... what’s the point? I’ll never be what they want me to be. And even if I could... it wouldn’t feel real.”

He paused, his expression softening. “It’s stupid, isn’t it? A room full of people earlier tonight, and I’ve never felt lonelier. Sometimes, it feels like there’s this... wall between me and the rest of the world. Like I’ll never find someone who’s really... my person.”

Your heart ached a little at his words. “I don’t think that’s stupid at all,” you said softly. “I mean, I get it... in a way. Maybe not from a CEO perspective,” you added with a small laugh, “but... I get it.”

You leaned forward, your fingers lightly tracing the edge of the table. “I’ve been working as a waitress for years now. Just trying to make ends meet, you know? And between shifts and side jobs, there’s no time for... anything else. No time for dating or even dreaming about a real future.

“The few boyfriends I’ve had?” you continued, shaking your head. “They never got it. They’d complain about me working too much or not spending enough time with them. But they never thought about my goals—what I wanted. And let’s be real,” you added with a small shrug, “it’s not like my paycheck could make those dreams happen anyway. So, yeah, I guess I’ve given up on that, too. What’s the point, right?”

You let out a short laugh, trying to lighten the moment, but he didn’t laugh with you. Instead, he studied you, his expression softening even more.

“It’s different,” you said quickly, “but... I think I understand. Feeling like you’re giving so much of yourself but never really... being seen.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on yours. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Exactly that.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The sounds of the kitchen winding down and the soft hum of the music filled the space between you.

“Thanks” “Anytime”

-----

After that first night, when he opened up to you, something shifted. He became a regular, showing up more often than you expected. Always in your section. Always polite, Always Harry. with that soft smile that somehow made your stomach flip no matter how much you tried to ignore it. And yet, every time he walked through the door, you felt a tiny pang of dread mixed with curiosity.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t kind—he was. He never made you feel uncomfortable, never crossed a line. But that was exactly the problem. It was too easy to talk to him, to laugh at his dry jokes or share fleeting glimpses of yourself you hadn’t meant to reveal. You’d been down this road before, or so you told yourself. You knew what happened when you let someone in. It started with little things—a laugh, a smile, a shared moment. And before you knew it, your heart was tied up in something messy, something that always felt like it demanded too much of you.

Your exes had taught you that love wasn’t about equal footing, at least not for someone like you. Love had been another job, another place where you had to prove yourself, where your dreams took a backseat because someone else needed more—more time, more attention, more of you.

And now, here he was. Harry. A man who, on the surface, seemed worlds apart from you but had a way of making you feel like he truly saw you. And that terrified you.

Because what if he didn’t? What if, like everyone else, he was drawn to an idea of you—someone kind, patient, maybe even a little mysterious—but not the real you? The one who worked double shifts just to keep the lights on, who barely had time to think about her own dreams, let alone share them with someone else?

So, you kept your walls up. You kept things professional, polite. You smiled, laughed when it felt safe, but you never let yourself think too much about why his visits mattered or why your heart raced when you saw him.

Until that night.

You brought the check over as you always did, a practiced smile on your face. He signed it, handed it back, and thanked you like he always did. But rushed to go out.

When you glanced down at the receipt, your breath caught.

“123-456-7890 Call me? - Harry”

The number scrawled below it was neat, confident, like he hadn’t hesitated for a second. But you did.

You gripped the paper tightly, your mind spinning. This was the moment you dreaded—the moment where things teetered on the edge of something more. And with it came all the fears you’d been trying to bury.

Because what if he meant it? What if he actually wanted something real? What if he saw more in you than you could see in yourself? And maybe worst of all... what if you let yourself hope, only to have it all fall apart again?

You froze for a moment, staring at the slip of paper, your mind racing. He had just walked out the door, and you glanced after him through the window, catching the faintest glimpse of his silhouette.

----- A few nights passed, and you convinced yourself that ignoring the receipt was the right thing to do. The thought of calling him felt too big, too real. You’d gotten good at guarding your heart, at keeping things simple. But deep down, you felt the faint sting of regret every time you thought about it.

Then, on a quiet evening, as the rush died down, there he was.

You saw him before he saw you, his figure familiar now, confident but approachable. He made his way to the host stand, scanning the room until his eyes landed on you. His smile was soft, almost hesitant, like he wasn’t entirely sure he’d made the right decision coming back.

“Table 11 again?” he asked the host.

---

You approached, trying to steady your nerves. “Good evening,” you said, your voice quieter than usual.

“Hi,” he replied, leaning slightly forward. His expression wasn’t upset, but there was something thoughtful in his eyes. “I hope you don’t mind me stopping by.”

You shook your head, unsure what to say. “Why would i?” 

“I just wanted to check in,” he said. “About the number. I wasn’t sure if I crossed a line leaving it. If I did, I’m really sorry. That wasn’t my intention.”

You blinked, surprised. The last thing you expected was for him to apologize. God you expected an angry response, even pretentious but you even scolded yourself in your mind just thinking Harry was capable of that. “No, you didn’t cross a line,” you said quickly. “Not at all. It’s just...” You hesitated, feeling your walls crack ever so slightly. “It’s complicated.”

“I get that,” he said softly, leaning back in his chair. “I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. That’s the last thing I’d want.” The sincerity in his voice made something shift in you. For all your fears about opening up, he was here, not pushing, not demanding, just... waiting. The crack on your walls was now getting bigger.

“Thank you,” you murmured. “For saying that. And for... being patient.”

He nodded, smiling faintly. “I figured it was worth it. You seem worth it.”

The words hung between you, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak. Your chest felt tight, like you were standing at the edge of something unknown. And then, before you could overthink it, you made a decision. 

One wall completely down.

You reached into your apron pocket, your fingers brushing against the scrap of paper you’d tucked away days ago. Slowly, you slid it out, unfolding it carefully before placing it on the table in front of him.

He glanced down, his brows lifting slightly as he recognized the paper.

“I didn’t call i did save the number in my phone but..i didn’t call…” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Because I was scared. I’ve always been scared. But maybe...” You took a shaky breath. “Maybe I’m tired of being scared.”

His eyes softened, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of something you hadn’t let yourself hope for—understanding, warmth, maybe even relief.

“So,” you continued, your voice steadying as you looked him in the eye. “If the offer’s still open, I’d like to start over.”

His smile widened, and he picked up the slip of paper, tucking it into his jacket pocket like it was something precious.

“The offer’s still open,” he said, his tone light but full of meaning.

For the first time in a long time, you let yourself smile back. “Can I start you off with something to drink?” you said going back to your waitress self, but this time with a big smile on your face.

The rest of the night carried an air of something new, something unspoken. You noticed it in the way his gaze lingered as you brought over his glass of wine—a different one tonight, a crisp Sauvignon Blanc.

“You’re not sticking to a favorite?” you teased lightly as you set the glass down.

He smirked, his fingers brushing the stem. “I like variety. Keeps things interesting.”

“Does that apply to everything or just wine?” you asked, surprising yourself with the boldness.

He chuckled “Guess you’ll have to find out.”

The banter flowed easily after that, your interactions feeling more relaxed, almost playful. When you brought out his dinner—tonight, a wild mushroom risotto—you couldn’t help but make a small quip.

“Risotto,” you said, placing the plate down. “Trying to impress someone tonight?”

“Just my server,” he replied smoothly, making you glance away with a shy smile.

As the evening wore on and the restaurant began to empty, you found yourself gravitating toward his table more often. He didn’t seem to mind; in fact, he welcomed your presence with a smile each time. When he finally asked for the check you came quickly and handed it over.

“Thanks,” he said, glancing up as he pulled out his card. “Should i leave another note on the receipt or should i ask right away?”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “About what?” 

He handed back the signed receipt, a sly grin on his face. “Well, if we are skipping the middleman. Have dinner with me—somewhere that isn’t here. I promise I won’t make you serve me.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how casually he’d said it. “You’re asking me out?”

“Too fast?” he teased.

“A little,” you admitted, but your heart was pounding. “But i like it this time”

He stood, shrugging on his jacket. “Well, think about it. No pressure. Just... somewhere nice, where we can talk and you don’t have to carry plates around.”

You couldn’t stop the smile spreading across your face. “Okay,” you said softly. “But only if I get to pick the place, no fancy Michelin-star restaurants.”

“Deal,” he said, standing and shrugging on his coat. “But just so you know, I’m good with street tacos or diner burgers.”

The laugh that bubbled out of you was genuine, and as he waved goodnight and walked out into the night, you realized you were already looking forward to whatever came next.

-----

The dates started slow, testing the waters of this new, fragile connection. Their first was at a cozy, family-owned pizzeria, far removed from the polished dining spaces Harry was used to frequenting. They sat in a corner booth, sharing stories over thin-crust slices and soda. You learned that his laugh came easily when he was truly comfortable, and also learned or imagined how wealthy he was. Him telling you about his company didn’t compared how one of your ex-boyfriends talked about a new crypto. He was passionate, honest, not even mentioning how much money he makes in a year, it was pure. As pure as corporate can get.

After that, there was a second date at an indie bookstore. Harry had smiled as you danced from shelf to shelf, excitedly recommending titles, while he kept his hands tucked in his pockets, quietly absorbing your passion. You ended up leaving with two novels you insisted he had to read and a poetry collection he bought, saying, “I thought of you when I saw this.”

Then came the late-night phone calls. You both quickly learned that your lives rarely aligned, but you made the most of the small pockets of time you shared. He’d call after a long day at work, his voice a little tired but steady as he asked about your day. You’d talk quietly from your bed, recounting the chaos of the dinner rush and sharing little anecdotes about your coworkers. sometimes until you fell asleep and he heard your steady breathing through the call.

“Do you ever get a day off?” he joked one night, his voice warm through the receiver.

“Not often,” you admitted. “But I’m used to it. And hey, at least I’m not running a company.”

“Touché,” he replied, laughing softly. “But don’t think for a second I’m not impressed by what you do.”

The weeks passed in a flurry of mismatched schedules and stolen moments. When aligning your off-days seemed impossible, Harry started stopping by the restaurant on his way home from work, not to eat but just to see you.

“Table for one?” you teased the first time he showed up unexpectedly.

“Not quite,” he said with a smile, taking a seat at the bar instead. “Just water, please. I didn’t want to add to your workload. i just wanted to see you” 

You brought him the water, leaning against the counter for a brief moment when the restaurant was quiet. “You didn’t have to come all this way,” you said softly.

“I wanted to,” he replied, his gaze steady. “You’re the best part of my day.” ---

The first kiss came on a rainy night after one of those visits. The restaurant was closing, and he had waited outside under the awning as you locked up. When you stepped out into the night, he was there with an umbrella, holding it out for you.

“Need a ride home?” he asked.

You nodded, and he quickly arrived to your place. At your door, there was a brief pause as you turned to thank him.

Before you could speak, he leaned in, his movements precise, as though giving you time to pull away. But you didn’t. When his lips met yours, it was soft and sure, his hand coming up to cradle your cheek.

It wasn’t hurried or frantic—it was the kind of kiss that made you feel like you had all the time in the world. And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe you deserved this. When he pulled back, his forehead resting lightly against yours, he whispered, “Finally.”

You laughed softly, your cheeks warm despite the cool rain. “Took you long enough.”

And with that, the lines between your busy lives blurred a little more, the moments you carved out for each other feeling less like an interruption and more like a necessity.

----

It happened on an unusually quiet night. You were sitting across from him at his place, a cozy loft that felt miles away from the chaos of the restaurant. The table was littered with the remnants of takeout boxes, and you were laughing at a story he had told about a disastrous business trip. The laughter faded into a comfortable silence, he leaned back in his chair, his eyes scanning your face as if trying to figure out the best way to say something.

“I’ve been thinking,” he started, his tone casual but his expression serious.

“That sounds dangerous,” you teased, though the look on his face made your heart flutter with curiosity.

“I’m serious,” he said with a small smile, leaning forward now, his elbows resting on the table. “I’ve been watching how hard you work. You’re on your feet all day, running around, dealing with difficult customers. And then you come home and somehow still have the energy to take care of everything else in your life.”

“That’s just life,” you said, shrugging. “You know how it is. You make it work.”

“I know,” he said, his voice softening. “But it doesn’t have to be like that. Not for you.”

You frowned slightly, unsure of where this was going. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath. “I’m saying I could offer you something different. A way to work that doesn’t involve twelve-hour shifts and aching feet. Something where you’d have more time for yourself, for your dreams, and…”—his voice faltered just slightly—“for us.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you leaned back in your chair, trying to process his words. “Harry, are you asking me to quit my job?”

“Not asking,” he clarified quickly. “Just… suggesting. If you wanted to. I could offer you a job. Something in my company, but nothing high-pressure. Maybe in admin, or operations, or whatever you’d like. You’d have a flexible schedule, a good paycheck, and, most importantly, time to breathe.” Of course he wasn’t asking, he’s Harry, ALWAYS making sure it was purely your decision.

The weight of his offer hung in the air, and you felt a tangle of emotions—gratitude, doubt, and an overwhelming sense of being cared for in a way you hadn’t expected.

“I don’t know,” you said slowly, trying to find the right words. “I’ve always worked for everything I have. I wouldn’t want you to think I’m just…”

“Stop,” he said gently, cutting you off. “This isn’t about charity. It’s about giving someone I care about a chance to live their life differently. You deserve that. And it’s not just for you—it’s for me too. I want to see you happy. I want to see us happy.”

You looked at him, his eyes earnest and unwavering. “And you think this would make me happy?”

“I do,” he said simply. “But it’s your choice. If you’re not ready, or if you want to keep things as they are, that’s okay. I’ll still come to the restaurant and order my overpriced water just to see you.”

That last comment made you laugh, easing the tension in the room. You stared down at the table, tracing the edge of a takeout container with your finger. “What would I even do at your company?” you asked softly.

His expression brightened slightly, and he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Anything you want. Admin, scheduling, planning events—whatever feels right to you. And we can figure it out together. No pressure.”

You bit your lip, considering his words. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”

“Dead serious,” he said, his tone firm but gentle. “You deserve more than what you’ve been settling for. And selfishly…I’d love to have more time with you.”

His honesty warmed you in a way you hadn’t expected. For so long, you’d carried everything alone, convinced that leaning on someone else meant weakness. But Harry wasn’t asking you to lean on him; he was offering to walk beside you.

“Okay,” you said finally, the word barely audible.

His brows lifted in surprise. “Okay?”

You nodded, a nervous laugh escaping. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll do it. I’ll work for you.”

The grin that spread across his face was enough to make your heart skip a beat. “You won’t regret it, I promise.”

“I better not,” you teased, though the smile on your face betrayed your nervousness. “But just so you know, I’m not going to be some pushover employee. If you’re a terrible boss, I’ll quit.”

He chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Fair enough. But I think you’ll find I’m quite charming.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing despite yourself. “We’ll see about that.”

In that moment, the fear you’d been carrying felt lighter. You weren’t just throwing yourself off a cliff—you were trusting that Harry would catch you, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe that was okay.

----

Life had changed in ways neither of you could have imagined. The small apartment you'd once called home was now replaced by a shared space filled with light, laughter, and little touches of each other everywhere—his collection of vinyl records stacked neatly in the corner, your books scattered on the coffee table, and the scent of fresh flowers he insisted on buying for you every week.

You had found a rhythm together, a balance between his busy days running his company and your own work, which had evolved into a role that allowed your creativity to shine. You weren’t just an employee at his company—you were a partner, bringing ideas and energy to projects in ways you never thought possible. And at the heart of it all, there was love. Open, unapologetic, and boundless love.

Mornings were filled with teasing banter over breakfast, and nights ended with shared dreams and whispered promises under the covers. On weekends, you’d go on adventures—sometimes exploring new cities, other times simply enjoying lazy days at home. There was no hesitation in showing how much you adored each other, whether it was in the way he’d kiss your forehead absentmindedly or the way you’d hold his hand tightly in crowded rooms.

One evening, after a particularly exciting day of work, Harry had an idea. “Let’s go out for dinner,” he said, tossing his jacket onto the back of the couch.

“Sure,” you replied, grabbing your shoes. “Where to?”

He paused, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Velours et Flamme.”

You froze for a second, then burst out laughing. “You’re kidding.”

“Not at all,” he said, his grin widening. “It’s been a while. I think it’s time we revisit the place where it all started.”

Despite your initial hesitance, you found yourself walking into the restaurant hand-in-hand with him that evening. The familiar scent of wine and spices filled the air, and the decor, though slightly updated, still held the charm you remembered.

The host greeted you with a polite smile “Welcome to Velours et Flamme. Do you have a reservation?”

“Styles,” Harry said smoothly, squeezing your hand.

You were led to a table by the window, the same spot you’d served him on that Valentine’s Day when everything began. As you sat down, you couldn’t help but feel a wave of nostalgia wash over you.

“This feels surreal,” you admitted, glancing around.

“Good surreal?” he asked, his eyes twinkling as he leaned forward.

“Very good surreal,” you said, smiling and carefully looking at the menu, when an idea quickly popped into your mind. You bit your lip, hesitating for a brief moment before speaking up. “Can I splurge a little? Or maybe… a lot?”

Harry tilted his head, intrigued. “What’s on your mind?” he asked, glancing at the menu with a playful smile.

You took a deep breath, letting your finger trace over the menu’s edges before landing on the words you’d been eyeing. “Cairnburn 18,” you said firmly, looking at him with a small, determined smile.

“Scotch?” he asked, raising an eyebrow but not even glancing at the price.

“It’s something I need to do. Please,” you said softly, a touch of vulnerability in your tone.

He didn’t question it, didn’t protest or ask for a reason. Instead, his expression softened, and he reached for your hand, cradling it gently before bringing it to his lips. The kiss he pressed to the top of your hand was tender, a silent reassurance. “Anything you want,” he said, his voice calm and sincere.

The waiter arrived, and Harry placed the order without hesitation, his gaze never leaving yours. You couldn’t help but feel a swell of gratitude for him in that moment—not just for agreeing, but for understanding without needing an explanation.

As the Cairnburn 18 arrived, the rich, £1,500 a pour, amber liquid catching the light, you smiled and raised your glass to him. “To us,” you said simply.

“To us,” he echoed, clinking his glass gently against yours. ----

You both knew how the rest of the night would go the minute you left the restaurant. Back home, he helped you undress, kissing every inch of exposed skin as he did. When you were bare, he pressed his lips to yours, the heat between you building as his hands roamed over your body.

The way he touched you everytime was unhurried, like he was memorizing every curve. His fingers teased along your collarbone, traced your hips, and softly grabbed your breasts. His hands were everywhere, But nowhere near the place you needed him most.

Finally, he pulled back, his breath ragged, his eyes dark with desire. You let him guide you to the bed, watching as he stripped off his clothes and joined you. The heat of his body was intoxicating, and you found yourself craving more—more contact, more skin, more of him.

He sensed your need because he moved closer, the length of his body pressed against yours, his cock hard and thick against your thigh. You ached for him, the anticipation coiling in you, but he didn't rush.

Instead, he trailed kisses along your neck, his stubble rough against your sensitive skin. His fingers danced along your inner thigh, teasing closer and closer to your folds. When he finally touched you, it was with a firm, confident stroke, his thumb brushing against your clit and making you gasp. "Harry..." you moaned breathless

"Yes puppy?" He asked with an innocent tone and used that nickname that made you weak, and kept up the torturous pace, working you higher and higher until you were a trembling mess beneath him. You moaned, begging him for more, and he finally relented, easing a finger inside of you and setting a relentless rhythm. “More” Your pleasure built quickly, the intensity making you cry out, but just as you were about to tip over the edge, he pulled away. Before you could protest, he positioned himself between your legs, his cock hard and glistening at the tip.

He leaned forward, bracing his forearms on either side of your head and gazing down at you with a look of pure devotion. "I love you," he whispered, the words sending a thrill through your entire body. "And I'm gonna take care of you, puppy. Always."

With that, he thrust into you, filling you completely and stealing the breath from your lungs. The feeling of him inside you was almost too much, and you clung to him, desperate for more.

"Fuck, Harry," you breathed. He didn't respond, instead burying his face in your neck and moving slowly, deeply, as if he was savoring every moment. His hands roamed your body, teasing and caressing as his hips continued their torturous rhythm.

"Do you like it puppy? me being so deep inside you?"

You could only nod, too overwhelmed to form words. The sensations were overwhelming, the pleasure building and building until it threatened to consume you.

Suddenly, he shifted, changing the angle and hitting a spot deep inside you that made you see stars. "it's so....big" you barely said in a moan

"That's right puppy. Take all of it. Just like that"

You writhed beneath him, unable to hold back the moans spilling from your lips. Your release was within reach, and when he finally slid a hand between your bodies, stroking your clit, it was enough to send you tumbling over the edge. "Come on daddy's cock puppy, don't be shy" he murmured

His words were enough to push you over the edge, your body tensing and trembling as pleasure washed over you. You felt him pulse inside you, and he followed soon after, his breath hot on your neck as he came with a groan filling you with his hot cum.

When the last waves of your orgasm faded, you collapsed against him, completely spent. You both stayed there for a moment, tangled in each other's arms, neither of you willing to break the spell.

Eventually, he pulled out and gathered you into his arms, holding you close. You nuzzled into his chest, breathing in the scent of his skin and the faint trace of his cologne.

Both of you were now cuddled in bed, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting warm light across the room. Harry’s arm was wrapped securely around you, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along your shoulder as you rested your head against his chest, listening to the now steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Your eyes drifted to the two frames hung just above the bed. The first one held the receipt from the night that had changed everything—the receipt where he’d written his number, sparking a connection that had grown into the life you shared now.

The second frame hung beside it, empty but not forgotten. Its purpose was clear—it was waiting for tonight’s receipt, the one with the Cairnburn 18 scribbled on it. The night where everything had come full circle.

Taglist: @hermionelove

[nashusglasses]

Hiiii can I request Sylus with 49 “Put on a show for them, baby.” and 11 “You’re fucking hot when you cry.” 🤭

posting this ahead of thursday bc i've kept you waiting long enough!!! here's amateur pornstar sylus AU <3

these prompts are from this list. if you'd like, send me two prompts and a lads man for next week :)

(NSFW, 18+, please read) mentions of subspace, orgasm torture, creampie, urination from oversensitivity

.

.

.

"My precious girl," Sylus croons. He kisses your sweaty hairline. "Where'd all your courage go?"

"Fuck if I know." You can't tell if it's anger or resignation that makes you want to bruise his chest with a hard punch. The rabbit vibrator is still hot from whirring three back-to-back orgasms out of you. "Where are we…?"

"Twelve," he answers.

You almost whine. Was this all your fault? Yes. But that didn't mean you weren't allowed to be pissed off. You'll just edit out all your unnecessary grumbling. An easy fix, especially if the angle of the camera is focused solely on your used pussy.

(You did get a comment on a recent video praising Sylus for his cooing, though. Too low for viewers' ears to pick up actual sentences, but it's the way you melt into him that gets the message across. pleeeeaaaseeeeeeeee don't edit out the part where he talks to u <3, it said. idek what hes saying but he sounds soooo hot!!!)

Sylus soothes your unease with a kiss, tapping the toy still notched inside you. "Want me to take it out?"

"Just—wait," you moan. It's the only thing grounding you to this bed. The floaty feeling in your head isn't enough to overwhelm you entirely, but you're well on your way to surrending your consciousness to the darkest shade of fucked-out. "Can you… kiss me?"

He presses you deeper into the mattress with how hard he gives it to you. His tongue catches your loud exhale, licking taut like he's fiending for your taste. You're breathless. Worn out, muscles already screaming with an ache you'll feel for days. You've only got ten minutes left to beat your record of how many orgasms Sylus can wrench out of you within an hour.

Whether you're conscious by the end of it or not doesn't matter. He'll always take care of you.

Sylus lets up from your kiss, taps the toy again. "Good now?"

You nod, cringing when you feel yourself loosen around nothing as it slides out under his guidance. You don't even need to look down to know that the toy shines, creamed with lube and your own wetness. Sylus twists it around for the camera lens, offering a flexed bicep just to double-up on eye candy.

"Two more, darling," he croons, tossing it far on the bed to clean up later. "Still got it in you?"

He says it loud enough for a tease, but no one else can glean the concern from his eyes. He sees it too, the way you're blinking too slow now. Throat caught with silence because you're thinking too much and not at all at the same time.

"Colour?" He whispers. He cups your face when you close your eyes for too long.

The warmth brings you back, bliss colouring your head into lax satisfaction. "Green."

You think he says good girl, but all your senses clam up when you feel his cock pressing up inside you, whining deep from the heat sparked in your gut. Sylus presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Put on a show for them, baby."

It starts with clenched toes, spasming thighs where he keeps his hands to tuck your knees up. The perfect shot for the wet piston of his cock because he knows you always come the hardest when he's inside you, and you've got the arch of your back to show for it.

Suddenly you can't help but shake with choked laughter, because of course you already feel the build of an orgasm threatening its eruption. "I'm—ha—already—"

"I know, sweetie." Sylus slaps his hips hard just to watch you curl with a gasp. "Let me feel you."

Your chest caves, breaths lost when you watch the way his dick creams at the base, sticky sounds you hope your viewers appreciate. You whine loud, almost too corny with the volume.

"Oh—" Sylus picks up to painful speed, hips a hard threat on your clit and you're throwing your head back— "fuck, oh my God coming—!"

There's thirteen. Nothing slow or careful about it, just a frenzy you squeeze your pussy through and you moan with every pulse. Senses heightened to clarity only an orgasm can help you achieve, and it crashes just as fast when Sylus whistles: "One more?"

You fog over into submission. He takes it from you, leaning up into straighter posture to guarantee harder thrusts you feel into your hair. You come again, writhing from the barrage, eyes pinched with hot tears.

"Oh, my darling." Sylus curls over where you lie limp, pumping through his own orgasm with a deep groan, cum sliding down your ass for a dirty grand finale. You heave with another sob. "My sweet girl. I'm proud of you. And you're fucking hot when you cry."

"Down. Now," you plead, and immediately he coils his arms around your shaking body, shushing you sweetly. "It's—hot…"

"Where?"

"There." You burn. It aches, and Sylus knows immediately.

"Go ahead," he coos. "I'm right here, it's okay."

You squeeze through another wave of tears, hiccuping, and suddenly your pussy is warm, too warm, way too wet, and you weep and mewl and cry as the embarrassment tips you over, the cum drying on your ass washing down with your own dirty heat.

When you finally feel empty, you cry even harder. "Sy-lus—"

"Sh-h." He pets your head. "No more of that. Focus on my voice. I love you with my entire soul. My darling baby, my sweetheart. You did so, so well…"

He kisses your tears away as your mind fades to black.

[toshn]

thigh riding , crying , edging (giggles)

riding sinister!mark’s thigh bro ts kinda bubonic im so sorry

imagine sinister!mark’s iron grip on your hips, your cute cute pussy perched between his burly thighs, your slick coating the fabric on his leg that’s stuck in between his skin against your drenched hole, and he’s rocking you as if he was the one getting pleasure off of it.

for the past hour of what felt like torture to you, his one goal was to get you crying hard enough so he’d be able to taste your sweet sweet tears and watch your pretty pretty face contort in pleasure— he’s having such a fun time watching you struggle to keep yourself together under his grasp.

“c’mon. make yourself cum faster. you’re taking too long.”

regardless of his complaints, he’s rocking you harder himself to the point where your mind just blanks out of sheer ecstasy. and he’s especially so mean—licking and sucking and biting on every skin of your neck till the flesh between his lips turn purple and every time you’d whine and beg for him to let you cum, it’s like you were talking to a wall. he’d have this stupid grin on his lips as he denies you that sweet sweet release you’re so desperate for. it infuriates you so much.

“can i cu- cum- please? ‘mm so—“

“you’ll cum when i say you can.”

you shook your head, tears pooling in your eyes and your fingers dug harder into his shoulder, toes curling in hopes you’d be able to hold off from cumming a bit longer, “but please— mark please—“

“hold it.”

you couldn’t, it was so hard to keep it in. you cried out as you felt liquid gush out if your weeping hole, hidding your face in the crook of his neck as a trail of apologies left your lips— your cum dripping down on mark’s thigh. mark’s tongue clicked and his hands gripped your hips once more. your legs trembled when you realized what he was doing.your crying grew louder— he continued, he didn’t stop rocking your hips, and the overstimulation was slowly getting too much for you to handle.

“fine. you wanted to cum so bad, right? now you’re gonna cum until i tell you to stop.”

[chroniclesofskz]

31 days apart

"I can't believe you forgot the milk again!" Y/N yelled at the empty fridge, her voice echoing through the quiet apartment. It was one of those days where everything felt off, like the universe was conspiring to annoy her. She slammed the fridge door shut and tossed the empty cereal box into the trash, resigning herself to a sad breakfast of black coffee and dry toast.

Her phone buzzed on the kitchen counter, and she checked the screen, hopeful for a text from Chan. But it was just another work email. She missed him more than she cared to admit. Their relationship had been a rollercoaster of passion and companionship, but this was the first time he'd been away for so long. Thirty-one days, to be exact. Thirty-one days since she'd felt the warmth of his body next to hers, the gentle touch of his hand, or the way he'd make her toes curl with his magical mouth.

"Maybe I should get a dog," she mused aloud. "At least it'd be around to keep me company."

As the day dragged on, Y/N found herself counting down the hours until she could call Chan. They had a standing "good night" call, but tonight she needed more. The ache in her chest was palpable, and she couldn't ignore the wetness pooling between her legs. She decided to break protocol and dial his number a few hours early.

The phone rang once, twice, and she was about to hang up when she heard a sleepy, "Hello?"

"Baba, did I wake you?" she asked, her voice thick with need.

There was a pause, and then a groan. "No, baby, I was just… lost in thought."

Y/N felt a thrill run through her body at the sound of his voice. "What were you thinking about?"

He took a deep breath, and she could almost feel him smiling through the phone. "You know what, Y/N. Your sweet little voice is all I need."

The conversation grew more intimate as they talked, the distance between them shrinking with every shared secret and whispered confession. Y/N's hand slid under her shirt, her nipples pebbling at the thought of his rough hands on her skin.

"I miss feeling you inside me," she murmured, the heat growing in her core.

There was a rustling of fabric, and then a click. "Keep talking, baby," he breathed, and she knew he was touching himself, thinking about her too.

Y/N leaned back against the kitchen counter, her hand moving down to her jeans. She unzipped them and slid her fingers under the fabric, stroking the slickness that had gathered there. "I miss the way your fans scream for you," she teased, her voice dropping to a whisper. "They all want a piece of you, but only I get to hear you sing to me, only I get to feel you deep inside."

"Mm," he groaned. "You know I'd rather be back home, fucking you in every way possible than being on this stage."

"I know," she assured him, her eyes closing as she pictured him up there, under the hot lights, singing his heart out. But she also knew that his career was his life, his passion. He was the lead singer of a wildly popular K-pop group, and this tour was his dream come true. She'd always been supportive of his ambitions, even if it meant being apart.

"Tell me more," he urged, his voice growing more strained. "What do you miss about me?"

The words spilled out of her, a mix of love and lust. "I miss your smile when you wake up in the morning, the way you smell after a show, like sweat and cologne and something uniquely you. I miss the way your cock feels, thick and hard, filling me up."

The line grew quiet for a moment, and she could hear his ragged breathing. Then, his voice was in her ear, low and urgent. "Tell me, Y/N, tell me how much you want it."

"So much," she whimpered, her hand moving faster. "I need you so badly."

He groaned, and she knew he was getting closer. "Keep going, baby," he encouraged, his voice tight with restraint. "I'm right there with you."

And just like that, they were connected again, despite the thousands of miles that separated them. The sound of his voice, the thought of his body, was enough to push her over the edge. Her orgasm crashed through her, making her tremble and cry out his name.

"I'm coming," he grunted, his voice a mix of pleasure and pain. "I love you, Y/N."

They both panted into the phone, the intimate moment hanging in the air like a secret shared in a crowded room. After a few moments, she giggled, feeling a little silly for being so dramatic. "I love you too, Baba. Now go get some sleep. You've got another big show tomorrow."

"I will," he promised, his voice already dropping into a sleepy drawl. "But first, tell me again how much you miss me."

"I miss you so much it hurts," she confessed.

He sighed, content. "That's all I need to hear. Good night, baby. I'll see you in your dreams."

Y/N hung up the phone, a smile playing on her lips. Despite the distance, she felt closer to him than ever. And she knew, deep down, that their love could weather any storm. Even if it meant going thirty-one days without milk.

[snowseasonmademe]

Golden birthday boy

warning ‼️: smut (masturbation) and mentions of intercourse

word count: 1,785

pairing: william saliba x black female reader

summary: you couldn't be together on wilo's birthday so you sent him a little gift for his special golden birthday

tag list: @sucredreamer @irishmanwhore @dexastres @coffeevacation @goldenngt @btslover117 @kennaskorner @iamquiantrelle @leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro @jessnotwiththemess @thepointlessideas

note: heyy y'all know i had to do a little something for my other french husband!!! it's something short and sweet ;) as always, enjoy and tell me what you think🤍!!

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

William had always hated leaving. No matter how many times he packed a bag, no matter how many flights he caught, no matter how necessary the trip was—he hated it. And you? You made it even harder.

The morning of his departure, you were up with him before the sun, slipping out of bed as soon as his alarm went off. Sleep still clung to your voice as you murmured, "Go shower, I'll finish packing your carry-on."

He didn't argue. He knew better than to try-just like he knew that when he came back into the room, freshly showered and towel-drying his hair, his bag would be perfectly arranged, just how he liked it. His vitamins and protein bars in one pocket, his favorite cologne tucked into another, his passport right where it needed to be. You had even made sure his headphones were fully charged, anticipating his needs before he even thought to check.

"Mon amour, you don't have to do all this" he murmured, but you just rolled your eyes, pressing a to-go cup of tea into his hands.

"I do" you corrected, smoothing out the collar of his hoodie. "Because I love you. And because I don't want you calling me from the airport, complaining you forgot something”

He huffed out a quiet laugh, sipping his tea, letting the warmth settle in his chest. He watched you move around the kitchen, packing up a small breakfast for him, making sure everything was set before the boys woke up.

But of course, your twins Desange and Gédéon were too restless to sleep through his departure.

As soon as they heard their papa was leaving, they toddled into the kitchen in their pajamas, their curls messy from sleep.

"Papa, you go to work?" Gédéon asked, rubbing his tired eyes.

"Oui, mon fils" William said softly, crouching down to their level. "But I'll be home soon"

"Promise?" Desange tilted his head, his voice hopeful.

"Je promets" William assured, pressing kisses to both of their little foreheads.

"Love you, Papa!" they chorused, and William's heart clenched as they giggled out, "Happy birthday, Papa!" in their sweet half-French, half-American accents, the words a little clumsy but full of love.

He hugged them both tight before standing, his eyes finding yours.

You were already watching him, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed over your chest. Your expression was soft, but there was something else beneath it-something deeper.

"Come on" you murmured, nodding toward the front door.

He followed without question, stepping outside with you, the morning air cool against his skin.

The house was still quiet behind you, but out here, there was only you and him.

You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing yourself into him. His chin rested on top of your head as he sighed, inhaling the scent of you, memorizing the feel of your body against his.

"I hate when you leave" you admitted, voice muffled against his chest.

"I know" he whispered, tightening his hold on you.

A beat of silence stretched between you before you pulled back just enough to look up at him.

Then, with a soft, knowing smile, you lifted onto your toes and pressed your lips to his.

It started slow, warm, familiar, reassuring. But then you deepened it, your fingers tangling in the hem of his hoodie, and suddenly, the kiss wasn't just sweet-it was lingering. It was full of promise.

Full of longing.

When you finally pulled back, William was breathing a little heavier.

"For the road" you murmured, brushing your thumb against his jaw before slipping something into his hand. A folded letter.

"Open it when you have a quiet moment"

He nodded, his fingers tightening around the paper.

And with one last kiss, you let him go.

Now, hours later, William sat in his hotel room, the letter unfolded in his hands, his heart aching in the best way possible.

He could hear your voice in every word, feel your love in every sentence. His chest felt tight as he read about how grateful you were for him, how proud you were of the life you built together. You had married young, at 21, barely stepping into adulthood, but neither of you ever regretted it.

You had built something strong, something unshakable.

And God, he missed you.

By the time he reached the end, his fingers were gripping the paper tightly.

"Since we can't celebrate together tonight" you wrote, "check the front pocket of your duffle bag, my golden birthday boy. Here's a little something to hold you over until you're back where you belong"

His brows furrowed in curiosity, but when he unzipped the small pocket. He saw golden confetti and then, his breath hitched.

Bright red lace.

His fingers tightened around the delicate fabric, his throat going dry.

A slow, knowing chuckle rumbled in his chest.

Mon dieu...

Then, as if on cue, his phone buzzed on the nightstand.

He grabbed it, unlocking it to see a message from you.

"I hope you don't miss me too much, Mr. Saliba" There was an attachment. A video.

His pulse kicked up as he opened it, the screen filling with an image that sent heat straight through his veins.

You were lying in bed, wrapped in the same red lace, the dim lighting casting a glow on your bare skin. He could see the soft rise and fall of your chest, the curve of your thighs, the way your fingers traced along your waist. His jaw tightened as he pressed play.

"Joyeux anniversaire, mon amour" your voice purred through the speakers, smooth and teasing.

He swallowed hard, watching as you caressed your own body, your fingers skimming over the soft swell of your breasts, down the dip of your stomach. Your eyes were locked onto the camera, dark and full of something wicked, something meant only for him.

Damn.

His grip on the phone tightened when your hand drifted lower, to the hem of your panties-the same ones he was holding in his other hand. And then, slowly, agonizingly, you slid them to the side.

His breath caught.

"You better hurry home baby" you murmured, a smirk playing on your lips.

William exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw. His whole body was tense, heat pooling low in his stomach.

Then, you circled your clit, extra slow, letting out soft, breathy moans that sent fire straight through his veins.

William's jaw tightened, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. He could see the subtle tremor in your thighs, the way your hips shifted slightly as you worked yourself up, teasing yourself like you knew he would if he were there.

"You miss me baby?" you whispered to the camera, your voice like silk, smooth and dripping with desire.

His grip on the lace in his hand tightened. Merde.

You kept talking, your words honeyed filth, meant only for him, meant to break him. You told him how empty you felt without him, how your fingers could never compare, how you needed him, how you ached for him.

Every syllable sent another wave of heat through his body, making his blood run hot, making his patience hang by a fragile thread.

Just when you were sure you were wet enough, you slid two fingers inside yourself.

William inhaled sharply, his whole body locking up as he watched your fingers disappear inside you, your hips rolling to meet every slow thrust.

Then he heard it.

The wet, obscene sound of your arousal, filling the quiet of his hotel room, cutting through the air like a goddamn siren song.

His entire body reacted.

It was like he could feel it.

Every slick push of your fingers, every torturous thrust—you weren't just touching yourself. He was too.

He could feel himself inside you, feel the way your walls gripped your fingers the way they always gripped him, feel the heat, the wetness, the need pouring off you in waves. His muscles tensed as his mind betrayed him, his body tricking itself into believing he was the one inside you, not your fingers. Every soft gasp, every breathy whimper, every desperate plea—it was all for him.

And he needed to be there.

He was painfully hard now, his length straining against his shorts, pressing uncomfortably against the fabric. But he refused to touch himself. He refused to let this be enough. No. He needed you. All of you.

His jaw clenched as you pushed yourself closer and closer to the edge, your back arching, your free hand gripping the sheets, your legs trembling as pleasure overtook you. His name spilled from your lips between gasps, and that-that was almost enough to finish him off right there.

Then, with a final cry, you came undone.

William let out a sharp breath as he watched your fingers curl, your body tightening, your face twisting with pleasure before melting into something softer, more blissed—out.

He watched the way your chest rose and fell, the slow aftershocks still making your thighs shake.

He was utterly wrecked.

And then—you did it.

You slipped your fingers from your body, still glistening, still wet with evidence of your pleasure, and brought them to your lips.

Holding his gaze through the camera, you licked them clean.

Slow. Savoring every second.

And just like that—he could taste you.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, his stomach tightening at the phantom sensation. He knew that taste like he knew the game of football — intimately, instinctively, like second nature.

He could feel the warmth of you on his tongue, the sweet, heady flavor of you that he had memorized, that he had worshiped more times than he could count.

His body ached with the need to press his mouth between your thighs, to replace your fingers with his tongue, to drink you in until you were shaking just like you were on that screen.

And then, with a wicked little smirk, you blew him a kiss.

The video ended.

William exhaled harshly, his chest rising and falling as he ran a hand down his face, trying— and failing-to get himself under control.

His body was a furnace, burning with need, his muscles strung so tight he felt like he might snap at any second.

Then, his phone buzzed again.

A new message.

"Make another baby or two when you get back?"

His head tipped back against the pillows, a deep, low chuckle leaving his lips, rough with amusement and something darker, something deeper.

"Merde, ma chérie.." he muttered, shaking his head, his free hand rubbing at the tension in his jaw.

You had no idea what you had just started.

And now?

Now, all he could think about was getting home to you.

[sigilsmut]

𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍 𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒 - 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐉𝐈

Damn my ass did not make it in time again. Am I still gonna post it? Sure why not.

This goes out to @sanjisblackasswife​ as a small present. I hope this is ok Timi 😭 🖤 Happy (belated) birthday

CW: established relationship, cunnilingus, vaginal penetration, lingerie, a few petnames, Sanji being a pervert per usual, just plain nastiness

“How are you fairing, mon cher? Are you still with me?” Sanji’s muffled voice asks you as if he hadn’t snatched three orgasms from you in the past 2 hours. 

As expected, you couldn’t form a proper sentence, your mind as hazy as your watery vision. He was three fingers deep into your pussy while his other hand kept a vice grip on your body. That didn’t stop it from squirming as much as it could, however. A string of moans blessed his ears like the sweetest melody. Smooth, creamy legs spasming around his dizzy head.

The blonde had surprised you with a heartful breakfast earlier, slaving over the stove at the ass crack of dawn to make sure your birthday started off on the right foot. When you expressed concern over how tired he’d be, he simply brushed it off, reassuring you that ‘it’s what my goddess deserves’.

Of course, a banquet was also held for your special day. It was filled with numerous activities, rounds of bubbly drinks, and little heartwarming speeches of how each Straw Hat (in their own quirky way) was grateful to have you in their lives. And you were just as grateful to have them in yours.

But what kickstarted the moment between you two was towards the end of the night, where Sanji had walked in on you changing. By accident? On purpose? Who fucking knows. If his flushed cheeks, slick grin, and nose running of blood was anything to go off of, he didn’t feel any remorse seeing you in your scantily clad lingerie. 

A baby blue set, complete with white garters and a pair of blue satin panties. All in his favorite color. You went on a birthday shopping spree with Nami earlier and the set caught your eye. Thinking it’d be cute for you and your boyfriend, you immediately put it on after purchase. It was apparent now that it was a good choice to make.

After locking the door behind him, his long legs carried him to where you stood near the bed. He gently set his hands on your waist, and after giving him the go-ahead, it was downhill from there.

Hands groping and tracing over areas where his lips followed close behind, no part of your sun-kissed bronze skin was left unmarked. The stubble on his chin tickling your belly and inner thighs as he went along. It’s what led to now, with three of his fingers curling into you and his tongue tracing circles around your clit. The sheets became stained with the mixture of your juices and his saliva, but neither of you seemed to care. The bed shook from how aggressively he humped into the mattress, rolling his hips and dragging his hard on against the sheets. The friction made a delicious burn grow against the tip of his cock, and a groan bellowed from his chest.

“Lemme have another one, Y/N-swan...” He mumbled. He took your clit into his mouth and hummed, picking up the pace with his fingers. Your back arched off the bed, screaming into the darkness of the spare bedroom as you gushed into his mouth. He lapped up everything you gave him and only eased off of you once your fingers pushed his head away. 

“You taste absolutely divine, darling, like the sweetest nectar I’ve ever had the pleasure of tasting. I can never get enough of eating you out.” He heartfully grins like the nasty pervert he is.

Finally he sits up and strips himself of his boxers, groaning as his cock sprang free and slapped against his abdomen. In your stupor, you drooled at the sight and weakly reached forward to dab at his tip. He shudders.

“Such a pretty dick, ‘Ji...” you sweetly murmured. You swear you’ve never seen a man move so fast.

You blinked and he was hovering over you. Your body quivered as you realized that he was already pushing inside you, eager to bring you back to cloud nine with him this time. As his pelvis kissed yours, so did your lips, your eyes rolling back into your head as you tasted yourself. The bedframe slammed into the wall as his lithe hips snapped into yours. Your eyes widened, balling the sheets into your fists as you held on for dear life. Sanji gazed down at you in astonishment.

From his perspective, the moon was absolutely gorgeous, but not as gorgeous as you. Sanji thought he might cry, still in disbelief that he got to have and pleasure someone as beautiful as you. Your watery brown eyes looking up at him with so much love, your locs sprawled out all over the pillows and yet framed your face perfectly. Your puffy lips in an ‘O’ shape, crying out from his purposeful thrusts. Your brown skin seemed to be glowing with how the moon shone on you. In his eyes, your beauty outshone all the stars in the sky, your angelic voice reaching the Heavens at this point. 

It’s almost as if that was his goal with how fast he was going. 

His slender hands lifted your lower body, wrapping your smooth legs around his waist to push himself in deeper. The blonde craned his head back and moaned, feeling your velvety walls clamp around his cock in a vice grip. His breath hitched, slamming his hips into you even harder and rolling his mushroom head into that one spot that made your toes curl. The bed creaked and croaked underneath the two of you, and it was absolutely certain that Nami would give you shit for how loud you’re being.

“Gimme another one, cherie, pretty please..” He weakly begged of you. His fingers rubbed over your clit rapidly and you groaned, the amount of pleasure overwhelming you. Your whole body shook as a silent moan escaped. Your walls squeezed again and the tension in your belly released. “S-Sanji-!”

“That’s it, princess. Let go for me” he encouraged you. He mewled as you reached your high for seemingly the fifth time tonight, your juices gushing all over his pelvis and all over your thighs. His curly brows scrunched together and tears began to swell in his eyes, groaning as he filled your walls with his warm, sticky load. You have never felt fuller than this moment. 

His body curled over you, his hot labored breath in your ear. He turned to you, moving a loc out of his way to plant a soft kiss on your forehead. “Happy birthday, my sweet Y/N.”

“Thank you Sanji.” You smiled lovingly and he returned your expression. Once you calmed your breathing, you reached your hand up to caress his cheek. Sanji was eager to lean into your touch, swooning at how adorable you looked in your after-coitus glow. Suddenly his eyes widened in realization. “I almost forgot.”

He then reached over and took your panties in his grasp, stuffing them in the deep recesses of his pants pocket. You furrowed your brows at his actions, even though you knew good and well what the reason was.

“For safe keeping.” He grinned. He was gonna keep the pair as a reminder of tonight.

“You play too damn much!” You laughed, lightly smacking his shoulder. He laughed with you, stretching back on the bed and collecting you in his arms. Peppering your face in little kisses, he looked up at you with a playful glint in his eyes.

“Would you like to go again? You’re welcome to ride me if you want, you are the birthday girl after all.”

[roastedoatmilk]

Arcane Women Strap Hcs

characters: sevika, vi, caitlyn, mel, ambessa

A/N barely proofread sorry, also my first time writing for arcane please be kind 🙈 i hope y’all enjoy lmk your thoughts :)

Sevika

first things first she has a dark purple strap i’m talking almost the same color that shimmer is and boy does she know how to use it

whenever she pulls the strap out be prepared to not be able to walk the next day

she prefers to fuck you in missionary but if she had to choose a different position it would be fucking you from the bottom, she just loves to be able to see your face while she pleasures you

her strap game is DIABOLICAL, she always makes sure to hit that spot inside you that makes you let out a squeal and causes your toes to curl

honestly she could just cum from fucking you alone but if you feel up to it once she’s done with you she loves when you eat her out after

“that’s it baby, you’re taking me so well just a little more”

Vi

vi screams black strap to me like it just makes sense

she prefers to fuck you slow and DEEP, i’m talking girly lifts your hips off the bed and grips them so hard that you can feel bruises form

shes so cocky about it too like she knows she’s good

vi’s another one that could cum from pleasuring you alone and 9/10 times she does, however the one time she doesn’t she will literally sit on your face once you’re well enough to take care of her

“that feel good pretty girl ? yeah i know it does, you’re always so good for me”

Caitlyn

dark blue strap sorry yall i don’t make the rules

caitlyn loves when you’re on top and she’s fucking you from below

she revels in the sight of you falling apart above her while she’s gripping your hips guiding you

she’s 100% a brat tamer and you can’t tell me any different

“oh darling is it too much ? you shouldn’t have behaved like that if you didn’t want me to fuck you like this”

Mel

HEAR YE HEAR YE she has a gold strap idc idc

mel also likes it when you’re on top however she prefers to gently guide your movements while she praises you

don’t let that mislead you tho shes a HUGE tease

she can and will make you edge yourself until you’re literally crying begging her to let you cum

“ my love you look so beautiful when you ask nicely like that, go ahead and take what you need”

Ambessa

ruby red strap that’s all imma say

the cruelest of the bunch, she’s not afraid to leave you dry while she takes what she needs

another brat tamer yall you love to see it

she doesn’t make love she FUCKS, be prepared to constantly be buying new headboards

she makes you suck on her strap NEXTTTTT

“sweet girl did you think i’m finished with you ? no no we aren’t done until you can’t remember anything but my name”

[euthymiya]

The heater’s out. December’s cold is unforgiving as it seeps between the cracks of your doors and through the windows, forcing you to huddle closer.

Sukuna grunts as your freezing, icy feet press against his calves. “Your feet are fuckin’ cold. Get’em off.”

“No,” you whine, “You’re warm.”

Just to prove your point, you press them harder against his skin, making him hiss in irritation. “Quit it! It’s fucking freezing.”

“Yeah? Why are you wearing nothing but boxers in this cold, then?” You challenge, raising a brow as if you’ve sufficiently turned the tables on him. He glares at you—a bit cutely at that, given that his tussled hair and the blanket tucked beneath his chin both make him look far less intimidating than he hopes.

He pulls his legs away as he mutters, “Because I’m too used to sleeping like this.”

Your feet follow them as they move away from you, pressing them against his heated skin once more stubbornly. “To used to what, sleeping half naked? I wonder what that says about you.”

Money has been tighter. Enough that when you and Sukuna shower together, it really is to save water and not as an excuse for…well, other things. You don’t buy your little goods from the bakery on your way home sometimes anymore. He doesn’t go through his cigarette packs as quickly when stocking up on more isn’t as simple as it used to be. Things aren’t as easy as they used to be, but never hard.

It’s never hard with Sukuna.

Sure, the heater’s out. And December feels like a harsh, unrelenting reminder of that. The apartment is cold, but Sukuna is warmer, so maybe, when you count your blessings, you’re not doing all too bad.

“We should get the damn heating system fixed,” you say softly, smiling as he curls under the blanket further. He glowers over the edge of the comforter, just the tip of his nose peeking out as his muffled reply comes.

“Yeah, as if I hadn’t already thought of that. We ain’t got the funds, idiot.”

“Maybe I can pick up a few more shifts,” you murmur. He frowns at that—because really, that means more late nights where you’re not home where you should be. Safe and sound and not out there.

“Nah,” he mutters, clicking his teeth. You fight back a grin as he pulls you closer and tangles his legs with yours, grimacing when your painfully icy toes torment his poor legs again. This time he lets you, though. “I’ll figure something out.”

“That’s okay. You should use your money to get some clothes, or something. Sleeping naked in winter is not doing you any favors,” you giggle cheekily.

He raises a brow—that familiar, smug, almost nauseatingly handsome smile erupts across his lips as he chuckles lowly. “Yeah? You’re sayin’ you don’t appreciate the view?”

“Well, I guess that would be a pretty harsh loss,” you sigh deeply, pretending to wipe a tear. He rolls his eyes. You wink slyly. Heat trickles along your body from under your ribcage where the heating system could never reach.

“Cheeky, aren’t you?” He says gruffly, and a large hand comes to grab your face gently and press your cheeks together. Your puffed up lips make him crack a small smile.

“Mhm,” you nod, grinning (as much as you can through squeezed cheeks) before offering a muffled reply of, “I keep you on your toes, don’t I?”

“More like on my deathbed,” he snorts.

You don’t answer—it’s too cold to think of a reply right away.

You let out an involuntary shiver as a small wave of frigid, chilly air breezes through the room. You shuffle closer, and his arms are wide and open and waiting. He smells like cologne and coming home. Feels like warm flesh and your favorite place. You lean in and kiss him to share your body heat, pressing your lips against his and letting his tongue invade your mouth briefly. He tastes like mint mingled with cigarette smoke and oddly enough, that’s all you need.

“We kind of suck at this adulting thing,” you whisper as you pull away.

“What gives you that idea?” He hums as rough, callused fingers stroke the skin of your back under your shirt. You shiver again—this time from heat igniting your skin instead of the cold, though.

“We can hardly afford to stay warm,” you shake your head, “What does that say about us?”

“That we’re victims of this stupid fuckin’ economy. They should compensate us for our suffering.”

You roll your eyes and grin. You’re cold, but not devoid of heat. Sukuna is warm, and so are your toes against his calves, and so is that place in your chest that happens to do a squeeze here and there. You think it might be your heart—think he may have found his way to that weird, necessary organ in your body that keeps you going. But the difference is now that he’s here, you’re alive and not just living.

And yeah, the heater’s out. December is as cold as it is every year, and nothing’s going to change that. You can’t make yourself warmer, but you can be cold with Sukuna. That’s more than enough to make things bearable.

“I’ll keep you warm,” you offer, batting your lashes sweetly. You wrap your arms around his neck and press your lips to his cheeks in a flurry of kisses.

His face does a small, red flush.

“Quit it,” he snaps. He doesn’t mean it because his arms grip your hips tighter as if to keep you firmly in place. Right there where you are and where you belong and where he needs you to be.

You shouldn’t be anywhere else but here, keeping his body warm in this sorely harsh weather.

“Why? It’s already working—you’re overheating,” you tease.

He pulls the blanket up and between your faces to create a barrier as you come in for the next kiss, and when you laugh, bright and warm, he forgets he was ever cold.

————————————

Wrote this bc my place is freezing. Not because the heater is broken though it’s just because I’m too lazy to get out of bed and turn the heat up so I am suffering the same problem yes, but I do have a solution. That doesn’t mean the solution will be used though. I fear I am but just a girl

[drgnflyteabox]

daddy cool ⋆˙⟡

john price x fem!reader summary: “I’m a producer,” he says, taking a long puff of his cigar, waiting, waiting, “and I scout talent.” ↪or the one in which hairy muscle daddy john price asks you to show him your skills disco style tags/warnings: 70s clubbing, body hair is a central theme, scent kink, daddy kink, deepthroating, rough oral (m), cigars, some alcohol, manipulation if you squint,vaginal fingering + sex, a bit of exhibition kink but not really at all (one line), 'little' not used as a size indicator, dom/sub, oral (f), tiny gape mention

“I think he’s interested in you,” Debbie whisper-screams in your ear. It’s hard to hear her over the boom of the drums, over the four on the floor beat and soaring voices. 

“Really?”

“Girl,” she laughs, incredulous. You look over your shoulder and sure enough he’s fixing you with a stare hot enough to burn through steel.

He’s flanked by two others, but you hardly notice them. You’re staring right into the deep V of his open shirt, at the fur peeking out of it, at the pink of his tongue as it swipes his bottom lip under his mustache. Sinful.

The booth he’s sitting in is draped with orange translucent curtains, creating some illusion of privacy. No overhead lights, either, just a soft cave and dark burgundy leather. Perfect for a bear like him.

“Should I go over there?” you whisper-scream back, curling closer to Debbie, “he’s a bonafide stud.”

She laughs, throwing her long hair over her shoulder, “yeah he is, and he’s looking at you, girl.”

You peek again. He’s smiling this time, like someone who knew you’d look twice. Beyond his shirt, his pants are so goddamn tight you can see almost everything. Christ, who let him out of the house looking like that?

“I’m gonna go over,” you say before you can stop yourself.

A saxophone disco beat booms through the club, thrumming right through you down to your toes, which you move to dance your way to him. Debbie laughs behind you, disappearing into the crowd.

Your hips go side to side, your teeth bite your bottom lip, and you fix him with what you hope is a clear message; you’re hot.

He stays exactly where he is. There’s a smugness about him now, the same smugness you saw when you looked twice.

You can’t really blame him for it. Someone that looks like that is bound to expect attention, desire.

God, he’s just your type. A quiet kind of arrogance, one arm slung over the back of the booth as he lifts a cigar up to his mouth and puffs. Lazily, like a big lion that knows he doesn’t have to hunt to get his food.

“Hello, love,” he says slowly when you get close enough. You’re still bouncing to the music, but you lean forward to hear him better.

“Interested in me, are you?” you’re going for a coy, simpering kind of approach. Something about him makes you want to lay it on thick, want to seduce. To preen a little.

His knuckles are dark in the lighting, hairy and tough like he works with his hands, which you catch as he pats the booth beside him. 

You hadn’t even noticed his companions leaving.

“Saw you dancing,” he lifts a glass from the table, dark liquid, his mustache getting wet, “thought you might be interested, too.”

“You thought right,” you slide in beside him, the leather seat cool even through your tight bootcut pants. You tilt your knees towards him, lifting an elbow to match his on the back of the booth.

Reds, yellows, oranges dance on his skin. The occasional sparkle of the disco ball peeks through, but mostly it filters through the orange booth curtains and spreads into an archipelago of little bright spots. This lighting agrees with him, accentuates the best parts, makes them look darker and more defined. You’d feel like a pervert looking down his shirt if he wasn’t also doing the same to you.

“Name’s John, love,” and when you tell him yours he says, “that’s fitting.”

“So, what do you do?” boring, typical– but it’s all you’ve got. You’re surprised you can get words out at all with the drool pooling in your mouth. This close, you can see how his shirt strains where his shoulders move. A little too small, but it’s probably on purpose.

Should be illegal, honestly.

His eyes crinkle in the corners. He’s the kind of guy whose entire face changes when he smiles, who looks disarmingly more approachable that way.

“I’m a producer,” he says, taking a long puff of his cigar, waiting, waiting, “and I scout talent.”

“Talent?” you cross one leg over the other, trilling internally with satisfaction when you see his eyes fall to your thighs.

You know you aren’t being subtle in the least– and you aren’t trying to be. But you won’t say anything outright, not yet, not while the anticipation feels this tasty.

The booth isn’t private, but it is insulated. The music is loud, but not too loud, just enough that it thrums through you, that you can hear him. Anita Ward croons in your ear, encouraging you. He can ring your bell, that’s for sure.

“That’s right,” he puffs again. The smell makes you lightheaded.

“Moviestars, you mean?” you roll your ankle around, watching him watch you, wondering if he likes the polish colour you picked. 

You like that he’s visibly affected; licking his lips, that meaty hand climbing higher up his thigh.

“Something like that, love,” he smiles again, leans back in the booth and launches a counter attack to your leggy flirtations – he spreads those legs, feet pointed out, hunched just so that his belly starts poking out of those sinfully tight pants.

Motherfucker.

Looking back up at him, his eyes are crinkled at you, head tilted forward. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Which movies have you produced?” you lean your head on your hand, looking at him through your lashes, “anything I’ve seen?”

“I hope so,” he hums. His eyes flit down to your feet again, up to your midriff, then back to your eyes– it’s hot, but it’s also not just a flirtation. He’s assessing, “have you seen Swan Lady? The Nun and the Two Vikings?”

You frown, “no, I haven’t heard of either.”

“How about Call of Duty: Servicing the Captain?”

Ah, it clicks. Your eyebrows go up, into your hairline, “you make pornos?”

“Aye, smart girl,” he gruffs.

Pornos, huh. You could laugh– he looks the part. A little sleazy, unabashed. Masculine not to the point of parody but it’s close. The ‘stache is in style, but in combination with everything else is just the cherry on top.

You only have one question, “you don’t star in any?”

“I prefer working behind the scenes,” something about the way he says behind feels filthy.

John tells all. He does scout, finds girls who want to have a good time (like you), and gently (or so he says) nudges them in front of the camera. I can always sniff ‘em out, he says. The ones that’ll do well on film, that have star quality.

“How can you tell?” you ask, lips pulling on your straw. John has ordered you a tequila sunrise.

You can’t help but trace the skin of his neck with your eyes, roving at the bob of his Adam's apple as he explains. Girls who can take the gloves off, so to speak. Says he can tell by the way they move, how free they are with their bodies.

A little dubious, but it’s honestly doing it for you. You wonder what he saw when you danced up to him, if the sway of your body was free, liberated.

Doesn’t take long at all for him to invite you out either way. John puts his hand on your knee and squeezes, gets real close, gruffs that his place is nearby.

“What do you say, sweetheart?” and of course the only answer is yes, please.

Boney M. soars around you as you follow him out, your hand holding his, your fingers stroking the hairs on his knuckles. 

She’s crazy for her daddy!

On the drive over, he keeps that big paw on your thigh, squeezing almost subconsciously. Just the flex of his fingers.

You widen your knees, hoping for that rough palm to slide upwards, glancing at John as he drives one-handed. Not your first rodeo going home with a man from the disco, but it sure is the first time you’ve felt so keyed up about it.

He’s huge, takes up an absurd amount of room in the car, knee knocking into yours. He even drives sexy, so sure and in control.

“You think I could be in one of your movies?” you say, impish, looking to provoke.

John glances at you for just a second too long, too intense. You can tell he’s picturing you in front of the cameras.

“That what you want?”

“Just picturing it,” you simper, shifting your knee to deliberately touch him again. His fingers flex against your thigh again, jaw moving.

The air is warm, breezy, lights passing by like twinkling firebugs. You roll your window down, smiling at the feeling.

“Oh you're picturing it, are you? Is that making you wet, sweetheart?”

Fuck. It certainly is now.

“Only if you can be my co-star.”

“Is that right?” he laughs, low and deep. His hand climbs higher, “‘fraid I’m just the recruiter, but I’ll have to do a quality test.”

“Quality test?”

“Mm,” he hums, “need to make sure you’re ready for the camera, don’t I? You think you’ve got star quality, then prove it.”

Your panties are sticky.

“I can do that,” you breathe.

“Yeah? Can you prove you can show off your star quality for me, sweetheart?” his fingers slide, achingly slow, to the gusset of your pants, “that you can look into that camera and show the world you’re a good girl?”

They press against you, right up against your clit through the fabric. You fight to stay still, to not come across like you’re desperate, but god it’s hard. You ache.

“Mhm,” you breathe, subtly tilting your hips forward as he idly pets your pussy.

“Not an answer,” he says firmly. Butterflies dance in your stomach, the air slowly being siphoned out, leaving you hot and bothered. John is barely affected, it seems, driving still, gliding through the night.

“Sorry,” you swallow, “I can do that, daddy.”

“Much better.”

“Still want to prove it to me, love?” he moves to a glass cabinet, pulling out a little box. It opens with a click, revealing a neat row of thick cigars.

“Yes,” you stand in the middle of his living room, appreciating the atmosphere he’s made; low lighting, oranges, reds everywhere. Brown leather and the heady smell of cigar smoke, of leather polish and an incense-y kind of musk.

He walks back towards you, brand new cigar between his fingers, steps heavy on the carpet. You’re made aware of the height difference when he stands right in front of you, looking down not unkindly.

Your skin prickles at his gaze, the same one from the club; that assessment. Like he’s measuring you, testing you, scanning you.

John leans forward, breath puffing lightly across your face. He smells like his house does, only there’s a bit of whiskey mixed in.

You can’t help but squirm just a little, thighs rubbing together, both to relieve the pulsing ache of your pussy and that it’s impossible to stay composed under that gaze.

“Drop down,” he says finally, “to your knees, sweetheart.”

From your knees, you get a good fucking look at those tight pants– at the bulge in them. The hair on his chest sticks out a little, too, peeking at you from above. Hot. So hot.

“Comfortable?”

“Yes, daddy,” you bite your lip again.

“Keep those hands down, alright?” he leans to the side and picks up a cigar lighter, watching you as he lights up.

John stands over you, new cigar lit, plumes of smoke drifting from his fingers. His expression is neutral, though he hums in a pleased way as he strokes the softness of your cheek.

“Take me out,” he commands.

You lean forward with your mouth, unable to resist giving him a good long sniff before you pull at his zipper with your teeth. He smells good, musky and strong, a little cologne there but mostly it’s natural.

When your teeth gently take his briefs, pulling, he cups the back of your head with a big hand and strokes your hair.

“Are you going to take it all, sweetheart? Right down your throat?”

You let his cock flop out of his underwear, heavy. The bush surrounding it makes your mouth water. It looks so good, long and a little curved, bouncing as if it’s teasing you.

You nod finally, hands squeezed into fists in your lap just the way he asked, “yes, daddy.”

“That’s my girl. Are you going to give daddy’s cock a little kiss first?”

You lean forward, lips pursed, planting a little kiss on the mushroom head of his cock. Though you ache to lick your lips, to taste him, you wait.

“That’s a good little girl,” he murmurs, “open your mouth.”

You do, holding your tongue out.

He grips the base, holding his cock up, tapping your tongue with the head. You almost whine, before he grips your head firmer and holds you still so he can slide the entire length of that monster right to the back of your throat.

Your nose hits his pubic bone, buried in the coarse hairs there, overwhelmed, hands balling into fists.

“That’s right,” he grunts, “hold it right there, sweetheart, show me you’ve got what it takes.”

God, he’s all the way in, a perfect fit. You try to stay still, anchoring yourself to him, to his palm, to the possibility of hearing good girl.

You gag a little, coughing around him, tears burning at your eyes as drool plip plops onto your chest.

Finally, he pulls out, stroking your hair, “good girl, such a good girl. Ready?”

“Yes,” you garble around the heady of his cock, clit swollen and needy, hands pressing hard into your thighs, “please fuck my face, daddy.”

He does, his pistoning, fucking your mouth like it’s a cunt. His hand cradles the back of your head, pushing you, hips moving, grunting when he’s not taking the occasional puff of his cigar.

You throb in your panties, body scorching hot, gagging every so often around the thick meat of John’s cock. Drool falls in viscous strings, tears following, the world dropping away. 

Nothing else but the slide of his cock in and out of your mouth exists, matters.

“That’s it, that’s it,” he pants raggedly.

You have no idea how long he lasts, only that when he’s finished you're an absolute mess. Wet faced and panting.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, wiping the tears from your cheeks with his rough thumbs. You look up at him through your clumped lashes, mouth open, “did so well for me, hm?”

“Thank you, daddy,” your voice is a little gravelly, but not painful.

John pulls you up with a hand at your bicep, walking you down a hallway off his living room and towards an open door. 

It’s his bedroom– and it’s decorated exactly as you’d imagined it.

The bed is huge, kingsized with a radio inlay and a thick, padded headboard that extends all around the mattress in a kind of cradle. His sheets are silk, dark, and dark orange.

“Nice digs,” you laugh, “you sure you aren’t a pornstar?”

He laughs behind you, setting his lit cigar into the ashtray on the bedside table. He slowly strips out of his clothes, getting totally naked. Then he slides in, and leans back.

“Give me a show, sweetheart.”

You hum, swaying again. You aren’t a pro at this kind of stuff, but it’s fun regardless to pull your shirt up and over your head like you’re a dirty dancer.

“Like this, daddy?”

John hums.

You slowly slide your pants down, turning so he can watch your ass move, kicking them away. You hear the slick sounds of him jerking his cock as you do.

“Should I take my panties off?” you ask, thumbs slipping into the elastic.

“Yes, take them off,” he grunts, “turn around.”

You do, then slowly slip your panties off. He licks his bottom lip again, quick.

“Come here.”

You slide onto the bed, on your knees, then crawl forward until you’re beside him, where he pushes you to lay on your side.

His heavy palm finds the naked skin of your hip, squeezing, “still want to show me your star power, sweetheart?”

“Yes, daddy,” you’re back in it, eyes half lidded. Your pussy is making a wet spot on your thighs, “I wanna show you.”

He pushes you to your back, slaps your thighs until you open your legs and hold them out. Then he pauses, hand at the junction of your thigh and hip, thumb inching towards your pussy.

“Look how wet you are, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

You clench, tilting your hips up. Your clit throbs.

“Ah ah, get back down,” he tuts.

Your ass touches the bed again, hips forced down by sheer willpower. His thumb finally reaches you, pulling aside your pussylip to gaze at your wetness.

It gushes out of you, and you’re sure he can see the way your hole clenches.

“Desperate little cunt, isn't she?” he uses his other hand, two two fingers coming to pull the hood of your clit up and just watch as it jumps needily, “awe, poor thing.”

“Please, daddy,” you could cry, “please, touch me.”

“Touch where, love? Touch this needy little clit?”

“Yes, please!”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” he abandons holding you open to bring his thumb to your exposed clit, rubbing in circles. You shout, a tremor immediately beginning. It’s too much and not enough at once, electric and icy-hot.

Then he slips those fingers inside you, slow and testing at first, but when he realizes just how wet and soft you are he curls them inside you deeply and oh, fuck, your eyes roll back into your head.

“That’s the spot, that’s it,” he grunts, shaking you, taking you apart.

John only fingers you long enough to let your wetness spill out of you, wetting your thighs, soaking his fingers– until you’re ready for his cock.

“You’re ready,” he lays the length of it against your pussy for a moment, letting your swollen lips hug his length, before he shifts back and nudges the head at your hole, “yeah, you’re ready for it.”

He stuffs you fucking full. You’ve never been so stuffed in your life, thankful for his diligent attention earlier or you might be really feeling the weight of him.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, back arching, nipples rubbing against his chest hair. It sparks pleasure from your tits right down your cunt, body aflame, hands scratching through the hair at his back.

It’s like fucking a bear, or a werewolf. He’s relentless, too, without mercy. Plows into you hard and long, thrusts measured, never faltering.

John fucks like a pornstar, there’s no doubt about it. He takes up so much space on top of you that without his arms holding him up you worry about being crushed– you crave it, too.

“Good fucking girl,” he snarls, lip curling, mustache going with it, “want to be on camera, do ya? Let me hear you.”

You let loose, mouth open in one long drawn out sound, interposed only by the gasps you let out each time he hits you deep.

You tilt your head back, bearing your throat, taking each heavy thrust and crying out with them, squeezing around him.

“I’m gonna give it all to you, sweetheart, fuck,” he snaps his hips faster now, “and you’re gonna take it all like a star.”

You nod desperately, feeling his pubes each time he thrusts to the hilt, wet with your juices. You’re so fucking close, one breath to your clit and you’d lose your mind.

He straightens, hands going to your hips, tightening, as he snaps one, two, three times and tenses–

His head snaps back, neck bulging with veins as he comes, teeth bared in a growl as he curses, “fuck, good girl, that’s right– good fucking pussy–”

Hot come shoots inside, heating you up further, making you whine with frustration and satisfaction both.

When the taut line of his body relaxes and he pulls out, a flood of come following him, he slides to his stomach and spreads you open with his thumbs.

“Let daddy make it up to you, sweetheart,” he murmurs to your pussy, “he’s not usually so selfish.”

John looks down first. Your pussy is swollen, well-fucked, and you can feel a slight gape.

“Poor little pussy,” he murmurs, then seals his mouth over your clit until you fall apart.

“You sure you aren’t a pornstar?” your cheek is pressed to his chest, basking in the furriness, arm and leg thrown over his body.

He laughs, “I’m sure, sweetheart. But I will say–” he pauses to lean down and kiss the corner of your mouth, mustache still damp, “you’ve definitely got star quality.”

[magicdustsworld]

Zayne has standards.

He really does.

And those standards include not thirsting after his very beautiful wife every time she has the audacity to exist in a damn sundress.

But here he is.

You are sprawled out on the couch, using a cushion as a recliner while you scroll through your phone with a practiced ease that should have been illegal. You are wearing that sundress again—the same one he bought you and the same one that made him lose his mind the first time you walked out of your bedroom wearing that. The soft yellow clings to your bust and torso, before flaring from the waist down. A slit runs down from your knee to the hem—giving him a tantalizing view of your legs as you cross them over one another. The neckline dips low; although keeping your modesty concealed, the sweetheart shape leaves no stone unturned—promising the allure behind the veil.

There you are resting on the sofa like some celestial being descended from heaven; taking away his breath and self control—fighting and failing hard to resist the temptation.

And the worst part of it all? You aren't even trying to seduce him.

You are just there.

Radiant.

Effortless.

Dangerous.

As ever.

Zayne leans on the doorway, arms folded over hios chest and jaw set in a thin line as if that would the heat from crawling up his neck.

As if sensing his gaze, you speak without making the effort to look up, "Anything wrong?"

"It's too cold for you to be wearing something like... that.

"Huh?" Finally, you grace him the look he was so desperately begging for. (Not that you'll ever know about it). You make some clicks on your phone before turning the device towards him, "See! It's 70 degrees. It's warm enough."

In response, your husband just glares at the screen like it has personally offended him. It has. Then, he mumbles something incoherent under his breath; along the lines of 'You have a knack for getting knocked out cold' and 'How much it'd help him you if you only sprout some wisdom and put on a cardigan.'

He rotates on his heels, strolling towards the kitchen—at this point only some chilled water would help him—and hoping you haven't caught onto his monologue. But you did. You always do and when you finally register his words in your mind, a slow grin curls down your lips.

So that is it, huh?

No sooner has Zayne reached the refrigerator, he feels the warmth of your figure behind him. He fixes you with a questioning gaze, one of his eyebrows raising, as he fishes out a bottle of water from it.

Leaning against the counter, your perpetual smirk depends and that's the cue for your husband to know that you are upto no good.

"You okay, darling?" You ask, voice low and turning towards a teasing edge. Stepping closer, you place your hand on his forearm—the muscles tensing almost instantly under your touch. Perfect. "You look a little... warm."

Zayne clears his throat, "I am fine."

"Mhm, hmm, you sure?" you ask, leaning in—absolutely revelling on the effect you are having on him.

"Of course," he swallows, stepping back but you only step closer; not letting him or anyone shorten the proximity. You wouldn’t even let it happen, no matter what occurs. "Why would you even think otherwise?"

"Heh!" You snort, amusement floating in the sound. "Because what if I say you keep looking at me like I am dessert and you are starving?"

"Then I'll say you're delusional."

"Oh?" This time, you raise an eyebrow. Then, wedging your voice to a tone lower—transcending it to something sultry and wicked. "Then you wouldn’t be affected if I kiss you right now?"

His shoulder jerks back, eyes widening as a warmth spreads all over his cheek and burns down to his neck. "You wouldn’t dare—"

But you do.

You kiss him.

Standing on your tip-toes, your eyelids flutter shut as your soft lips pressed against his chapped one. The slow motion of the movement gave him all the time in the world to memorize each nook and cranny of your expression before you engulfed him into a sincere affection. Sacred in the act. Reverent in its nature.

After being happily married to the calm and composed Dr. Zayne—one of the best surgeons in the Akso hospital and the youngest winner of the starcather award—for two years; you'd wonder surprise kisses like this would be considered a routine now. And although they are, Zayne's reaction to them every time hasn't had a single itch of change. You still remember how he had reacted when you had kissed him unexpectedly for the first time. It had been under a snow cuddled christmas tree in the heart of Linkon city and as cliche as it was, it was the fruit of your hard earned resolve after yearning for him for literal years.

Even that time, his hands and feet had fallen victim to paralysis as well. Heart beating in his chest at a rapid rate and he stood there like a statue, barely moving his lips against yours—just like now. Only when did you begin to pull away, did he finally take the lead.

His hand wraps around your waist, pulling you close whilst the other cradles your jaw. Angling your face to the side, he parts his lips—pressing them on yours with a fervent hunger. His tongue prods over your lips and you open your mouth, welcoming him into the salacious exchange. The fabric of his shirt, bunches inside your fist prompting you to pull him closer. He relents, lips meeting with yours with sheer desire and affection. Despite the carnal nature of his mouth on yours, you couldn't deny the wafting purity in the air. The way Zayne handled you with so much affection and zeal—never rushing you, matching his tempo to yours because it isn't just him indulging in this wanton connection. There's you and Zayne is nothing but vigilant when it comes to you; as if you are a fragile thing and any stitch of recklessness would shatter you. Something he'd never let happen as long as he lives.

When he let's you go, both of you are breathless. Inhaling the mingling air in abrupt, short pants; a flush spread over your skin.

Then, "Still fine?" You whisper, gripping the fabric of his shirt tighter. The smug smile back with full force.

Zayne, still dazed and doomed, "You are... evil."

But even as he says that, his hold on your waist tightens just ever so slightly. Because, even if the end of the story concludes you as evil, he'll be gratified to know that you're his evil.

P.S. if y'all are wondering why does every Lnds drabble of mine consist husband!LI then it's because I'd husband them up in a breath if they were real ;-; jdhdjhdjhs hope you liked it

Zayne is my main btw <3 do tell me yours!

[rainrot4me]

Restless

Summary: Your demon boyfriend is struggling with a wave of insomnia. You’re willing to do whatever you can to help him relax.

Characters: Eyeless Jack x Female Reader

SMUT WARNING MINORS DNI

TW: Cunnilingus, vaginal, handjob, vaginal fingering, size differences, creampie, belly bulge, oral, teasing, somnophilia, Jack is a smug bastard

Words: 4.2k

A/N: Happy belated Valentine’s Day! I hope you all are well despite my absence interacting with everyone! I hope to get back in the swing of things shortly!!

Eyeless Jack is a daunting presence no matter the circumstance.

Whether the gray-skinned demon is lurking in damp woods with the intent of hunting his prey or brooding his irritation down in the mansion's cellar, anyone with the misfortune of meeting his nonexistent gaze knows it’s something you cannot ignore.

But you’re not afraid, especially not when his arm is wrapped dutifully under your waist and rubbing absent circles onto your hip bone. And that is also how you know he is lying wide awake beside you, despite his forced rhythmic breathing.

Rolling over, it’s an even more telltale sign of his restlessness when you find the crease of his brows knotted in silent frustration. You huff a silent breath, his grasp on your waist following as you roll to his side, lying your cheek on his broad shoulder splayed on his pillow. You catch his brow twitching at the touch of your hand on his bare chest.

“Can’t sleep?”

He huffs a breath of air, sighing with defeat as he peels his eyelids open to reveal the caverns of eyesockets that house no iris. His face is answer enough. You know that he’s looking at you, though. The chill that runs across your goosebumped skin is more than enough indication.

“No,” his voice is rough, laced with all the tiredness from the day prior but not matching the lack of exhaustion in his features. He rummages his tongue behind his lips as if to say something further, but decides closing his eyes again would be a better option.

“You want to talk about it?”

You shimmy further into his side, pressing a leg up to curl around his hips, where he grips his clawed hand under the pocket of your knee to hoist it higher. The tips of your toes barely reach the tops of his knees, his size practically swallowing you even beside him. He peels his eyelids open again.

“Also, no.” Reaching behind his pillow, he props his head up with his forearm. A telltale that he intends to stare at the ceiling for the rest of the night. You follow suit, pressing your elbow to the pillow under yourself and resting the weight of your head on your palm. He looks only slightly irritated when you begin to trace the hard lines of his face with your fingertip.

“Just because I cannot sleep doesn't mean you shouldn’t either, my dove,” he hums, capturing your roaming hand with his free one and plating a gentle kiss on the inside of your wrist. You tuck your face into the crook of his neck, the demon plating a gentle kiss onto the top of your head. He lets his eyelids blink shut in false hope.

Jack had been like this for days now. Unable to get a full night’s rest from the overwhelming tasks of the day prior. Slender was sending the proxies out at an obnoxious rate, rallying all the manpower he could over a dispute with another mansion. It was exhausting and incredibly bloody, which meant Jack rarely saw daylight with how many hours he spent stitching up or cauterizing bullet and knife wounds down in the recesses of the basement. His fingers were still practically pinched to hold a needle even as he lay here beside you.

As a member of Slender’s band yourself, you can’t fault any of them for fulfilling orders, but you find yourself silently seething when it comes at the expense of Jack’s sanity.

“I don’t mind,” you breathe, letting your now-free fingers trace across his bare chest, tracing the lighter scarring and divots from past encounters lazily. “I could help you out, anyway.” 

Jack hugs you closer but doesn’t respond to your offer, so you carry on.

“I could... give you a massage?” You offer sleepily, pressing an affectionate kiss to his cheek.

He doesn’t bother to respond beyond a quiet, breathy chuckle.

Your hand meanders over his toned abdomen in comforting, absentminded patterns. Roaming over old scar tissue and through unkept trails of body hair, “D’you want something to eat?” you ask against the skin of his jaw, “I saved some meat from your last hunt.”

“Thank you, pet, but I’ll be alright.”

“Mm,” your low-hummed response vibrates against his side, and your pinkie finger slips just beneath the band of his boxers, grazing across from one large hipbone to the other. Your lips brush the shell of his pointed ear. “D’you want me to suck your cock?”

Jack’s breath hitches, then shudders. His eyelids slowly peel open. 

He’s met with a mischievous grin on your face.

“You don’t need to–”

“I want to,” you coo against his jaw as you trail slow, methodical kisses across his chilled skin. He leans into the sensation, craning his neck to give you better access to the point where his veins run up his throat. He releases a low rumble of approval, and you meet his half-lidded absent gaze, sharp with both mirth and lust, even through the crowding fog of exhaustion. You don’t need the pleasure of pupils to see that he’s gazing at you with silent want.

It’s not without planting a kiss every couple of inches down that you shimmy your way further down his body. Coming to rest between his legs, it pleases you when you press your mouth against his clothed crotch to find him already half-hard.

You hook your fingers over the band of Jack’s boxers, his hips lifting in silent invitation as you ease them down. The cool bedroom air brushes against your skin, ruffling your hair as Jack flicks the duvet aside with a lazy throw. His eyes—dark, absent voids in the low light—watch you with heavy-lidded interest, his lips curling at the edges in a lazy smirk. A fang just barely peeks from the gap in his lips, and you can’t help but feel the flutter in your stomach.

He props himself up on one elbow, but you press a firm hand against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of something not quite human beneath your palm.

“Nuh-uh,” you murmur, a stern edge to your voice. “Lie back. Let me take care of you.”

Jack exhales a slow, unamused breath but obeys, sinking back into the pillows with an air of indulgence. Shadows coil at the edges of the room, stretching and shifting with the thick moonlight between the curtains, but your attention is solely on him.

You catch the spit from your lips between your fingertips and watch with keen amusement as Jack’s gut flexes at the slick contact. You roll your wrist on the tip of his head. Once. Twice.

You waste no time with teasing tonight. 

Instead, you offer yourself completely, the warmth of your mouth and the slow, deliberate glide of your hands working in unison to unravel him. Spit collects, your fist quick to catch anything that dribbles from your lips to stroke back upwards. The occasional flex of his claws against the sheets betrays his restraint, but he lets you set the pace—lazy, deep, unhurried.

Jack is large, obnoxiously so, but you let your throat relax. Unhurried with the usual cascade of noises that come with using your mouth, you let the low moans and quiet slick of your spit mix pleasantly with the lullaby of noises from further up the bed.

The grizzled grunts and lupine growls that usually accompany sex with Jack reshaped instead to soft gasps and lilting whimpers.

It’s a very nice alternative.

His breath hitches when you pause, just briefly, to swirl your tongue in a way you know drives him wild. His muscles tense, then loosen, and one clawed hand twitches toward you before falling away, opting instead to rest against his own ribs, rising and falling with measured breaths.

You don’t let that action go unnoticed.

Sliding your free hand up the rippled muscle of his thigh, you reach for his wrist. You guide him, slotting his clawed fingers in between the strands of your hair. The warmth of his palm is a comfort against your head, a silent guide.

The room is hushed, wrapped in the intimate lull of slow-building pleasure. Jack’s chest rises and falls beneath your touch, his sharp features softened in the low light, his body melting into the warmth of your devotion. His fingers flex in your hair, claws barely grazing your skin, his hips shifting in time with your movements.

Everything is slow, indulgent, and a pleasure drawn out to its fullest. And from the way Jack’s lips part on a breathy exhale, his sharp, inhuman gaze growing hazy with bliss—you know he won’t make it much longer.

You intend to finish him off slowly. An outstretched ripple of pleasure that’s sure to have him passed out the moment he finishes. You press your tongue along the vein that runs up his length, tracing a familiar line. It doesn’t seem to have the desired effect.

Jack’s lulled state is slowly dissipating, his legs shifting outwards as the claw against your head moves downwards underneath your jaw. His hand more than covers the circumference of your throat, and slowly pulls you up and off of his length. 

“Jack?”

But then he’s sitting up, and his claws wrapping around your middle, dragging you up from between his legs.

“I hope you didn’t intend on my cumming in your mouth,” he rumbles as you straddle onto his ribs, hands braced on his chest. 

The lazy look in his eyes is still evident, heavy eyelids adding to the frazzled look of his blissed face. You smirk, bracing your forearms on his chest to get closer to his face. “What? Couldn’t stand the thought of not bruising my insides for once?”

“But that’s my favorite part, dove…” he smirks that evil, sultry look that makes your chest swirl with want. You don’t let him by without an eye roll, though. You school the pounding in your chest—no doubt thudding loud and clear in the demon’s ears—and press up off of his chest.

It’s quick movements that have Jack’s claw reaching behind your back and between your legs, the fastest he’s moved all night to tug your panties to the side. There’s already a generous amount of slickness between your legs, the insistent thrumming of pleasure that spikes up your gut when the pads of his fingers press wholly against your clit.

You lean into your chest, fingers clinging to his shoulders as your nose finds the crook of his neck. Hungry, self-serving kisses follow, your quiet moans vibrating off his gray skin as masterful fingers rub you into a state of ease. He’s just as unhurried as you were between his legs, but you can’t tell if that’s a blessing or a curse with the way your nails catch on the muscles of his shoulders.

“This-hng was supposed to help you sleep—not get you riled up,” you gasp between kisses, feeling the weight of Jack’s forearm as he bypasses your leg with his opposite hand to begin stroking himself below you.

A mirth-filled chuckle hums in his chest as his fingers collect slick, aiding his practiced rotation on your clit. 

“Trust me, pet. This’ll have you sleeping ‘till tomorrow night.”

You let out an exasperated whine.

Jack retracts his hand when he’s satisfied, planting a quick kiss on your forehead before setting you back up.

His legs are bent now, giving you a rest for your back as you shift to straddle his hips, hovering above the twitching length that lays heavy on his abdomen. He’s still slick from your spit, gleaming in the low light as you steady yourself.

Jack retracts his grip on your hips, crossing his arms and tucking them under his head to get a nice prop for viewing. You cut daggers at him.

“Oh, now you wish to rest.”

He smiles that sharp, toothy grin that makes butterfly wings run rampant in the pit of your gut, swirling heavily with the pleasure that’s coaxing your movements downwards.

Panties tugged to the side, you set yourself on the length of his cock, pressing your core against the veins that run up him. Jack groans, soft hums of approval as you roll your hips down, grinding against the feel of him. Your wetness makes it easy to move, hands planted onto the center of his sternum that gives you enough leverage to roll your clit from base to tip of him.

“There you go…” he breathes, sighing as his eyelids blink slowly, like they’re struggling to open back up again. He won’t last another couple of minutes, you know it. 

Pressing your knees down into the sheets, you reach beneath yourself, wrapping a fist around the base of his cock. It’s like second nature the way his tip immediately slots through your folds and presses against your entrance. Jack’s breath stills, anticipation heavy in the air as he shifts his legs closer. 

You press your back against the top of his thighs.

Any and all tenseness is wiped clean away as you begin to push him inside. Your mouth falls open in a silent whine at the slow, perfect stretch, and you battle the flutter of your lashes to watch the hypnotic fog of pleasure that rolls across Jack’s face.

You arch your back further, hands planting atop each of his kneecaps as you slowly rock yourself downwards. His tip bulbs in. Out. In again. And then you press it past the tight ring of muscle.

The stretch is always hypnotic. Like a strain on your brain that pushes itself through, completely swarming your senses and encapsulating your every thought. If you weren’t so practiced, the pressure alone could send you into a brain-dead state.

You slip further and further down, his girth growing along the way. A quick glance up shows the disheveled state of the demon’s hair, strands falling into his face and offering a cover to the darkened state of his cheekbones. 

He looks deliciously wrecked.

Hollow eyes squeeze briefly shut with a short, rough moan that harmonizes with your high, breathy one when he hits something deep that makes you tremble and clench. Before you’ve realized it, you’ve nearly taken all of him, and you can feel it.

“You’re too-hah big for your own good…” you huff through slow breaths.

“You love it,” he growls, the vibration rumbling all the way from his throat to where you’re connected.

You roll your pelvis and are rewarded with a heavy groan and twisted brow, the sight and sound so intoxicating that you rock again, and again. The angle of him inside you is so mind-numbingly exquisite that you find it hard to focus.

You brace your hands on his chest and straighten, relishing the way he looks underneath you—so tired, yet so eager for more. 

Your thighs shake, a satisfying muscular burn from the slow, sensual ride. Raising yourself up, circling your hips to nudge the head of his cock in a tunneling spiral inside your heat as you sink back down again, the teasing movement dragging a deep, strained curse from Jack’s lips.

His hands leave their position behind his head, trailing down the sheets to the top of your kneecaps.

They slowly slide up, claws dragging pink irritated lines across the topside of your thighs until they snag on the crease of your hips. He holds your waist in that way that makes you feel so deliciously small, fingertips nearly touching around you.

“My dove…”

The rumble in his voice shoots straight through you, his breath stuttering as you clench around him. 

You start to offer a slow, sensual ride that has every press of your hips tugging moans from the two of you. Jack’s hold is keeping you steady, the pace more focused on getting him as deep as you can rather than fast.

“Fuck—”

The breathy curse slips, clearly accidental, from above you, and your gaze flicks upwards. 

Jack stares up at the ceiling, unblinking with strangled focus. 

You know what he’s doing.

“Quit- hah- quit holding back,” you grit, wrapping your hands around his forearms in return for the shallow bounces up and down his length. The swell of his cock knocks against your g-spot from this angle, forcing breathy, sharp whines every time you move.

“Mmn,” he grumbles, gaze flickering down towards you, before back up to the ceiling. “Don’t want-hn to so soon.”

For someone with no eyes, Jack’s biggest turn-on is seeing you. The curve of your body. The bounce of your tits. The sweat that glistens off your skin in the moonlight.

He thinks by staring at something besides you he can prevent the inevitable. But your intention for tonight is to get him tired enough to go to sleep, not to see how long he can last without filling you past the point of comfort.

You pull out the best trick you’ve got.

Ditching his arms, you lay back again, shoulder blades pressing atop his kneecaps.

From there, you arch.

You hold all the grace of a bow bending from the stretch of a string, and Jack is your archer.

“Jack—” you cry, sharp breaths following as you bounce yourself up and down.

The demon flashes his gaze down, and his body snaps with so much electricity you can practically feel the thrum of pleasure that ricochets through him. His hold tightens, and his shoulders bow off his pillow.

The bulge of his cock is clearly visible from your abdomen, skin stretching to accommodate the swell of his tip against your insides. It’s a mouthwatering sight, one even Jack can’t resist, as he watches the bump flatten only to reappear with each movement of your hips.

“God,” he groans, a strangled grumble of your name following as he takes hold, setting his own deep pace.

You let your body go lax, throwing your head back as Jack fucks up into you with all the grace he can muster. His cock knocks against your sweet spots, stretching and filling you so full you.

He lifts your waist, your kneecaps leaving the mattress as Jack takes the initiative. Planting his feet, he snaps his hips up desperately, chasing the feel of his cock bulging in your stomach under the press of his clawed fingertips that brush over the skin.

His hands are at your waist, scorching, lifting, and pulling your hips into each sunken thrust. Grinding your aching bud against his pelvis—

“I- I’m- fuck. Gonna,” you pant out, hissing through your bared teeth as you teeter over that lovely precipice. “Jack—”

Your nails dig into his forearms.

It’s the ragged, lust-drunk groan of your name that breaks you. Jack’s mouth falls open around a strangled cry—a silent thing that lodges in his throat, with only the end crackling free over his tongue. 

You both snap at the same moment.

It’s the quivering heat of you coming undone around him, because within moments Jack follows you straight over the precipice. Claws snagging you impossibly downwards as his face twists into the most gorgeous expression of pleasure you’ve ever seen. 

Completely, beautifully wrecked. 

A broken moan pours from scarred lips with yours as he spills himself deep inside you. Throbbing hips grind together as you both tumble through the unceasing riptide of your shared orgasm.

His hold on you falters, and you collapse down onto his chest, sweat-glistened skin pressed against yours. Both of your lungs heave like bellows, and his claws find their way atop your back, holding you close to him. 

After what feels like an eternity, and yet still far too soon, the joint orgasmic rush begins to wane. Gradually lowering you back to reality, until you find yourselves quietly cradled together.

It’s not without a whimper of soreness that you shift upwards, shifting your hips until the swelled length inside of you slips out with a satisfying pop. The warmth of his cum seeps from between your legs, spilling onto the demon’s lower abdomen—there’s always so much.

You barely make it an inch before you’re collapsing back onto his chest.

“You okay, handsome?” You ask gently, voice hushed.

He hums, groggy and laced with overbearing exhaustion.

“Sore?” He asks you quietly.

You shake your head.

“Tired?” You smile.

A tiny huff and a gleam of his fangs, followed by a conceding tilt of his head. You chuckle, nuzzling into the swell of his chest. Sleepiness creeps at the corner of your vision, exhaustion tugging you into the faux warmth underneath you.

Until you feel the slick between your legs start to dribble down your legs.

You raise your head, lips parted to excuse yourself to the bathroom, but immediately still yourself. You find that he’s fallen fast asleep. His heavy frame relaxed fully into the mattress, and his features smoothed and peaceful. You smile to yourself, before letting your head drop back to his chest, finding comfort in the relaxed rhythm of sleep-driven breathing beneath you.

Oh well.

You’ll deal with it in the morning.

-

You wake with Jack’s fingers between your legs.

It’s not a rude awakening, but a surprising one. You rise slowly, exhaustion still heavy in your features as you breathe deep, taking in the feel of a heavy body pressed against your back. You just have shifted off of Jack’s chest in your sleep.

Jack’s claw has slipped underneath your panties—still damp from the night before—circling and skimming over your core, and his other claw up under your top rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

The demon knows you're awake not only by the accelerated thrum of your heartbeat in his ears, but by the soft mewls that begin to stir from your lips.

“Good morning, dove,” he grumbles against your shoulder.

“Mm, it’s good so far…”

Jack trails slow, deliberate kisses along your neck and jaw, his lips warm against your skin as his claws, carefully restrained, glide between your thighs. His fingers move with reverence, sweeping through your slick folds, stroking over your clit, circling your entrance—not in a teasing way, but indulgently, like he has all the time in the world to worship you.

And you let him. Melting back against the sheets, your quiet hums of pleasure fill the stillness of the room.

Before long, Jack shifts lower, moving with unhurried ease as he slides your panties over your hips and tosses them aside. His clawed fingers skim along your legs, a fleeting contrast of sharpness and care, before he settles between them. His gaze flickers up to meet yours—heavy-lidded, dark, burning with something that makes your stomach tighten.

He deems to only use one tongue today, mercifully.

He parts you with that same slow reverence, his mouth finding you with unrelenting patience. His tongues, lips, and fingertips work in perfect harmony, a steady, languid rhythm meant to keep you on the edge, drawing pleasure out in slow, rolling waves. He’s in no rush. His only goal is to unravel you completely, to watch you lose yourself in the pleasure he gives.

His eyes flutter shut as he works, lost in it, his breath warm against your skin. His grip tightens—just slightly—when you shudder beneath him, muscles tensing, hips shifting to chase his touch. Still, he keeps the pace unhurried, each stroke, each flick of his tongue, a deliberate act of devotion.

When release finally washes over you, it isn’t a sharp, fiery explosion but a deep, all-consuming exhale, as if you’ve surfaced from deep water after being held under for too long. It leaves you trembling, shivering beneath him, your breath coming in soft, uneven sighs.

Jack lingers, savoring the last of your pleasure before finally rising to rejoin you. He braces his forearms on either side of your shoulders, settling between your thighs, the solid heat of his stomach pressing against yours. The weight of him grounds you, but he’s sure to not let himself fully lay atop you. His breath fans warm over your cheek, lips curling into a slow, knowing smirk—rather satisfied with himself.

“What in the world was that for?”

“You know exactly what you did.”

You chuckle quietly, rubbing your hands across his muscled biceps. Jack leans forward, wrapping his lips with yours, the sweet taste of your release still on his tongue.

The fresh, relaxing air of the morning is quickly shattered as a hurried knock splinters on the other side of Jack’s bedroom door. 

“Hey! Uh-Uhm, Jack!” Toby’s hurried voice reverbs on the other side, the boy sounding just slightly panicked, “Jeff’s kinda been shot—again.”

It’s not without a groaned sigh that Jack lets his head fall onto your shoulder, taking a deep breath as Toby’s footsteps retreat back down the mansion’s hallway.

“Maybe this time I should just let him bleed out,” he groans, raising up and off of you. You’re quick to sit up, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders as the demon sits off the edge of the bed.

A quick kiss to his temple, then your lips press against the shell of his ear, “If you hurry, then maybe I’ll hold off on taking a shower until you get back up here for round two.”

Never have you ever seen the demon get dressed and down to the basement that fast.

Thanks for reading!

Comments and kudos are appreciated!

[aomiiine]

G-A-N-G BABY, LET ME B-A-N-G BABY

ᥫ᭡. gang boy fucking his gang baby ft. yakuza!sukuna + fem!reader

ʬʬʬʬARNINGS -> just a short drabble. sukuna: true form, backshots, slight choking, dirty talk, evident degradation, just a hint of objectification. wc. 500

“Aren’t you just the most adorable, pathetic, thing in the world, aren’t you?” The burly man exhaled the cruelest laugh to your ringing ears, not soothing the pounding in your head and sting on your inflamed ass. Everything fell in your right ear and out the left, unable to comprehend a thing when all that occupied your mind was his rough thrusts. It was like he wanted to rip the humanity out of you and leave your body lingering for him to use as a cocksleeve.

But he wouldn’t really do that. He loved you. Maybe.

Calloused pair of hands held you firmly in place on his desk, hips adjusted to match the position of Sukuna’s hips. All the while you were blabbering on his oakwood table, eyes rolling back, Sukuna had one of the other pair of his hands tucked snugly between your legs, index finger of one hand rubbing the pulsing bundle of nerves in tight circles, quickening and slowing torturously between slams of his cock into your full cunt.

“Toes curling and quivering with your pussy sucking my cock in tight like a vice.. Should I coax your filthy pussy to cum? Or are you trained enough of a slut to do that on your own?” His voice grew gruffer with each word, free hand moving up your spine until his fingers curved around your nape, thick fingers burying themselves in a firm grip on your neck. With controlled yet undeniably brute force, he pulled your body back by your throat alone, making you fuck yourself back onto his cock, filling the dimly lit office with further obscene noises of wet flesh slapping against one another.

Once again your moans were drawn out like an instrument, his fingers plucking the strings so effortlessly. Your hands were sprawled on the hard surface of the desk, unable to find purchase to ground yourself on as the muscular man behind you plowed into your tight channel with abandon, chasing his orgasm that inevitably lead to your own. And with a few desperate groans and deep thrusts later, he did.

“Here’s my load, baby, yeah? Gotta tighten up that pussy of yours so not a single drop’s wasted, pretty girl. She can do that, can’t she?” He grunted between scoffs, referring to your cunt shamelessly with the corner of his lips curling to a smirk of utter pleasure, pupils blown wide with his lower lip red from being bitten on when the first spurts of his semen pumped out. He could feel it, your pussy responding to his words without hesitation. Your walls fluttered around his dick and that was enough to send shocks down his spine, earning few more leaks of cum to spill into you.

Your entire body shivered, breath heavy and ragged from exertion and satisfaction. Even as you tried to regain composure, not a single limb in your body would move. Not when he was still buried so deep inside you, basking in the weak squirts your pussy offered, something you did without even realising it. With mustered effort, you tried raising your head in hopes of lifting your body off the table. But his hand on your nape reminded you of its presence.

“Now where the fuck do you think you’re going? I’m not done with you yet.”

[withahappyrefrain]

https://www.tumblr.com/withahappyrefrain/756666693791760384/yes-tyler-needing-a-handblow-job-before-going-on?source=share

okay listen 👀 tyler dry humping you against the side of his car before getting to work

Hi, can I kiss your brain? It's beautiful. We got some good ole porn without plot smut here folks.

Having no neighbors within a three mile radius has many perks.

Halloween is spent watching movies, not handing out candy at the door. You can host a party but don't have to hear someone else do the same. No HOA means you're free to paint your door whatever color you damn well please.

It also meant you could grind against your husband's denim covered thigh against his truck.

It started out as a kiss. A goodbye kiss, like one you had given Tyler so many times before he headed out to chase a developing storm.

Okay, yes, it was more heated than sweet this time around. More desperate than gentle. Your hands gripping his sun kissed hair instead of resting against his broad chest.

Who could blame you? Prior to getting a call from Boone, you and Tyler were underneath your bedsheets, his talented mouth having just started to unravel you.

Hopes that Boone was calling to fire off a new experiment were quickly dashed when he called a second time, in between Tyler's phone going off with text notifications, no doubt from the rest of the crew.

The cluster of storm cells had the potential to develop into something big, which Tyler swears is the only reason why he got out of bed and began to dress.

You had opted to stay in the baby blue night slip, knowing you weren't the one on the chase and it was Tyler's favorite.

Another perk of having no neighbors meant you didn't need to put on a robe in order to walk Tyler out to his truck.

So yes, if you were in a courtroom, facing trial for trying to tempt Tyler, the evidence would be overwhelmingly against you. But he truly started it, those large hands of his gripping your waist so he could pull you back for another kiss.

You could never leave it at just one kiss. He knows this. All you wanted was to simply be as close as humanly possible. After all, how else would you be able to inhale his captivating scent of oak and sandalwood?

He has your left knee pinned against his hip, allowing you to feel his denim cladded erection against your thigh.

"Fuck," his voice is breathless as his hips jerk upwards. A tornado is nothing, but feeling your soft body in his hands is enough to nearly bring Tyler to his knees.

Your mouth swallows his needy grunts, a hand squeezing his clothed erection, chest pressed against his.

"Ty," your nickname for him comes out in the form of a weak, needy whine, "Want ya s'bad."

"I know, but I gotta-fuck!" He hissed upon feeling his clothed erection against your bare cunt.

That, you absolutely did on purpose.

He abruptly stopped, hastily opening the passenger door. "Bend over," he hissed, pointing to the now available seat.

You quickly oblige, toes curling at the sound of his belt buckle clicking.

Having no neighbors mean you can be as loud as you want. Who could truly care about a noise complaint when the head of his cock was brushing against your clit?

When his cock sinks in, you breathe a sigh of relief, body welcoming the pleasurable stretch. Tyler always makes you feel so full, all you can think about is just him and his ridiculously amazing cock.

Now that should be investigated.

Thanks to your earlier, albeit interrupted, romp in bed, you're ready for him, allowing Tyler to quickly build up a rhythm. It's hurried, his thrusts harsh and sloppy. And yet, you can help but cling to the passenger seat

The sound of his hips slamming into yours can barely be heard over the moans that fall effortlessly from your mouth, along with the grunts Tyler grits out between his pearly white teeth.

"S'fuckin tight f'me," He groans, "Love you s'much. Can't wait t'come home t'you and this ah perfect pussy."

He's addicted to you. Your soft skin, the way your ass jiggles with each thrust, the shameless moans that fall from your kiss bitten lips. How soft you are, how tightly you cling onto him.

Tyler seriously considers calling out, making up some excuse, hell, even just being honest with his crew.

Who could be upset at a man for wanting to spend more time with his wife?

But he also knew you wouldn't let him. Ever since college, you knew of his dreams and how badly he wanted to follow them. You also trusted that he would always find a way back to you.

"Fuck, pretty girl. Need you to cum f'me, think you can do that?" One of his large hands reaches down to where you two connect, long fingers drawing circles on your clit.

You can barely keep your head up, nodding weakly as your walls clench around him. All you can do is take him, all you can do is let yourself go into the pleasure fueled haze you were craving.

He leans over as he feels your release, stubble scratching against your bare shoulder.

"Atta girl, feel s'good," his words are beginning to slur, signaling how close he is. You reach back, hand finding his dark blonde locks and giving the strands a harsh tug.

The whine Tyler lets out is music to your ears. It just takes one, two, three more sharp tugs for his hips to stutter, his release trailing behind yours.

His body covers yours and for a moment you two simply stay like that, breathing heavily.

"Hey, com're," His voice is now soft, gentle, his longer fingers cupping your chin so he could turn your face towards his.

Thin pink lips crash onto yours, the gesture a stark contrast to what occurred several minutes ago.

"Love ya," he confesses between kisses. Despite having heard it multiple times a day, it still makes your heart flutter.

"Love ya too cowboy," you smile against his lips, "But you should get goin'. Don't wanna be late."

Tyler shrugged, "You know how long it takes them to get ready. Besides, what kind of husband would I be if I didn't help my wife clean up?"

If Boone asks if you were the reason Tyler was an hour late, you would happily plead guilty.

[kamitv]

could you write about who you think are the most touch/affection-starved of the jjk boys? the thought of them crumbling at the slightest touch and savoring every second with us makes me 🥴🥴🥴

▷ Delicate

Sypnosis . Men who fold under your touch. / Pairings . (Separate) Nanami x f!reader, Choso x f!reader, Ino x f!reader / Content . afab!reader, established relationships, fluff, begging men, sensitive men, soft sex, filth, dirty talk, etc. / wc . 4.8k

A/N: Grieving over the loss of my man right now-- Gege I hate you and the air that you breathe. This was going to include more men but due to the loss of my lover, my mood was ruined and I couldn’t finish what I had for the others… Anyway, not proof-read, hope you enjoy! ^.^ [MDNI]

★ Nanami Kento

While it may be a bit... unexpected, yes, Nanami is sensitive to your touch. Each one lingers on his skin, seeps through his clothing, and tattoos itself onto him.

He's a very stoic and, usually, stern man but when it comes to you, he's almost like putty under your touch. It's intoxicating really, the way you're always caressing his arms, grabbing his hand to hold when the two of you walk or even during sex.

You're quite the touchy woman and Nanami can't say he doesn't love that about you.

When he comes home after a long day of work, you'd rush to the door to greet him, dressed in your comfort clothes from head to toe with that bright smile of yours latched to your face. Your hands are on him instantly, helping him rid himself of his coat, his tie, hell, even his shoes sometimes if you're feeling enthusiastic enough.

It's cute really. The way you help him undress as soon as he steps into the house, asking him how his day was and reciprocating with a not-so-eventful tale of your day. He's listening to your every word though, hanging off every syllable even, but you don't notice it.

Even as you guide him toward the kitchen to show him a surprise dinner you'd whipped up, you're rambling about something concerning your cooking process and he's hearing every word but, the way your fingers slip down his arms, curl around his wrist to pull him along, release him and then press into his chest to stop him from walking-- it was truly alluring.

Nanami swears he wasn't always this sensitive to touch. He doesn't know why exactly his heart swells in while you keep your hand flat on his chest, your attention on some nearby pot as you continue to talk.

You were explaining something but he'd stopped listening, his eyes all over the side of your face and soon trailing to your arm, and then to the hand you've got on him.

Nanami's hand would be moving before he even realizes, slipping so gracefully to your wrist and moving your hand off of him just to lean down a bit and plant a loving kiss across your knuckles.

"And then I almost-," His sudden kiss would make your brain freeze, head whirling in his direction to see your husband planting peck after peck before he shifts your hand to cup the side of his face and then meets your gaze.

Those gentle brown eyes of his would be so sappy and soft with you, filled with a love you can hardly comprehend as he rests his head against your palm, grinning at you. What a handsome man you've married.

You couldn't be happier as you look at him, even with the sigh that leaves you, "Kento..."

His brows would raise ever so slightly, "Hm?"

"Did you hear anything I just said?" You'd huff out. And there's this slight frustration in your voice but he loves it anyway, completely and utterly smitten for you no matter the situation.

Nanami nods, just barely, before turning his head and kissing the inside of your palm, "Mhm," He hums casually, "You were telling me how you almost burned our kitchen down."

"Yes, and..." Your eyes narrow at the man, watching how he just kisses and kisses your palm, almost as though he couldn't pull himself away, "Ken..." Your hand slips a bit and you caress his face, "Are you okay?"

His hand, much veinier and larger than yours, would come up and cup yours over his face, "Yes, yes, I'm fine. Your touch is just so... soft."

That earns a smile from you, "Is it?" You'd giggle amid your question, eyes lowering at the man before you.

"Yes, it is," Nanami responds simply. Then he begins moving your hand to the side of his neck and his head tilts as he looks at you, stepping closer and closing the slight space between you and him, "I love how gentle it is, how loving, how caring."

"Oh?" Your smile widens and you move your other hand away from the, now forgotten, pot and it goes toward the buttons of his shirt, "Should I start touching you more then?"

"I implore you to, yes," Nanami huffs out, his body leaning toward yours.

You bring your lower lip into your mouth and tip your head a bit, one hand toying with the buttons of his shirt and the other caressing the side of his neck, "Since when has my touch had you this... pleading," You question, words coming out slow as his eyes drop to your lips.

Your husband takes his other hand and grabs a careful hold onto your wrist, dragging your hand further down his body and making you feel against his abs through his clothing as he leans closer to you. His free hand then moves to your waist and he tugs you to him, closing any and all space left.

"Always," Nanami confesses to you, "Your touch makes me weak, sweetheart." He explains with that gentle yet deep voice of his, always so soft when speaking to you.

You smile, "Weak?"

"Yes, weak," Nanami whispers in agreement with a steady nod of his head, eyes doting on every aspect of your facial expression.

The man was so in love and his poured out of his every gaze, brown eyes lingering on your lips long enough to silently tell you what he wanted. So, your hand steadily undoes the first button on his shirt, moving your other hand from his neck to assist yourself.

Your eyes on his the entire time, you unbutton at least four buttons before taking a finger and grazing his bare chest, watching how his breathing stutters from something so light.

Smiling, "This, Kento..." Your voice is small in a sultry whisper as you drag your finger down and down until you pass his torso and reach the hem of his pants, "This makes you, weak?" You as tauntingly just before you begin unbuckling his belt.

His heart rate quickens and he swallows loud enough for you to hear, sighing as his head weighs to the side a little, "Hahh, yes, my love," Nanami tells you, face inclining down to your own.

Your gaze and his meet and the eye contact is heavy with tension, your fingers working his belt loose before you're teasing him by just barely unbuttoning his pants and making sure your fingers caress the area below his abdomen.

Nanami's lips twitch and so badly does he want to kiss you but he's too busy hanging off the slow words leaving your lips.

"Who would've thought?" You utter, smiling at your husband, "A serious man like you crumbling to your wife's small touches."

He tilts his head further and his lips are practically on yours as he speaks, "Small or not... they're touches from my wife." He emphasises just before giving you but a small peck on the lips.

You hum, "I suppose."

And then you're finally kissing him, lips molding into one another and his body melting to the feel of you. Oh how Nanami loves the way your lips part for his tongue to push through, the way you kiss him back with just as much passion as he approaches you with, and how warm and savory the inside of your mouth is.

Soft smacks emit from the two of your lips sliding over one another, your husband nipping at your lower lip and quick to kiss you like it's the last thing he'll ever do. Then his hands are grabbing a firm hold of your waist, silently telling you that you're his to hold and touch however he feels.

His fingers, large, veiny, and thick, feel you through the fabric of your top, unable to pry off of you once he's got you in his grasp.

Then, into your mouth so very lowly, h's grunting, "Undress me," Nanami orders as he slightly steps forward with you.

You step back accordingly and your hands are flying back up, unbuttoning the rest of his shirt and feeling him up afterward as you start slipping the item off of his body.

"Like this? Hm?" You whisper back to him as his shirt hangs off of him, his hands gripping onto you tighter and tighter whilst he walks you backward and out of the kitchen.

His voice makes your knees weak as his mouth detaches from yours and drops to your neck while you move to finally get his slacks off, "Yes, like that. Good girl," Nanami praises against your neck, soft but hot kisses making you gasp.

With your voice all breathy and your feet and hands stumbling with the large eager man before you, "C'mon Ken, at least make it to the bedroom," You murmur, his pants loose on his hips as he bulge brushes against your front.

"I'm trying." He groans, breath simmering into the crook of your neck before his tongue is felt against you.

You can't help but giggle, "You're trying?"

"Yes," He huffs out, voice hinted with this tune you rarely hear from him too often.

You're walking back and back until you bump into a wall for a second, your bedroom door now to your right as Nanami marks up your neck messily. Then you snicker, "Mmmh, I like you like this, Kento," You comment, to which he sighs.

Then he's off your neck and moving you to walk backward into your bedroom, clearly no longer patient.

Cocking his head to the side, "Like what?" Nanami asks curiously.

You shrug and the back of your legs hit the front of your bed, "Desperate, almost," You hum, brows furrowing a bit.

Nanami helps you settle yourself onto the mattress completely before he's crawling on top of you, shrugging his shirt completely off of his body and revealing his full chiseled physique to you.

"Starved?" He asks, trying to find the word you were looking for.

You shake your head and then it comes to you, your arms wrapping around his neck and tugging him down to you before you whisper, "Craving."

Nanami gazes at you for a long moment, simply taking you in before nodding his head slowly, "Craving, yes." He agrees.

Then, another long press of his lips to yours is made and your legs are adjusted to wrap around his waist, Nanami wanting any and all parts of you on him now.

His lips shift to the left a little and he kisses the side of your mouth, then your cheek, and then he drops to your neck again, making you do nothing more than smile as his hands work to get your clothes off of you.

Your top is soon removed, bottoms followed soon after, all of which is discarded to the floor somewhere before Nanami's kissing you again and forcing your hands to be on him.

"Run your fingers through my hair," He murmurs, directing one of your hands to his blonde locks of hair. Then, he takes the other hand and moves it to wrap around his neck, "Scratch my back while I fuck you," Nanami whispers, works making your breathing unsteady while he suddenly grinds his hard cock down into you, "Try pushing me away when it becomes too much, I don't care, just want your hands on me, okay?"

His directions had you hot all over, pupils dilated already, breathing heavy from his constant kisses, and your hands quick to run along his tensed skin before you nod with an obedient, "Yes sir." Leaving you.

Nanami just barely smiles and you feel his heavy cock twitch against you, "What'd I tell you about that?"

"I don't remember," You whipser, your fingers slipping down from his hair to caress his jawline and then pulling his face closer to your own, "Remind me, sir."

There's a smile on his face as his lips finally near your own again, "You'll be the death of me one day." Nanami utters to you lovingly.

And maybe one day you will.

But tonight?

Tonight you are nothing more than a hole for him to fill as he soon grunts into your ear telling you how good your cunt feels around him, telling you how pretty you look taking his cock, and moaning out how much he loves the way you touch him.

★ Choso Kamo

You always knew he was sensitive to your touch. Look at him. No, literally, look at the man. He's not sensitive to everything but your touch is most definitely his weakness.

You once gave the man nothing more than a handjob and he was cumming all over the damn place. You're not sure if you've ever seen your boyfriend so... whiney.

Choso had his legs spread like a slut for you as you sat oh so prettily beside him, fingers wrapped around his cock and stroking him torturously slow. Your thumb would caress his bulging veins, fingers would twirl around his fat tip, tap and slip in between the slit of his cock, teasing him.

And since you were sitting beside him, your breasts would graze the side of his arm, making him flinch over and over. You had him so tense, so sweaty, so loud.

Choso didn't even know he could moan this much just from someone's hand. He's jerked himself off plenty of times but when you do it, it's like blood rushes to both his head and his cock, his vision would blur, and his breathing would grow unsteady.

Maybe it's because of how you had teased him beforehand, running your manicured nails along his inner thigh as the two of you tried to watch a movie together. Only for your hand to accidentally graze his dick, somehow groping him through his clothing and then turning to look at him.

That was when he began to sweat buckets, cock springing up under your palm at one measly little touch and his breath hitching.

Then he was whispering a gruff little, "Baby," Making you smile as you did nothing but innocently bat your lashes at him. To which he'd tip his head back against the couch and swallow, "Stop teasin'..."

You then scooted closer to him, your thigh touching his as your voice neared his ear, "I barely even touched you, Cho," You had whispered, watching how even in the dim lighting, his face grew red and he struggled to keep his composure.

Turning his head to you, Choso was quick to meet your eyes with a low and desperate gaze, lids dimming, brows tensing, and breathing heavy. "Then touch me more, please." He requested quietly, deep voice making your cunt jump with excitement.

You quickly switched hands so that you could turn your torso to him, which was when your breast pressed into his arm and your hand then moved to work his cock out.

And yes, in minutes he was cumming in your hand, making such an embarrassing mess of your fingers. Your hand was so soft, jerking his twitching cock off so perfectly.

Choso was groaning into the air like he couldn't control it, "H-Hahh, aagh, baby-, baby fuck, y-your ha-hahh, hand-," His voice... squeaks? as he says that last word, pitching so deliciously that you have to squeeze your thighs together as you watch him tense up yet again, "S-Shit, m'gonna cum again," Choso breathed out through gritted teeth.

He was so sexy all sensitive and tense for you, making you smile as you watched his face twist up and his eyes flicker every time you focused your palm on his tip.

"Again, Cho? You're makin' such a mess, baby," You coo softly, breath just barely hitting his ear and adding on to the numerous things he was feeling.

His head was spinning at this point and he couldn't stop himself from watching your, much smaller, hand jerk him off, from quick pulls and tugs to slow drags and caresses, to twisting and rolling-- Choso was both in a daze and high off of watching you stroke his aching cock.

God damn you knew how to use your hand. You knew where he was sensitive, knew what to do and how to do it.

His cock was wet with cum and your hand just slide up and down and up and down, the sloppy sound filling the entire space and adding onto his arousal. Cum was slipping in between your fingers, all down to his balls-- shit, he really did make a mess.

It was nasty but... he liked it that way.

"P-Princess, fuuck, please," His voice was cracking, breaking because of you, eyes tearing up as your hand only got faster and faster, "Fuck fuck, please d-don't stop." He pants out, head flying back against the couch as his thighs closed and opened, almost like he wanted it all to end and yet continue at the same time.

Watching him had your body hot, there was a pulse coming from in between your legs and you had half the urge to get down on your knees and just suck him off since he was being so damn whiney.

But at the same time, you couldn't stop your hand. Not when he was about to cum again, not when you were about to drag the sound you were looking for out of him.

"Y'like that, Cho?" Such a simple question you murmured to him and yet it broke him.

Nodding all needily and fucked out, "Yes baby, yesyesyes," He gasps, abs tensing as your hand just would stop. You wouldn't let up on him for even a second and it was killing him, "F-Fuck I like it s'much-, I like you- love you," He corrects, struggling and stumbling over all his words, "Love your fuckin' hand-"

His jaw drops and the groan that leaves him comes from deep within his throat, "Ohmygoddd, fuck," Oh he was babbling for you, thoughts whirling, voice cracking and high pitched with you.

Then his lips quivered and that's when that noice came out. Such a cute, whiney, and filthily obscene whimper slipped out of his mouth, eyes at the back of his damn skull as he came all over your hand again.

And you had the nerve to talk him through it, whispering sweet, "That's it baby," To him and making him pant and his breathing stutter, your hand still going.

Choso couldn't formulate proper sentences with you anymore, barely chanting an almost silent I love you over and over until your hand stopped and his dick finally calmed down.

★ Ino Takuma

Is this even surprising?

Of course your cute boyfriend Ino is sensitive and affectionate starved. Sometimes he tries to act like your touch doesn't faze him but the very second it leaves him, he's giving you these doe-eyes and moving to put your hand back on him.

And it's just perfect for him that you enjoy touching him a lot. You're almost always hugging him or grabbing his face to pull him in for a kiss and he loves it.

So whenever you're away for a few hours, his body aches for you. You'd have your nails done too so that was something he enjoyed feeling more than ever, loving how your fingernails would run through his hair as he laid on your thighs or even in between them, face stuffed into your cunt.

Either way, Ino loved your touches and yes he craves it when you're not around.

So whenever the two of you do meet up, you're always running up to him, throwing your arms up and around his neck, laughing and smiling about how much you missed him.

Then you'd always tug that beanie off of his head, telling him how much you enjoy it when his hair is out and teasing him about looking silly with the accessory on.

He'd shrug off your comment and then as soon as you turn away from him, his arms are draping around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder and crotch pressing into your ass.

Your body would freeze in place as you feel something familiarly hard poking at your ass, turning your head to your boyfriend who you've barely even touched so far and raising a brow at him, "Takuma..." You'd utter softly, earning a grin from him.

"Hm? Somethin' wrong?" He'd ask casually, as if there's not a painful boner in his pants all because you'd hugged him.

"You tell me," You tease, moving out of his hold and turning your body around to face your boyfriend as you cross your arms.

He quickly raises a hand to the back of his neck to scratch, chuckling nervously, "I'm not sure what y'want me to say?" He hums plauyfully.

You tilt your head and him and sigh before moving to point at his crotch, "How about you start with explaining that."

Ino's head drops to look at where you're pointing to, laughing as soon as he sees himself, "Oh, that. Yeah, no, that's uh, that's nothing, really-," His head lifts and you've gotten all close to him again, head angled upward slightly to meet his gaze and your stare making him swallow all his words down with a loud gulp.

Your hand then moves in almost slow motion and you place but a single finger to his chin, tipping his face down some more to get a good look at him and then smiling. "Y'know you can ask me to help you, right? I am your girlfriend, remember?" You whisper.

He starts nodding like he's hanging off of your words, eyes set on your lips and his breathing picked up just because you've got a finger on his chin. "M-Mhm, I uh," He blinks a few times to gather himself, "I know."

You smile and step even closer, your body just barely touching his, "Takuma," You whisper yet again, causing a shiver to slip down his spine.

He was so nervous because of you, "Lover," He hums back.

A chuckle slips past you, "Lover? That's cute."

"Y'like that one? I've been brainstormin' pet names recently," Ino tells you happily, his voice soft with you due to the lack of distance between you and him.

"Yeah, that one's cute," You whisper as your lips near his, "But uh, we're not just gonna skip past this," You emphasize as your hand palms at his erection, making his breath hitch.

Ino's brows tense and so does the rest of his body, "Y'gonna take care of it, baby?" He whispers to you, eyes softening at you as you peer up at him so tentatively.

"You want me to?" You utter back, batting your eyes at him and feeling on his cock through his clothing.

"Yeah," Ino nods out, to which you give him this look and he swallows, quick to correct himself, "Yes... please."

Smiling, "How do you want me to take care of it, hm? On my knees? With my hand?"

Ino barely knows how to even answer your question, it always makes him nervous when you take the lead, not that it doesn't happen often but most times anything sexual between you two just occurs mutually.

There's not always someone in the lead and it's usually just the two of you trying to make the other feel good. Which is enjoyable of course but when you're like this? Asking him what he wants and yet telling him what you're going to do through your gaze?

Oh he's almost the one on his knees for you.

Which is how you ended up later sitting behind your boyfriend, head peering over his shoulder and arms wrapped around him so that your pretty hands could work up and down his cock.

He hardly remembers how he got into this position with you or what he said for you to even want to do this but, here he was; face red, moans pouring out, hips bucking up into your touch, eyes lidded and struggling to keep up with watching the way your two hands groped and jerked at his cock perfectly.

Your fingers and his dick glistened with spit and precum, the sounds of you giving him the best handjob he could ever have asked for loud throughout the room.

"Oh baby," Ino whines out, eyes nearly shut as he tries his hardest not to squirm too much, "That feels so fuckin' good, holy shit."

"Yeah?" You smile, "My hands feel good?" The taunting behind your words made his cock throb in your hands, slim veins bulging against your palms and making you snicker.

Ino nods his head needly, "M-Mhmm, fuck-," He gasps, voice lagging behind as he tries his best to answer you properly.

You start kissing the side of his neck and he swears his head is spinning. He doesn't even know what to focus on at this point. Your hands on his cock? Your lips on the side of his neck? Your breasts pressed into his back?

It was all too much for him, making his knees bend just for his legs to extend out seconds later, his mouth just open with moans of your name and not-so-silent whines slipping out. Did he want it to go on forever or stop as soon as possible?

Fuck, and then there was you heavy breathing against him, almost as if you were aroused by this too-

Holy shit you were. You were probably soaked just because you're busy getting your boyfriend off using those pretty hands of yours. Ino's on cloud nine just thinking about how wet your cunt probably is, his moans getting louder and louder as second pass.

Up until he can't take it anymore and he moans your name, "B-Baby, fuck, needa' feel you, please."

"Hm?" You giggle softly, though it's noticeably more breathy than usual, "You are feelin' me though?" You point out as your hands tighten around his cock.

Ino's head rests back a bit and he pants, babbling out his desperations more clearly for you, "No baby, your pussy, come put it on me, please." He huffs out.

You cunt twitches at his words and you whisper his name, "Takuma...."

"Please?" Your boyfriend begs, gulping afterward to catch his breath for a moment, "J-Just... oh fuck, let me feel you, taste you, fuck you, anything baby, please?"

"Shit, okay, okay," Is the last thing you say before you too folded under pressure and moved.

Then you were on top of him, his eyes glossy as he watched you above him. Neither of you are sure which was more stimulating, you jerking him off or what you're doing now.

Which was rubbing nothing more than his tip against your slick hole, dragging him back and forth and back and forth in between your sopping folds. His tip was glazed in your arousal and his own, both of you moaning softly at the tease of it all.

It was somehow almost better than sex itself. You liked teasing him like this and he loved being teased. Ino was in a daze, trying his hardest not to cum at the sight of you forcing his needy cock against your pussy.

Your cunt looked so fucking delicious, so wet, so warm, he wanted to be inside you so bad and that's what was arousing him right now-- the temptation to just thrust his hips up into you and finally sink his inches deep inside you.

There was a light wet and sloppy sound that followed your languid movements, his cock slipping inside of you every now and then and making you practically start drooling for it.

It was taking everything in you not to just plop down and start bouncing on his cock like you normally would but when you looked at Ino's face and saw him panting and quietly whimpering-- you knew he was about to cum and you didn't want to stop.

Rocking your pussy over his tip over and over and over and over again until he was struggling to gasp for air, hissing out a cry of your name over and over, trying to warn you.

But instead of stopping, you whine, "C'mon, cum f'me," And then he is, and his cock is leaking in cum before he can even comprehend it, never realizing how sensitive his body was to you until now.

You always kinda knew he was sensitive and sure, you rubbing his cock against your pussy was pleasurable but it really surprised you how much he came from the action.

Smirking as he comes down from his high, you then lean to him and kiss him before whispering, "Good boy," To which his jaw drops a bit and you're angling his cock to slip inside you, "Now, hurry up 'nd please your girlfriend," You huff out.

And he's nodding without a second thought, "Yes ma'am-, fuck, whatever you want, pretty girl."

[nanaslutt]

let me hold you

ʚ cont: fem reader, oral (f!r), dirty talk, pussydrunk gojo, jerking off, cream pie, cock warming, soft gojo, fluffy after sex stuff ^.^

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

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

Gojo groaned as he pulled your ass apart with one of his large hands, shaking his head against your cunt as he ate you out like a man starved. "Ffffuck-" You groaned, your toes curled and your eyes rolled back in your head at the feeling of Satoru burring his tongue inside your hole. His hot breath tickled your cunt when he huffed out a short laugh at your reaction, always amused by how easy it was to make you feel good. 

Your body writhed and twitched on top of his desk as you reached behind you with one hand and pressed his head harder against your cunt, your fingers threading through his soft, fluffy hair. Satoru groaned, the squelching noises getting louder from behind you as Satoru increased the pace he was jerking himself off, his hand sloppily stroking his wet length with no rhythm. "Pussy's clenching around my tongue so hard-" Satoru giggled drunkenly, his voice muffled as he spoke so close to your cunt.

"Don't h-hah, don't talk while you-" Your words were cut off when Gojo wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked hard, his soft lips immediately wrapping around the hard bud as his tongue bat at it rapidly, making you see stars behind your eyelids as they rolled back in your head. "Oh, my fucking g-godd-" You groaned, your voice getting louder than you meant it to when he started rolling his tongue around it, making the knot in your stomach tighten with the need for release. 

"Satoru- baby right there- k-keep doing that-" You whined, your face scrunching in blissful pleasure as Satoru ate you out like a man starved. He was eating it so messily, drool and your juices dripped down his chin and fell onto his hand that was stroking himself off, only making the slick sounds even wetter. "Mhmm-mmmm." Satoru moaned against your cunt, his eyebrows furrowed and slightly open, looking unfocused and blurry from his own arousal.

"Oh fuck- fuck that feels so good Satoru- you're d-doing so good," You whined, your inner thighs shaking as you were pushed closer and closer to the edge by Gojo's tongue. Gojo's face burned at the praise, you could feel him smile happily against your cunt as he opened his mouth for a second along the length of your cunt to drink up your juices before he went back to sucking on your clit. 

Gojo felt his balls ache as he stroked himself off, feeling his high grow closer and closer the longer he tasted you on his tongue. Satoru was jerking himself off so fast, not worried about cumming before you or trying to hold himself back, he felt so good, and he bounced back quick. Your fingers curled against his scalp harder as you jaw opened in a small O when you felt your orgasm start to creep up on you.

Gojo groaned at the harsh treatment of his hair, his eyes rolling back in his head at the feeling. "I-I'm gonna cum- S-satoru I'm gonna cum-" You cried, completely forgetting about being quiet. The only person who should still be at the school was Ijichi, but you were hoping his office was far enough away to where he wouldn't hear what the two of you were up to. "Cum, please, give it to me-" Gojo groaned against your pussy, his voice only edging your orgasm on quicker as his words vibrated your cunt. 

Gojo shook his head rapidly back and forth, humming and groaning against you as his cock ached for you to cum. He felt totally blissful and fucked out just from eating you out, he could feel his skin vibrating with excitement just waiting for you to cum. "Fuck- fuck-" Your toes curled in your shoes and your moans went quiet right as your orgasm peaked. 

Your body jerked and spasmed as you came around nothing, your hole pulsing and squeezing, dripping juices down your cunt and against Satoru's lips. Gojo popped off your cunt with a moan and quickly stood to his feet, still jerking himself off quickly and sloppily. You snapped your legs shut and crossed your legs at the feeling of him no longer sucking your clit as you continued to cum.

Faster than you were able to understand what happened, Satoru rammed his cock inside you and gripped your waist hard enough to bruise as his chest collapsed against yours. You let out a scream from the unexpected penetration, undoubtedly loud enough for your poor coworker to hear. Gojo ramming his cock inside you prolonged your orgasm, giving you a whole other wave of pleasure as you clenched rhythmically around him. 

Gojo sunk his teeth into your clothed shoulder and bit down hard as his cock kicked inside your walls, his hot cum spilling out from his cock and into your cunt. His balls clenched as he released his seed deep inside you, feeling completely at ease as his whole body felt warm from being inside your hot, soft cunt. Satoru released one of his hands on your waist and reached it up to grab your face and tilt it to the side.

You hummed and whined into Satoru's mouth as he kissed you sloppily, moaning and gasping against your lips, making a mess of saliva on your chin. Gojo's hips weakly thrust inside you as he made sure your pussy milked all of his cum, even as his cock went soft he continued to just push his hips against your ass even while already being balls deep. 

Satoru broke the kiss and kept the hold he had on your chin as he dropped his head into the crook of your neck, panting like a dog. You let your head dangle off the front of his desk as you relished in the warm feeling of his solid body pressed firmly against your own. "It's so soft inside you...don't wanna pull out ever," Satoru whined, his voice coming out weak and childish as his hot breath tickled your skin.

You bent your elbow back and let your hand find his hair, running your fingers softly along his scalp, making him moan softly in pleasure and gratefulness for the soft touch. He rubbed his head into your hand like a cat, wanting more and more of your touch. "Y'think Ijichi will drive us home? Don't wanna move..." Gojo asked. It was true, he did seem extremely worn out. After all, he was basically pressing all 190 pounds of himself on your body. 

"Let's not involve him in this. I'll drive." You said, ruffling his hair. "Okayy," Satoru moaned sleepily, showing no signs of moving or pulling out as he relished in your soft body under him. "Carry me to the car?" He asked childishly, making you scoff and shaky your head, ruffling his head a little harder to keep him awake. "If you pull out I'll try my best, but you did a serious number on my legs." You replied, feeling how shaky your legs were.

"I'm not that heavy, you got it. I'm putting my trust in you so don't drop me or I'll be upset." Gojo said, groaning as he begrudgingly pulled himself up and slowly slid his cock out of you with a whine. The man tucked his still-sopping wet cock into his boxers and grabbed your hips to pull you up. Satoru always got so clingy when he was tired, it was adorable. 

You were barely able to reach down far enough to pull up your panties to stop Gojo's seed that wanted to slide out of you the second you stood. Gojo wrapped his arms around your body and rested his head on your shoulder, his breathing now evened out. 

"You smell good..." He said quietly, his tongue poking out to lick the side of your neck. You giggled and tapped his hand playfully that was wrapped around your torso, signaling him to let you go. "Off, big baby. Gonna take you home." You said, letting him rock you side to side as he groaned at your words, saying something about just sleeping at the school in a spare room for the night. You eventually dragged him to the car after enough convincing. 

[hoshifighting]

Hello honeeey.

Can i request something? That's being going in my mind and i thought you be perfect for this... i wanted to ask for a first time with Seungcheol... like no the first time ever but the first time with him.

Like new relationship, a lot of previous teasing but he has being waiting for you to make the first step and stuff.

Pleaseeeee, i love your work, kisseeees💗

first time having sex with seungcheol in a new relationship

WARNINGS: smut, new established relationship, fingering, penetrative sex, hair pull

a/n: hiii my dear!! thank you for the request, I hope you like it <333 sorr ab how late is this going, but I can use this excuse for a chirstmas gift....? 🥺 love youuu!!!

he knows he’s about to ruin you but doesn’t feel the need to announce it.

you’ve both been circling around this moment for weeks—every touch lingering longer than it should, every kiss dipping into field that leaves you squirming. now you’re here, and he’s leaning over you with that smug, lopsided grin, looking like he’s been waiting for this exact second his entire life.

“been thinkin’ about this,” he mutters, lips brushing your jaw, his hands already sliding under your shirt. and yeaaaah, maybe you’ve been thinking about it too, but you’re not about to stroke his ego like that.

his mouth is warm, soft, leaving a trail down your neck that makes your toes curl. but it’s his hands... that really mess with your head. they’re big and rough, and its so good! its like he plays a 3 hour long documentary about womens anatomy in his head, to make it all perfect. and you’re not even sure if it’s intentional at first, the way his thumb brushes your ribs before dragging along your waistline is making you loose your cool.

“you good?”

“mhmm..”

he’s pulling your clothes off slow, his eyes flick up to yours when he hooks his fingers into your waistband, waiting for the nod before tugging it all down.

then, he pauses—just for a second, but it’s enough to notice. like he’s recalibrating, trying to balance his usual cocky self with something more reserved. you swear there’s a flicker of nervousness there, but it’s gone before you can really clock it.

and then his mouth is on your thigh, pressing soft kisses that turn into teasing bites. “you’re so fucking pretty,” he says, his voice wrecked, like he’s the one losing his serenity.

when he slides two fingers in, he tries to be soft to stretch you properly for his cock, without making it burn, curling in a way that makes you moan loud for the first time. “like that?” he asks, smirking when you moan in response. he’s watching everything, adjusting the angle, the pace, until you’re arching off the bed.

“so sensitive...” like he’s proud of the way you’re squirming under him.

but seungcheol’s not about to let you get too comfortable. just when you’re about to cum, he pulls his fingers out, grinning at the whine you let out. “don’t worry, baby,” he says, kissing the inside of your knee, “i’ve got you.”

and when he finally presses into you, he doesnt know if he should be sexy and shameless, or be more reserved in case he cums on the first slide. so he starts slow, letting you adjust before picking up the pace.

you swear he’s holding back at first, keeping it steady even when you’re begging for more. but then you pull him down by the hair, whispering something filthy in his ear—things that he was CRAVING for you to say, that’s all it takes for him to snap.

“fuck,” he growls, his grip tightening as his thrusts get rougher, deeper. but just when you think he’s going to completely wreck you, he slows down again, his hand sliding up to tangle in your hair. he pulls—just enough to tilt your head back—and kisses you hard, like he’s staking a claim.

“thought about this for so long,” he says, his voice rough, his movements still slow. “you don’t even know.”

you didn’t know he could be like this—rough and tender, cocky and careful, all at once. but now you’re here, and he’s everywhere, and you don’t think you’ll ever be able to think about anything else. he’s determined, you can tell. determined to make you remember every single moment, every touch, every kiss, every thrust. and when you finally cum, he’s right there with you, holding you until you frown, because you two are definitely sweating.