#i latched onto that man so fast

[ilovebeingaturtle]

I love headcanoning that the whole Triceraton mind device severely messed with Don’s memory abilities but I also think he’s the type of person to be so hyperfocused on the present and future that he doesn’t even notice at first. Like it’s not until weeks later where he completely blanked out on a request Leo asked of him that morning or when he realises he can’t recall what their old home looked like anymore that he goes

“Uh. Well that’s not good…”

[bacchuschucklefuck]

i love your bard! riz au so much. he is so tragic as a character for all the reasons of what living in constant danger fear does to your mind. can i ask about his relationship with the other bad kids and the major differences vs canon?

hey I'm glad ur enjoying what's goin on here! I don't have a Lot of it clear in my mind yet bc it is a full class swap of the entire party so some stuff will just. not play out until they do yknow? it is how it is. but I think from the beginning riz's motivation is decently different so he'll just get into it on an entirely different path - he did Not start out a very kind kid. he would be extremely conflict avoidant, he's got the Actor feat, he's stocked up on Disguise Self, he's ready to disappear mid-conversation, anyone who looks like troubles he's steering Clear of. he goes to aguefort not because he wants to be an adventurer but because sklonda was like "this works for you?" and he was like "yeah 's all good :]" (he is about to throw up bc that's where penny went missing)

I'd say he runs into fabian (rogue) first very briefly and they'd mutually be like oh. a guy. and immediately forget each other once they get out of the same like locked classroom they accidentally both hid in. and then during the corn cutie fight fabian would see the way riz react and Not Like It (haha whoa. like looking in a mirror amirite) and go actually I'd rather be a hero (derogatory) than whatever that is that guy's got going on. great surprise for him when they got out and registration's closed and the mirror is now one of his partners in the career-long group project :]

kristen (sorcerer) would be an Insane encounter at first for riz like this is someone who is extremely powerful, not very controlled, and so fucking starved for people to be nice at. riz is cordial to her on the way and she is like Fuck Yeah Friend! please go do paperwork with me I don't know shit from fuck I haven't had proper paperwork since I was like twelve and gay. do you like candies? she then throws ragh through a window for trying to bully gorgug and netting her and gorgug the detention (riz is of course immediately someone else while this is happening) (he shows up again right after like haha sorry that was scary! resolutely not looking at how kristen's face falls at the idea of someone being scared of her again)

riz and gorgug (cleric) get on like house on fire at first in the sense that they're at that point both fake bitches and they know this about each other and acknowledge this with each other implicitly and they're like I'm not poking at what's going on with you if you don't poke at what's going on with me. and then gorgug dies and sees that the god he's been feeding his anger to isn't real (yet) and has his realization that he's been indoctrinated into a cult through the support group he's been to and starts on deprogramming and in that process he starts poking at riz's deal just by proxy of dealing with his own. riz gets vicious about this a bit into it but after the arcade he kinda comes around again. it helps that at the end of sophomore year gorgug becomes the saint of the Inbetween and riz is very much in need of that stop on his way right then

fig (barbarian) on the other hand does Not like riz off the bat (her whole thing is leaning into rage to live her truth without fear) but then being as perceptive as she is soon she's like ohhhh you're just scared. like Really scared and it's ruining your life. and after that she's like I'll just protect you then :] (this is her solution to most things her friends go through) this does not help at first bc riz has picked up the pattern that is if you're protective of him bad things will happen to you. he will have a breakdown about this in sophomore year but it'll get better from there

adaine (artificer) on the Other other hand just straight up doesn't like riz until after the arcade lol. he's on the prep side, he's not socially awkward and he doesn't use that power for anything but being a coward, he lets biz talk at him in the AV club and that means biz never stops fucking talking, and every time adaine raises a complaint all he does is being like "sorry :[" and changing nothing. it's fucked up between them riz tries to appease her by doing nice things but he doesn't address the things she actually complains about so she doesn't take it. she's the person who outright calls him out for not having the backbone to stand up for himself or his party. despite this she never thinks of throwing him out of the party and he does pick up on this. they get better after the arcade and riz apologizing and by junior year adaine's the one handling the tech end of riz's freelance publication

all of this is subjected to change of course I'm mostly keeping things mobile that's where all the fun is hehe. the world is constantly in motion etc but this is kinda how I'm coming into my art atm we'll simply see!

[joyfulsoda]

Making designs for the DNB has unlocked something unstoppable in me. Fear me.

Based on this post.

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤSWEET GIRLㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Viltrumite Men x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : How Do They Eat That Kitty?

☆⁠ CHARACTERS : Mark Grayson, Nolan Grayson, Thragg, Conquest

☆⁠ NOTES : +18 contacts. Minors DNI. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

— MARK GRAYSON ⋆

Mark? Oh, he's obsessed with your pussy. Like it’s his purpose in life. Like he could live between your thighs and never get bored.

The first time he goes down on you, he groans the second his mouth touches you—like he’s addicted to the taste, like he’s never had anything better. His tongue? Everywhere. He licks, he sucks, he’s fucking messy—his mouth is completely drenched, his chin glistening, his jaw aching, but does he stop? Fuck no.

He eats you like he’s making out with your pussy, moaning, whimpering every time your fingers tug at his hair. His hands? Strong and desperate, gripping your thighs, keeping you open, keeping you right where he wants you. And when you grind against his face? Oh, he loses his fucking mind.

"Fuck, baby—yeah, use me—fuck my mouth—God, you taste so fucking good."

And when you cum? He shudders. Literally. Shudders. And then keeps licking, lapping up everything, groaning like he’s getting off on it. His hips are grinding into the bed, desperate for friction, but he doesn’t stop until you’re pushing at his head, too sensitive to handle more.

And even then? He just grins up at you, his lips swollen and glossy, his face a fucking mess.

"Please—just one more? I need it."

— NOLAN GRAYSON ⋆

Nolan eats pussy like he’s doing you a favor—like you should be on your knees thanking him for it. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t dive in like some horny teenager. No, he likes to make you wait. He spreads your thighs wide, takes his sweet fucking time looking at you, smirking when he sees how wet you already are.

"Already dripping? I haven’t even touched you yet."

And then? Oh, baby, you’re fucked.

His tongue is hot and firm, pressing right against your clit in one slow, deliberate lick that makes your hips jerk. And he just chuckles, gripping your thighs tighter so you can’t move. He eats you like a man who knows exactly what he’s doing—his tongue doesn’t just tease, it works you. He flicks, sucks, presses just right, watching your body react to every calculated movement. He’s testing you, seeing what makes you twitch, what makes your breath hitch, what makes you fall apart.

And when you do? When you cum on his tongue, thighs squeezing around his head? He just groans, deep and low, like he’s starving for it. And he keeps going. Of course, he keeps going. His hands hold you down, his tongue fucking into you, lapping up every last drop like he owns you.

Because he does.

"Good girl. Give me another one."

— THRAGG ⋆

You do not survive this.

He doesn’t tease, doesn’t ease you into it—no, this motherfucker pins you down, buries his face between your thighs, and ruins you.

His tongue is rough, fast, overwhelming. He latches onto your clit immediately, sucking so hard your vision goes white, your hips jerking off the bed. He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t let up. You’re squirming, trying to get away because holy fuck, it’s too much—but his hands? Oh, baby, his hands are keeping you right there.

And the noises? Disgusting. Deep, low groans vibrating against your clit, wet slurps as he fucking devours you. His beard? Rubbing you raw, making sure you feel every inch of his mouth on you.

"Mmm—what’s wrong? Too much?" (smirk) "You can take it. You will take it."

And when you cum? He. Does. Not. Stop. Your legs are shaking, your body arching, and he just keeps licking, keeps sucking, keeps feasting until you’re sobbing from overstimulation. And then? He flips you over and does it again.

"You’re not done. I decide when you’re done."

— CONQUEST ⋆

He forces your legs apart, buries his face between your thighs, and sucks your clit so fucking hard you scream. He doesn’t build you up slowly—he wants you wrecked instantly. He eats you like he’s punishing you, like he’s proving a point.

He’s everywhere at once, licking, sucking, fucking into you until you don’t know where the pleasure is hitting you from. And his hands? Shoving your thighs apart, holding you still, forcing you to take it. You try to close your legs? He growls.

"The fuck do you think you’re doing? I didn’t say you could run."

And when you cum? He laughs. Laughs against your overstimulated clit, sucks harder, watches as your body twists, trembles, begs for mercy. But does he stop?

No. He keeps fucking going.

And when you’re ruined, your voice hoarse from screaming his name, your thighs trembling uncontrollably? He just grins, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, looking at your wrecked, soaking pussy like it’s his greatest fucking achievement.

"Aww. Did I break you already?"

"Pathetic."

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[anantaru]

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ jealous boys — love and deepspace

including. zayne, xavier, rafayel, sylus, caleb

warnings. fem! reader, possessive tendencies, jealous boys, toxic, fingering, oral (male! receiving), oral (fem! receiving), good girl used, spit kink, mirror syx, this is so filthy lmao (especially sylus part)

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ zayne

zayne usually doesn't get angry when he's feeling the sudden dash of jealousy crush down on him— he gets calm, in fact, terrifyingly so.

not to mention that the moment he has you all to himself again he's fast on latching onto you with your back now hitting the wall with one of his hands by your head, the other already between your legs, skimming the flesh of your inner thigh with his cold knuckles, memorizing the place where your leg connects to your privates before you can react nor do something.

zayne doesn't say anything to you yet, instead his lips brush against yours once— soft and misleading before he bites down, hard, and before you knew it, your surprised gasp gave him permission for his tongue to fill your mouth like a sin made of salt and heat, in accessory to his fingers stroking your pussy so unbelievably dirty and cruel.

"you smiled at him, i saw it," he whispers against your lips, rubbing your folds as you make a blissful face, "what did he do to earn that?" zayne presses his fingers deeper between your legs as he watches you grind against them, jaw slacked in awe as you coat him with your slick.

"you know, i could fuck you right here," his voice drops, thick with restraint, "perhaps even in front of him, so he knows who you belong to," as his mouth descends again, this time trailing along your jaw, your neck and your collarbone as his sharp teeth tease the flesh with his fingers hooking into your doused panties.

"fuck, you're dripping baby, what are we gonna do about that, huh?" he hisses, his dangerous gaze on you practically glowing in the dark as he taunts your bare pussy like the way you've been making him jealous tonight.

"you like being fought over, don’t you?"

he licks the skin over your pulse before dipping a finger into your tight hole, slowly, menacing, your slick weeping out of your pussy with the slightest pressure, your hole parting for him ever so obediently— and zayne swears he saw the prettiest kind of stars behind your eyes when he slides another finger inside you, curling and owning your cunt, making your stomach turn weightless.

yet the kiss that follows next turned brutal with teeth and spit and groans as if he's feeding off you, imbedding all of his frustration into your frame as if your mouth was the only thing roping him to sanity.

"don't you ever do this again."

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ xavier

before he even touches you, xavier's trembling— and without a doubt, you've said another man's name, and he's heard it, undoubtedly picked up on how you spelled it out.

so when he kisses you for the first time that night— it wasn't near anything sweet, beyond that was it unraveling, lips trembling and tongue somewhat clumsy and anxious, yet he remained deeply passionate, although wrecked, a moan building into every breath when he slants down one of his hands to squeeze your ass and part your thighs.

"who were you talking to? hm?" he whispers into your mouth before grinding down his groin against your clit, and then, again, more brokenness adds to his confused tone, "do you love me?" and when he says it, he lines himself up with your hole, and the feel of your pussy immediately squeezing and convulsing and claiming his dripping dick was enough to make him wince out your name.

his hips grind into yours harder and more despairing, "i need you," he sobs into your neck as you're feeling him rock himself thick and heavy inside your walls, "you can't leave me, you cannot."

his hands shake as they slide up your tits and at the same time, his mouth became frantic— tongue swallowing yours and teeth clacking, it's gotten so messy that spit began dripping down your chin when you moan his name into the kiss, fingers tangling in his hair and then he breaks— kissing you like he's dying, pounding you down like he's attempting to carve himself into your bones.

"say you're mine, come on," he begs you, his voice decaying into something crushing, velvet and low, the kind of softness that only existed in darkened bedrooms and godless prayers, "even if it's a lie baby, just tonight, say it, please."

and when you do— he sloppily sobs into your mouth with his hips stuttering within a deep thrust, swiftly lifting your legs onto his shoulders and holding onto them with ease as he continues to buck into you, never gentle, only desperate.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ rafayel

in all aspects, rafayel's jealousy was much quieter than you originally thought it would be— as well as colder in a way which made your skin crawl.

you see, he doesn't shout at you, no— he seethes, and when he touches you, it's never rushed, instead it's intentional, dangerous, like he's punishing you with refusing to give you pleasure.

he crushes you against the mirror like he's trying to make you witness your own undoing, the glass beginning to fog and blur as he fucks your thighs— and with that, you see the curve of your mouth as it falls open, the helpless arch of your spine and behind you, his very eyes— half-lidded, ravenous, like he's not just watching but branding the image into eternity.

your reflection became a witness, a confessional, every noise you were making and every beg for him had to enter his mind fully— those desperate, broken sounds— etched into silver and silence as rafayel wasn't giving you what you wanted this time, his mind circling endlessly in shameful memory as he fucks his erection into the plush of your thighs, never once actually pressing inside your warm cunt to feel inside.

his mouth hovers over your neck before he bites down on it, "you touched his arm," he whispers, but it's not sweet, no, not reminding you of the rafayel you called your boyfriend— it's venom in silk, low and coaxing, the kind of voice that wrapped around your throat while pretending to cradle it, "do you want me to break it?"

then his tongue slides against your neck— long, smooth, calculated as his kiss was equal to liquid sin, measured in chaos before his hands cup the plush of your ass to spread you and finally press into your soaked cunt, balls deep like he's sculpting you into the shape of his length.

yet the man doesn’t grunt, he hums instead, like he's tasting expensive wine and it's in the way his eyes half-close from listening to your moans dragging low from your throat— like the feeling of you milking him was intoxicating enough to unmake his jealousy.

“tell me what he has that I don't," he drawls, teeth grazing your shoulder, "and i'll take it from him," as he bites down hard enough for your flesh to almost bleed before kissing the pulsing spot, dragging his erection till you felt hot and bred in your stomach, his hips making sinful smack, smack, smacks as your body tenses by itself.

you spell out his name, but it somehow felt even dirtier when you moan in, messier than before when you cry it out as he fucks you with a ferocity that knocks the air from your lungs.

"good girl," he purrs, happy with you, "now let me hear you scream."

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ sylus

mouth wide, tongue deep, with hands rough around sylus's length as he yanks your head deeper into his lap like he's afraid someone will tear your pretty, hot mouth away. fuck, how much he adored seeing you in such position, between his thighs, gurgling on his dick and watching him from under your doused lashes.

"mine," he snarls from above, fingers intertwined in your hair as he helps you bob your head up n down up n down, "all mine."

your mouth sealed around his cock felt like a wildfire to him— smoking hot, a destruction only you could imbed on him— and sometimes it scared him, how much power you held for him to become so riled up when seeing you with another person.

your tongue circles around his cockhead and doesn't ask for permission to go faster, your mouth claiming the moans you sought after instead— and it seizes sylus, truly it bruises him and fuck, if he sees you with this man again, he cannot promise himself to hold back.

thick and flushed, his cock twitches in your mouth and presses right against your throat, aching when you moan against his girth, spit bubbling from your lips and clinging onto his skin when he lifts his hips up to thrust into your wet warmth, gripping the couch underneath him for balance.

it's all so messy and wet, and you loved it— drooling all over his dick and taking the punishment like a good girl, gurgling and sucking and slurping it all up as sylus could barely catch his breath, heaving from the exhilarating desire you imposed on him.

the tension coiled on his body— tight, ravenous— a mounting pressure that climbed like a hymn chanted through gritted teeth, blistering toward something supernatural as you look up at him again, tear stricken eyes and wet mouth sucking him oh so well.

it’s not release that he needed, no, or not yet at least, but the unbearable promise of it, the kind of high that felt less like pleasure and more like divine punishment delivered through trembling flesh, and when you hum around him at last, sylus can almost forget his jealousy there.

for a moment he stops you as his hand silently wraps around your throat, thumb dragging down your swollen, bottom lip so he can spit into your mouth— messily, filthy and possessive, he needs this, okay?

because sylus still found himself agonizingly mad.

"did he make you blush like this?" he mocks you from above, slanting down and licking into your mouth, "did he get you this wet?" as he moves his foot between your legs to rub his shoe against your wet cunt, the scent of your arousal whirling up to touch his nostrils.

his other hand grabs your head, pulling you down again while simultaneously grinding his foot against your pussy— fuck, you're so soaked it's audible, so embarrassingly obscene he could very well applaud himself for this.

and he groans, a sound pulled from his chest like agony when you take him inside your mouth again.

"you drive me insane," he pants, leaning his head back, "you should be locked away, kept for my eyes only."

he doesn't stop moving you off his cock, not once, your lips moving and working, your tongue claiming him until your knees ached and your pussy came all over his shoe, your chin sticky with cum and saliva and filth, eyebrows pulled together in concentration as he watches you fuck his cock with your throat.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ caleb

caleb spells out your name like it's a curse he never wanted to learn in the first place, and it kind of scared you a bit— teeth gritted and breathing harsh with his lips crashing into yours mid-sentence, bruising and unrelenting, his tongue pushing past yours like he's forcing himself inside— no space nor time for air, no room for a single thought, for denial.

his head moves between your thighs without restrain and now he feels you unravel in shivers and moans as the soft slap of his tongue on your pussy caught you off guard together with his palms cupping your breasts, his wet muscle lapping against your folds as they part for him obediently, licking between your cunt with sounds of slick noises echoing through the bedroom.

"you let him touch you? didn't you?" he rasps into your cunt, nosing your clit to take in your scent as he groans out filthily, his eyes lurching back into the hollow of his skull, not just in pleasure but in delirium— as if the taste of your pussy was something his body cannot withhold, "you think i didn't see it?"

he thrusts his tongue against you deeper, his cock hard and angry grinding into the mattress like he's punishing himself for letting anyone else near you, "i'll fucking ruin you for this," he growls, voice breaking, "with my fingers, my mouth, my cock— hell, over and over until you break,"

you moan when he lets you hear just how wet he's made you as he's slurping at you with insane hunger, his tongue ravishing your cunt and poking your hole over and over before dragging it up to lick between your folds again, collecting your slick on his lips an chin.

"is this for me? or for him?" tauntingly, Caleb never stopped playing with your pussy to hear a coherent answer form you, because you see, he already knows what you were about to say and he'll make you know as well, who you belong to.

©2025 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own

[mariasont]

Peak Ovulation - A.H

your period tracker warned you to avoid attractive men today. you failed spectacularly

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader warnings: suggest content for sure, explicit focus on hormonal arousal, sexual tension, pre-relationship pining, mild workplace inappropriateness (internal thoughts only, no action), mention of nipples, hotch being a little shit wc: 1.5k a/n: all creds to the amazing @ssamorganhotchner for the request/idea <3

It is too hot in this office, you’ve decided. The air conditioning is on, the thermostat reads a reasonable 68 degrees, but you know your body isn’t lying to you – something is wrong. 

You shift uncomfortably in your chair, adjusting the hem of your (probably too short) silk slip skirt, the material clinging to every overheated inch of you. It doesn’t help. Nothing will. Because the problem really isn’t the temperature. No, the problem is standing across from you, stirring his coffee like it’s not the most erotic thing you’ve ever witnessed.

Hotch, all razor sharp lines and rolling forearm veins, stands at the kitchenette counter, completely unaware that you are seconds away from becoming a tragic, melted puddle of lust. His sleeves are pushed up, brows furrowed in concentration as he stirs, and you watch – helpless, transfixed – as his fingers snake around the spoon, the way tendons shift beneath his skin.

It’s a teaspoon. An inanimate object. He’s stirring coffee. That’s it. And yet, your body reacts spectacularly, like he’s just backed you into the nearest sturdy surface and whispered something so depraved, so explicitly not-safe-for-work, into your ear.

You knew this was coming. It’s right there in your tracking app – day 11, peak ovulation, high fertility, maximum risk of self-sabotage, avoid contact with attractive men. Avoid Aaron Hotchner, specifically. But here you are, fully within range of the object of your affection, the exact man you should be fleeing, logic tied to the train tracks while hormones drive the speeding locomotive straight to you.

It’s not your fault, not really. Blame science. Blame nature. Blame evolution.

You feel like you’re not breathing, not functioning, gripping your pen so tightly, it’s a miracle it hasn’t shattered into shrapnel. All because Hotch is walking by.

“Good morning.”

“Oh — hi! Yes! Good morning! Great morning. Beautiful morning. Gorgeous morning, actually. Just — wow. Look at us. In the morning.”

The second it leaves your mouth, you want to die.

Hotch, to his eternal credit, does not react immediately. He pauses mid-step, head tilting slightly, like he’s running a quick internal diagnostic to determine whether or not he should be concerned.

“...Right.” He finally says again, before shaking his head and walking into his office.

You cannot do this today. And according to your normal, non-biological-doomsday schedule, you’re supposed to review updated case files with Hotch today – which entails standing next to him, pointing things out, maybe even brushing hands if the universe is feeling particularly sadistic.

You hover over the keyboard, preparing to type out a very sudden, very dramatic resignation email, but before you can hit send – Reid passes your desk.

“Spencer!”

You latch onto him immediately, grabbing his wrist.

“Jesus, what?” Spencer stumbles mid-step, nearly dropping his phone.

Then, his eyes flicker over you, scanning everything — your flushed cheeks, the way you’re practically vibrating with tension, the slight glossy daze in your eyes that suggests either a medical emergency or a particularly brutal hangover.

“What’s wrong with you?”

Not in an unkind way. In a genuine, confused, and slightly alarmed way.

You shove the file at him so fast that a few loose papers nearly fall out, ignoring his question. “Can you go over this case file with Hotch for me?”

Spencer looks down at the file, flips through it once. “Why?”

“Because — uh — I have to, um… reorganize the supply closet.”

Spencer raises a brow. 

You switch strategies instantly. “Okay, okay — listen, I’ll let you pick the next five movie nights, and I won’t complain once. Even if you make me watch 2001: A Space Odyssey again.”

“Five movie nights?”

“Yes. Uninterrupted. No protests. No phone distractions.”

The second the word deal leaves Spencer’s mouth, you explode into motion, flinging yourself at him, arms around his neck.

“Have I ever told you that you are the single greatest human being to ever exist?”

Spencer makes a deep, pained noise, stumbling back, but he doesn’t fight it – merely sighs deeply, long-suffering but tolerant, before patting your back exactly once, resigned to his fate.

“You tell me weekly,” he mutters, but there’s a little laugh hidden in the words. He pries you off gently, shaking his head as he turns toward Hotch’s office. “Okay, okay. Before you suffocate me, I’m going.”

Spencer leaves, and for a second, you convince yourself you might actually make it though the day.

You are so wrong.

By lunch, you have died and resurrected at least sixteen times. Maybe more. It’s hard to say because you stopped functioning somewhere around incident three.

First the tie. One casual tug at the knot, loosening it just enough to reveal the cut of his throat. You nearly walked into a wall. Then, the glasses. The stupidest, most intellectual accessory known to man, perched low on his nose like some stern professor who graded mercilessly but might just let you stay after class for some extra credit. You had to physically sit down. And the final straw involved Hotch undoing a single button on his dress shirt. You had to assume you blacked out.

So now, here you are, in the breakroom, white-knuckling the counter, silently begging for the inferno raging in your body to calm the hell down. You’d spent your entire lunch break sprinting through department stores in search of a new blouse, because your previous one was rubbing against your already painfully sensitive nipples with every breath.

You yank at the neckline, cursing yourself six ways to Sunday for not trying the thing on before swiping your card. It doesn’t just fit snugly, it practically announces your ongoing crisis, the material stretching so perfectly over your nipples that you might as well be wearing a sign that flashes noticeably aroused.

The door opens, and you don’t even have to look. You already know who it is.

There’s a half-second delay before you risk looking up – just in time to catch the downward sweep that’s over as quickly as it came, his discipline snapping back into place like a rubber band.

Your stomach clenches, because oh, great, that is not helping. Not when you’ve been exceedingly well-behaved all morning, and definitely not when all you can think about is how you want him to rip your clothes off and put the unassuming breakroom table behind you to the kind of use that would get HR involved.

His jaw ticks, and then, in a flat, exhausted tone. “Do I even want to know what’s going on with you?”

No. No, he does not. Unless, of course, he’s invested in hearing about how you’ve had to swap out your underwear three separate times today just from existing in the same vicinity as him. In which, by all means, he should stay. But if he values his peace of mind (and you know him well enough to know he does) he should probably just walk away. Quickly. Before you start getting ideas.

“Nothing! I’m great! Never been better, actually.” You nod once, as if that seals it. “All good. Just, um, a little warm, that’s all.”

“You’re sweating,” he observes, unimpressed.

He steps closer and you’re certain the temperature in the room spikes by at least ten degrees. 

Then, as if he wasn’t already being reckless with your well-being, he lifts a hand, pressing the back of his fingers to your collarbone. His brow furrows. “You do feel warm. Are you coming down with something?”

“Yeah.” Technically, it’s not a lie. Something is happening to you, it’s just not the flu. “Aren’t you – aren’t you supposed to feel my forehead?”

“Yeah, but then I’d have to listen to you complain about how I ruined your makeup.”

Of course he would know you’d spent an ungodly amount of time on your makeup this morning.

If you had any sort of claim on this man, you would be on your knees so fast, your coworkers would hear the impact from across the office.

Hotch studies you for a second longer, then his hand moves, his fingers brushing up the column of your throat. He’s not even thinking about it. It’s gentle, like he’s feeling for something.

“You sure that’s all this is?” he murmurs, thumb sweeping into the tense muscle there. “You can tell me if something’s wrong.”

“Y-yeah. I’m fine. Totally fine.” You can tell he doesn't believe you from the way his brows pinch, but he doesn’t press. “Would it be okay if I went home early? I mean, unless you need me for something.”

“I mean, I always need you,” he says, devastating in its casualness. You make a noise in response, but just as casually, he sobers, hand falling away as he takes a step back. “Go home. Hydrate, eat something with actual nutrients, and try to rest. If you still feel bad tomorrow, I don’t want to see you in the office.”

You nod and blurt out, “Yep. Totally. I’ll, um – drink a lot. Not – not alcohol, though. Water. Obviously.”

Hotch pauses, his mouth pressing into the kind of line that means he’s trying very hard not to laugh. He gives you a slow, knowing nod before heading for the door.

You somehow manage to pack up your things, make it to the parking lot, and drop into the driver’s seat without further public humiliation. But just as you’re fumbling for your keys, your phone buzzes.

Mr. Bossman ❤️‍🔥: If you’re still feeling warm, a cold shower might help.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[seasidefallenangel]

gimme, gimme, gimme a man (2)

calling bllk boys your husband while you're still dating ft. bachira meguru, alexis ness, karasu tabito, otoya eita, shidou ryusei

notes: part 2 to this, fluff, banter, down bad loverboys, use of "wife" in alexis and karasu's, suggestive in shidou's (he's his own warning)

༄ bachira:

“megs, please stop moving - yeah, hi. my husband lost his id and we just need a replacement.”

✣ the second those words leave your mouth the cogs in his head are sent into hyperdrive. he’s barely ever thought of himself as boyfriend material, nevermind husband. for you to proclaim it so boldly in front of others makes him incredibly giddy with joy - to the point where his uncontrollable giggles begin to make the rest of the patrons and government workers a bit paranoid.

⁀➷ bachira’s latched onto you like koala as the two of you exit the office after getting the new id and a handful of concerned looks from the other people inside. his grin is so bright it almost hurts your eyes, and all he can say over and over is “husband? i’m your husband, right? when are we getting married? what kind of dress do you want? what’s the color scheme? i have to ask isagi if he’ll be my best man, and -!” you try to shut him up with a kiss, but the second your lips part he goes right back to babbling about your ‘upcoming’ wedding. you made your bed, so guess now you have to lay in it.

༄ alexis: “can me and my husband just get a slice of sachertorte and a mini quiche?”

✣ so, so, in love with you. you’re already his wife, soulmate, reason for living, so hearing you reciprocate his fantasies has him on cloud nine. he’s staring at you like you hung the stars in the sky, and his grip on your hand only tightens at your words. it doesn’t matter if people think he’s moving too fast, if he’s too dedicated to you - because you feel the same way. how could he ever even fathom letting you slip from his grasp?

⁀➷ “what season do you want our wedding to be in?” he asks softly as the two of you sit by the cafe window. despite his favorite dessert being right in front of him, he can’t be bothered to eat it. not when you’re across from him, your divinity blessing his meager existence. the question surprises you a bit as he takes your hand, lightly kissing across your knuckles. your expression is so adorable, he can’t help the small laugh that leaves him when he continues, “we’re getting married soon, aren’t we? i’ve already planned the ring i want for you, and i really don’t want to wait that much longer to make you mine.”

༄ karasu:

“hmm, i think they’re too small… oh, excuse me? do you mind getting a bigger size for my husband?”

✣ amused by how blatant you are about it. sure, he knows he wants to marry you someday, but he didn’t expect you to take these jumps so early. he doesn't mind it at all, though. domesticity has always been in the back of his mind when it comes to relationships, preferring to invest in long term romances than lust-filled flings like a certain friend of his. there’s been roughly a billion fantasies involving married life with you, and there’s about to be ten billion more now that you’ve called him that.

⁀➷ “husband, hm?” he says with a smirk as the store employee goes to grab the other pair of shoes. you turn to him with a raised eyebrow and unamused look, asking if he has a problem with it. raising his arms in defense, he simply chuckles and tells you, “not at all, babe. just wondering how i bagged a cute wife when i haven’t even proposed yet.” you just roll your eyes and turn back to the shelves to compare the other cleats. unable to resist, he stands and rests his hands on your waist to whisper into your ear, “your husband didn’t bother getting you a ring? seems like a scumbag. i’ll buy you one right after this,” before placing a gentle kiss on your lips - and rest assured, he’s true to his word.

༄ otoya:

“if you’re gonna keep flirting with my husband, you can fuck off.”

✣ scared out of his mind. he never planned to have any sort of long term relationship with you yet it happened to naturally. for the first time in his life, he found himself being the yearner instead of having his lovers chasing him down. hearing you call him your husband confirms to himself he’s totally smitten. it’s pathetic and frankly terrifying, but he thinks he’d die if he let you go. so of course, you’re with him the one time he really isn’t flirting with someone else and they won’t leave him alone. just his luck.

⁀➷ as the two of you walk back from the coffee shop, he’s convinced he’s about to see all nine of his ninjutsu lives be cut down with the way you’re steaming. the silence is killing him though, and he simply lets out a shaky “babe?” to test the waters. when you turn towards him with rage burning in your eyes, he knows he’s fucked ; except you take his cheeks between your hands and pull him down, telling him he belongs to you and you only. he’s shaking with how passionate you are, realizing you did believe him and it’s everyone else you don’t trust. heart pounding out of his chest, he feels a bit of relief begin to come back. yeah, he doesn’t mind being your husband one bit.

༄ shidou:

“i’m so sorry about my husband's behavior. he didn���t mean to offend you like that.”

✣ first of all, yes he did. second of all, this is probably the worst mistake you’ve ever made. shidou already has you-induced psychosis, so anything you do to feed his ego and remind him that you also like him back just creates an even bigger monster. he tries to steal a kiss in the middle of you speaking, but you know him too well and drag him down by the ear into an apologetic bow. consider him whipped, cause you putting him in his place is so painfully attractive to him he’s about to get down on that one knee now.

⁀➷ “is that any way to be treating your husband?” he says with a shit eating grin while you tug him by the collar down the sidewalk. the restriction around his neck should be painful, but he loves seeing you annoyed so much that he certainly can’t feel it. when you mutter something about already getting a divorce, his smile drops and he digs his teeth into your neck, making you yelp in pain and elbow him in the stomach. he laughs maniacally before brushing his lips against your ear and telling you, “see? we’re made for each other, babe. hurt me a little more, will ya?”

[tender-rosiey]

“OUR LOVE SHALL LIVE, AND LATER LIFE RENEW”

— domestic family moments with gojo, geto, nanami, toji and sukuna (f!reader)

a/n: i was on vacation my babes; my apologies </3 hope you yall enjoy this

GOJO SATORU:

it is no secret that your husband thrives off physical affection, so it surprises no one when he is latched onto you like a koala to a tree, especially at home.

the past couple of days were filled with more missions than gojo would’ve preferred, so to make up for lost time, he spent the entirety of last night cuddling you.

that cuddling session continued to the morning, and satoru couldn’t have been happier.

you, fast asleep and looking oh so pretty, and him, happily burying his face in your chest: the perfect combo.

your husband, however, failed to remember that there is somebody else who would fight day and night for your affection.

that someone comes in the shape of his grumpy little son who is currently standing at the door with a stance that is supposed to be intimidating.

the little boy pouts and is about to yell when satoru—reluctantly—detaches himself from you and stares at him.

“what do you want, s/n?”

your son makes his way to the bed and climbs it up with much struggle, but it doesn’t matter to him since he is satisfied he is finally face to face with his dad.

he crosses his arms and huffs, “I want to cuddle with mom.”

satoru quirks an eyebrow, and his fingers slowly card through your hair. your husband replies with a smirk, “well, I want to cuddle with her too. I miss her!”

“dad, don’t be mean!” your son argues, “you had her yesterday!”

satoru shrugs and lies back down, and you cuddle into his side.

he can’t help himself as he presses a kiss to your head first then looks at s/n, pleadingly, “but I was working a lot this past week; can’t you let me have her just a bit more?”

your son ponders a bit, before settling on a solution that should satisfy both ends. satoru has been away for quite the while lately.

so, s/n simply throws himself on satoru’s chest, making the older man groan. the boy buries his face into his dad’s chest and guides his hand into his hair.

satoru smiles, hand immediately getting to work, patting his son’s head. he sighs blissfully, “you really are my son.”

s/n nods slowly, and he starts drifting off to sleep. satoru is thankful that he closed the curtains yesterday and that he is granted another chance to sleep in with you and his son.

s/n murmurs a soft, “love you, dada.”

it makes satoru’s heart nearly burst as he looks at his son. he immediately replies softly, “I love you too, buddy.”

s/n slowly replies, “you better,” before falling asleep. your husband gently pulls you closer and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

satoru whispers a soft, “thank you.”

he starts rubbing your shoulder comfortingly and leaning his head more towards your own. it is a few moments that pass before he asks, “also babe, are you seriously still asleep?”

“no, I am awake, you silly buffon; you two have never heard of inside voices.”

GETO SUGURU:

the slow creak of the door signals to everybody in the house the arrival of suguru, long before his voice does. little hurried steps rush down the stairs as your husband takes off his shoes.

he looks up with a smile and chirps, “I am home!”

“daddy!” your two girls squeal as they tackle their dad in a big hug. he quickly hugs them back and picks them both up.

they each press a kiss to his cheek, and he returns them tenfold causing them to squeal yet again.

he finally relents before asking them, as he gently twirls around, “how are my pretty girls doing?”

the little girls look at each other then smirk. they both yank out the papers they kept hidden in their pockets before saying simultaneously, “we made drawings!”

suguru face noticeably lights up, and he coos, “these are so pretty! are those supposed to be us?”

the girls nod excitedly, and they each start explaining the details of their own respective drawings.

he listens to both of them intently then asks, “you made sure to make mommy extra pretty, so it can actually look like her, right?”

“yes yes!”

“mommy is the prettiest!”

“I gave her flowers!”

“daddy, daddy, I gave her flowers and a dress!”

your husband laughs lightly, “well, that’s good; both of your drawings are amazing,” he looks around.

with a confused tilt of his head, he looks down at his girls, “speaking of which, where is your mama?”

the girls yell out, “follow us!” then sprint towards where they last saw you, the living room. he quickly makes his way towards you, and he feels his heart soar when he finally sees you.

you see him in the corner of your eye, and as you turn to greet him, your girls throw themselves at you and squeal, “we missed you!”

“you girls just saw me 5 minutes ago!” you chuckle but, nonetheless, hug them back and pepper their faces with kisses.

you hear your husband huff before he picks up the girls by their shirts making them scream and thrash about.

“daddy, put us down!”

“mama, help!”

he throws them both on the fluffy beanbag and pulls you into a hug, “how’s my favorite girl?”

you giggle as he presses soft kisses across your face. his arms wrap around your waist and he squeezes you a little.

you hug him back and gently pat his back, “are you playing favorites, suguru?”

“very much so.”

you hear gasps from your dramatic girls, and you see each one of them arming herself.

your husband purposely ignores them and buries his face into the crook of your neck. you mumble to him, “you are going to get jumped.”

“I know.”

your eyes flit to the girls then to your husband again, “they seem really angry.”

“I know, but at least I am hugging you.”

you quirk an eyebrow, “you okay dying as long as I am hugging you?”

“that’s like the best way to die, love.”

your girls let out a battle cry.

“daddy, you meanie!”

“suffer!”

NANAMI KENTO:

your husband groans, and his hand rises to see what the weight on his chest is. his hand finds a head and a bed of hair that he is all too familiar with.

he slowly opens his eyes and sees your dear daughter laying soundly asleep on him.

a small smile appears on his face, and he lets out a small sigh of both content and relief. he turns his head slightly towards the nightstand and reaches for the alarm.

it reads eleven in the morning, which kento deems the proper time to finally wake up.

so, he looks back at d/n then at you. he remembers how hard you’ve been working the past few days and decides that leaving you to rest a bit more today.

he also decides to prepare breakfast for you but not without his little helper. he pats her head gently and tries to wake her up, “d/n.”

she doesn’t respond, so he calls out again, “d/n.”

she groans and buries her face deeper into his chest. he lets out a small chuckle then rubs her back and says, “come on; we have to make breakfast for mom.”

“but I am tired,” she argues, voice muffled.

“well, mama is tired too, so we need to be nice and make her breakfast. don’t you think so?”

she groans, “yes, but…”

“d/n?” he urges.

the little girl huffs and pushes herself up and looks her dad directly in the eyes—albeit her eyes are squinty and barely open.

it makes him think that she is going to huff then get up to wash her face, but she simply pushes herself off him so she can land in your embrace.

your arms wrap instinctively around her, and she immediately nuzzles into your chest. he stares at the two of you for a bit, rather dumb-founded. then his expression turns into one of fondness.

he turns his entire body towards you.

he is finally face to face with you, and he puts his arm around you to pull you closer. he hears his daughter’s whines and complains about how he is crushing her, but he only smiles.

he looks down at her and hums, “there is plenty of space on the other side of the bed, if you don’t like laying between us.”

she quickly backtracks, “no, no, no; I will stay.”

he nods before looking at you again. he presses a kiss to your forehead and feels his body relax. he murmurs, “just five more minutes, and nothing more.”

your daughter pouts, “not even ten?”

“not even ten,” he says, kissing her cheek, “but I will make it up to you by making pancakes; what do you think?”

she nods happily and mumbles, “we will make the best breakfast.”

“yeah,” he murmurs, joining you in your slumber.

you end up waking up before him but can’t escape your husband’s solid grip. you even look down to see your little angel—maybe—giggling and squealing, happy that you’re finally awake.

of course, it wakes up your husband. but oh well.

TOJI FUSHIGURO:

“stop being a brat and get me the flour.”

“stop being rude first then I will get it for you.”

“what part of what I said was rude, you—”

that’s how it has been for the past hour. toji and megumi had decided to put their differences aside to surprise you with something: breakfast in bed.

it’s quite simple.

they were supposed to make some sausages, eggs, pancakes, and everything they could find really. they wanted to make it a five-star breakfast.

despite their constant bickering, they managed to finish everything, save for the pancakes. it was finally getting closer to the—usual—time of you waking up, so toji was on edge.

he wanted to at least do this correctly.

he thinks of it as a little something to start repaying you for everything you gave him—which he thinks is impossible to actually repay but oh well.

he moves around the kitchen rather clumsily, partially because of his size and partially because of his absence in the kitchen, for good reason, though, megumi would argue.

“dad, the sausages are burnt.”

“shut up.”

“mom likes her eggs a little bit runny.”

“I know.”

with furrowed eyebrows, toji finally gets to mixing the batter. he hears megumi call out, “dad.”

he is a little irked, to be honest, but he responds anyway, “what do you want now?”

“is…”

toji immediately notes the shift in his son’s tone, causing him to give megumi his full attention.

the little boy fidgets with his shirt a little before speaking up, “is there a chance that mom would disappear?”

your husband looks down at the still batter in the bowl. he sighs. it’s a question that he thinks about, at least every week. this haven that he managed to be a part of, is it really permanent?

he has been unlucky all his life, and things are going way too well nowadays. is that the universe’s way of preparing him for the biggest scar of his life?

taking you away?

he closes his eyes for a brief moment, and he finds his hand resting on the top of his son’s head. the little boy’s eyes widen, and he looks up at his dad.

toji frowns slightly and looks away, gently ruffling megumi’s hair and finally saying, “no…I will make sure of that.”

toji locks eyes with megumi, and the two can tell that it’s a silent promise. the boy blushes a little red, embarrassed at the unusual display of affection by his father.

his father grumbles and goes back to making the pancakes.

“my oh my, never thought I would be lucky enough to see you in a kitchen apron,” you tease from the doorway.

megumi instantly runs to the door at the sound of your voice. your son hugs you tightly, mumbling a small, “good morning.”

“you ruined the surprise,” your husband complains as you walk towards him.

you press a kiss to his cheek, which he immediately reciprocates, “I am already plenty surprised.”

RYOMEN SUKUNA:

a giggle leaves your lips as your daughter carefully climbs her father and perches herself on his shoulders. it is amazing how much sukuna lets you and your daughter get away with.

some would argue that your husband has, overall, mellowed down, but then they would get sliced down instantly.

he is still the big, feared king of curses, and people cower in his presence now more than ever, but those—uraume and the servants—who see him with you two can see the difference, even if it is slight.

that can be evident right now considering your husband who is deliberately ignoring your little girl’s antics.

your girl takes it as the okay to what she is doing, so she continues her quiet laughter as she gently starts placing flowers from the basket on his hair.

feeling the movement, your husband groans then looks at you, “what is that brat doing?”

she spreads the flowers out a bit, so they can fill his hair, meanwhile your husband’s annoyance rises.

the assortment of flowers that she placed actually matches well with his hair, and you feel the need to commend her, “you’re doing amazing, d/n!”

she grins as you sit in front of your husband. you look at your little artist doing her thing then smile, “she is making you pretty.”

he scrunches his nose, “by putting flowers on me? I ought to teach her a lesson.”

one of his hands reach for her, and he grabs her by the back of her shirt. she starts squealing and kicking, “daddy, I was almost done!”

he dangles her in front of his face and frowns, “who gave you permission to put that stuff on my hair? who do you think you’re dealing with?”

her face softens, and she mumbles softly, “you’re my dad…”

you coo at her but are quickly silenced when sukuna pulls you to him and nestles you in his lap. he keeps glaring at your daughter—who is trying her best not to cry because he said that it’s for the weak—then he sighs.

he lets go of her, and she screams, flailing her arms around. however, she safely falls in your arms. she whimpers slightly and buries her face in your shoulder.

your husband looks down at her small form in your arms and slowly raises his hand and puts it on her head.

“good on you for not crying,” he lightly ruffles her hair, and your daughter slowly looks up at him, wide-eyed.

he grumbles and looks away, “don’t look at me like that.”

“you love me!” she squeals, and he simply grunts in return.

she quickly gets off your lap and goes to run around the garden. your little girl starts screaming about how her dad praised her, and you feel a grin slowly rise on your face.

but, you suddenly feel your husband’s head lower down and his lips brush against your ears slightly.

you can even hear the smirk in his voice as he says, “looks like you want another one.”

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copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or I will make my cousins jump you

[op1umeyes]

Insatiable + Viktor

Synopsis. You bring Viktor home from a long day in the lab. He wakes up and finds himself needing you.

A/n. No specified gender/genitalia of reader.

Viktor ignored the small voice in his head that tried to tell him to go home. “Just a few more minutes,” he murmured aloud. His fingers tinkered with the project in front of him.

“What’d you say?”

Viktor whipped around to see your lanky build leaning against a desk. He relaxed as you tilted your head with your familiar smile. “I- I missed you, my darling,” he whispered, rising to his feet. He hobbled into your arms and felt his weight sag against you. “I didn’t realize how tired I am.”

You shushed him and carded your finger through his hair. “I’ve been telling you, V. You need to care for yourself,” you coo into his ear. He relaxes completely, leaving you steady on your feet with his freakishly tall body in your arms. “But I admit, I love taking care of you.”

Viktor exhaled shakily. “Y/n?”

You hum.

He nuzzles his face into your neck and breathes in your scent. “Will you take me home?”

“Of course, my love.”

It’s the middle of the night when Viktor wakes, arms latched onto your strong form. Visions of the dream previously flickering behind his eyelids make him pant heavily as he looks down to see his pelvis grinding down  between your legs.

“Fuck,” he croaks, wrapping his arms around your neck as he degrades himself for taking advantage of you while you slept. “I’m sorry, my lover.”

Viktor’s hips move slightly fast as your hands unconsciously grip Viltor’s waist. “Y/n, please.”

You blink awake. Viktor’s pathetic humping had been the actions to wake you instead of his quiet pleads. “You’re so needy,” you inform him wryly. Your head fell back to the pillow under you. “I can’t even sleep without-“

“Y/n, I need you,” Viktor pleads, leaving kisses from your exposed neck all the way up to your eyelids. “Please give me what I need.”

Viktor’s hips stutter. His breath catches in his throat as your hands trace down his back to squeeze his ass. “You have me right here, Vik. Take what you need,” you coo in his ear.

At your breathy words, Viktor whines as he pistons his hips down. “Ple-Please y/n,” he whimpers. “Talk to me, tell me- tell me I’m yours.” 

You look at the famous, world-renowned scientist in front of you and wonder how you were blessed with the ability to turn him into the pitiful, whining, horny man in front of you. “You need my voice, is that it? I love how much you need me Viktor… I love you, Viktor.” He smothers a particularly loud groan by shoving his face into your shoulder. “Oh, you like that, don’t you? You don’t need to tell me, V. I know what my good boy likes.”

Just to tease him, you buck your hips up to grind onto his core. “Y/n!” He cries out, chasing your heat. “Fuck,” he whines.

“So reactive,” you murmur absently. “You’re doing so well, Viktor, so good for me.”

“Please, y/n, I need you. I ca-I can’t cum without you.” Tears leak from his eyes as his movements turn jerky and desperate. “Help me, please.”

You click your tongue. “Oh, Vik. This is how I feel when you’re off in your lab every day and every night. I’m showing you mercy by just being here, my love,” you tell him. “If you make yourself cum right now, I promise I’ll fuck you so good you won’t know any other words than thank you,” you coo. He sinks his teeth into your flesh as he gets closer to his orgasm.

“I’m going- I’m- y/n,” Viktor rambles as his hips unceasingly grind on you. “Y/n!”

His arms tighten around you as he spills his cum into his pants. Viktor is temporarily free from the pain in his leg as his legs twitch. “I love you,” Viktor slurs in your ear, feeling you roll on top of him. “I need more…”

You pull away from him to see how pretty he looks underneath you. The moon glinted in his eyes, and his list was evident in his gaze. As your nimble fingers unbuttoned his pants, you let him pull you back down to his lips in a lazy kiss. “Insatiable,” you chide when you pull away for air.

Viktor pulls your shirt off of your body. “I just crave you. In every way, all the time, unceasingly.”

You chuckle and grasp his chin. “I love you too, Viktor.”

[femmeftal]

𓂃ㅤׁ ི۪۪۪ 🎀 ྀ۪۪۪ ˑ ⋆ ❨ ɕ͟ꪱ͟𝗇͟𝗇͟ɑꬺ𝓂𝗈̄𝗇. .

࣭ ✧̲͟͞͠𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 ：𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗄!𝗏𝖺𝗋𝗂𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗑 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 ࣭ ㅤㅤׂ ㅤ ㅤˑㅤ ㅤ۟𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌：𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝗈𝗅𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝖼 𝗂𝗌 𝟣𝟪+ 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗍𝗌 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈𝗆 𝗎𝗇𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝖽𝗋𝖺𝖻𝖻𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗏𝖺𝗋𝗂𝖺𝗇𝗍．

˓ ࣪ ˖ 𝓂𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌𝓉𝓇𝖾𝖺𝗆 𝗆𝒶𝓇𝓀．

“ ahmm.. mm mark “ your legs were right beside marks head, quivering so slightly from the impact of overstimulation. your boyfriends pink tongue flicking at your clit even sucking on it, fuck he looked so hot you thought. pushing his head deeper into your soppy cunt you’d mewl, his whines and whimpers causing the vibration that added onto your pleasure from being eaten out.

“ mhm marky just righ there.. youre doing so good mfhh “ eyes rolling in the back of your head and toes curling you could feel your high chasing you, band almost snapping, and body being on fire. your juices were splattered all over marks face, your cum dripping down his chin and smothering around the corners of his mouth. he was so messy when it had came to eating your cunt claiming he couldn’t help it, your pussy was too powerful. “ ooh shit im gonna cum.. i..marrrrk “ the long drag of marks name indicated that you came, savoring the taste of HIS pussy that he was eating. pulling his head away from your area the string on his slobber connecting to his chin, the lazy smile being plastered on his face “ mm.. sho delicious mama “

˓ ࣪ ˖ 𝗆𝗈𝒽𝒶𝓌𝗄 𝗆𝒶𝗋𝗄

“ mark.. stop that! “ camera being pointed at the fat of your ass, marks cock was buried between your soft ass cheeks other hand holding your hips still so he can thrust his hips. loud dramatic groans had came from your dick head friend, you and him have been on and off always solving an argument with the most nasty sloppy sex ever. “ this is so sexy.. shit i could just nut right fucking now “ the oil that coated your butt shining from the light of his camera.

“ alright fine m’going in “ grabbing the base of his throbbing cock he would push the tip near your hole, you weren’t familiar with his size even after you guys had so much hook ups considering how hung he was. All you could do was bite your knuckles praying it would be an easy fit, and man was that prayer unheard. The long shaky mewls echoing in the car his dad bought him, tip inserting inside your spongey insides.

“ jus the tip..n youre already tweaking “ ghastly chuckles were added after the sentence finally pushing the rest of his inches inside of you, the loud chanting of name just turned him on even more.

minutes later the car was filled with the smell of sex and sweat, marks rough hands gripping the back of your neck and your butt bouncing from the impact of your guys hips meeting each other from the brutal fast thrusts “ haa mark calm.. shit calm down! “ it was like something took over your mark and told him just to fuck the shit out of you, and fuck the shit out of you he did. this being the second round you guys shared, camera shaking in his hand that was focusing on your guys sex.

˓ ࣪ ˖ 𝖿𝓊𝗅��𝓂𝒶𝗌𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗆𝒶𝗋𝗄

“mm..mommy fuck “ behind his mask the embarrassment took over his body, telling you about his small little kink you took that as an invitation to the bed. Jerking him off with your soft hand, palming his sack with your other free hand “ aww my poor baby “ you cooed at him kissing his masked jaw. small groans and whimpers mixing together and flying through your ear, marks hand had grasped onto your hips trying to keep ahold of himself “ faster.. please mommy “ he sounded so pathetic. You and him both knew that marks head being thrown back as you picked up your pace to jerk him off, seeing you fix your poster to suck him off behind his mask he’d squint his eyes readying himself for your warm lips to latch onto his reddened tip “ ready marky? “ you said batting your lashes up at him.

“mhmm..yea mm “ he had stupidly nodded hands being intertwined in your hair trying to push your head down hinting at his impatience, “ aa aa thats a bad boy be patient for mommy will you? “ your seductive tone made his cock dribble with even more pre cum, finally you inserted more of his cock into your mouth, the tip prodding at the back of your throat. you could hear the relief in his sighs and moans thanking you with the faintest voice you’ve heard him with.

˓ ࣪ ˖ 𝗈𝓂𝗇𝗂 𝗆𝒶𝓇𝓀

you had probably gave him grey hairs by now, being such a brat towards him. He hated your rebellious ways always prancing around with your little tantrums, he finally got ahold of you and taught you a real good lesson. “ im sorryh mhghh WAI- “ another spank came down striking your ass, the loud cracking sound made you mewl in pain you looked a mess. the once done makeup being ruined from your tears, mascara trailing down with your tears. The pleads of you asking for forgiveness fell deaf onto the mans ears, continuing his deep slow thrusts. the combination of pain and the immense pleasure from his cock ruining your insides, it was so much to handle you can feel snot even running down your nose. fuck he was ruining you, you started to regret doing some of the stuff he had told you NOT to do.

“ pwease im sho sorry.. wont do it again “ you honestly didnt even know what you were sorry for, you just wanted the strikes to stop you were sure that he had caused blood to draw or maybe that was just your arousal spreading around. Loud screams and squeals followed each other finally, mark had began to say something that you didnt expect for him to say “ will you shut up, you wanted this so you’ll fucking take it “

𝖨𝗆 𝗌𝗈 𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗒 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗆𝗒 𝖺𝖻𝗌𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾！𝗂 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗌𝗈 𝗂 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗀𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗒𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐？

[unorthodoxfaithxx]

Super happy, puppy dog yandere boyfriend that’s happy to have sex with you for the first time

afab reader ; nsfw

You look so beautiful in bed, all dolled up and pretty just for him! And only for him! He’s so excited that his pants feel way too restrictive, and if he had a tail you bet it’d be wagging a mile a minute. 

He looks at your soft curves, your bashful, oh-so-cute-eyes, and the rosiness of your adorable cheeks with so much love. Because he loves you. And he really REALLY means it. And wants to show you how he really feels tonight. He was so happy that you’d agreed to go all the way with him. 

When he undresses and leans over your body, hands squeezing your hips and inner thigh, you feel him trembling with anticipation. You giggle at the sight, and he swears your voice is like an angel from above singing holy scripture into his ears. 

You unclasp your bra, throwing it to the side of the room. He imagines smothering his face between your tits until you slowly peel your laced panties out from under you, revealing a perfectly pink pussy that has him practically drooling, all sense of self restraint bursting at the seams.

He’s all over you before you can even say a word, face between your legs, boyish hands keeping a vice like grip on your thighs to keep you open as he laps and laps away until he’s satisfied. Which in the moment, he thinks he’ll never be with how good you taste. His drool gets everywhere, coating your already wet cunt with his own juices. He apologizes for the mess and eagerly goes to clean it up with his tongue, sucking on your mound like a dog gobbling over a chew toy. 

Did he already say your voice sounds like an angel? Because your moans are so immaculate he can just listen to you say his name and ONLY his name all damn day. Just you and him. Together forever and ever and ever and ever —

The thought of spending eternity with you puts him over the edge, and he practically whines for you to let him put his cock inside. 

“Please, baby? I promise I’ll make you feel good. I promise! I wanna feel you so bad. I can’t take it anymore.”

You find his begging cute, but would be a cruel woman to tell him no when he’s staring at you with such puppy-love, lust ridden eyes. When you say yes, he’s over the moon, already covering your body with sloppy kisses and thank yous, muttering promises of how he’ll make you feel oh so full, oh so good, and that he’ll take care of you forever. 

He knows you’re not a virgin but he doesn’t care. He would have loved to be your first but that doesn’t matter now, the only thing that matters is making you his right this moment and making it to where you’ll never want another man ever again, just him. 

When his cock plunges into you he moans just as loud as you, if not more. You feel his heart pounding like crazy and reach to kiss him, sending him into a frenzy of ‘I love you’s and ‘Mine, mine, MINE’. He latches onto your tits like they’re a lifeline, feeling so high with adrenaline that he almost zones out and ignores your moans. Uh-oh, can’t do that! He wants to hear every noise you’ll make for him tonight. 

He’s fucking you so fast and so good you can barely think straight, and your fucked out expression just sends him over the moon. He squeals at your adorable face and holds you tighter, biting into your neck and laughing when you gasp at his actions. He hasn’t bothered counting how many times you’ve come. He just knows it’s been more than three. 

You ask him to take you from behind, doggystyle, and he happily obliges. He fucks you deep, slamming into you as hard as he can, gripping your ass and giving one cheek a nice smack. With a pull of your hair, he’s got you on both knees pressed flush against his body. He gives you another hickey on your neck, but not before another bite. 

“Oh you’re doing so good for me baby. Just like that! Yeah. Go ahead and cum for me.” He encourages. 

Boy, does he want to come inside you so bad, make you his and mark you, but he knows how you feel about that and opts to come outside instead, all over your perfect ass. 

When he finishes, he flops into bed next to you and holds you tight, looking at you with concerned but hopeful eyes. 

“How was that?? Was it good? You won’t leave me know will you? I know I liked it, but did you? We can go another round if you want. I wanna make you—“

You hush him with a reassuring kiss on the lips. 

[itneverendshere]

i love bitchy!pouge!reader x rafe soooo much! idk how to explain it but the way you write them brings me comfort. i was wondering if you could write what their first fight was about after exchanging i love yous? 🥺

fight so dirty, but you love so sweet - r.c

pairing: bitchy!pogue!reader x rafe warnings: 70% angst

Feelings—especially yours—came barbed, similar to the way you’d grown up.

A girl with no patience for sugarcoated anything and Rafe Cameron with all his kooky contradictions had somehow slithered under your skin. Which made it worse, because you remember who he used to be.

You’re sitting on your porch, feet up on the railing, a melting popsicle between your fingers and your phone in the other hand, scrolling with vague boredom until your thumb freezes.

It’s a picture.

Rafe, at that stupid-ass annual Kook charity event he swore he hated but always went to.

The one he invited you to, told you you should come, even though he knew you'd rather set your hair on fire than mingle with sweater-vested trust fund kids drinking out of champagne flutes like it’s water. You had rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, no thanks. I’d rather get hit by a golf cart.”

And he’d laughed—understood. No pressure.

But now the photo…Your stomach drops.

It’s Brielle fucking Simmons, all pearls and perfect hair and fake everything. Rafe’s ex, standing close, hand on his arm, claiming him.

Both smiling, harmless fun, right? Wrong. You’re already texting him before you know what you’re saying.

You: lol tell Brielle she looked cute latched to your arm tonight. You two looked like a literal J. Crew ad. So wholesome. ❤️

It takes three minutes for the dots to start typing. Then stop, start again, and then he calls.

You let it ring out. 

He calls again. 

“Babe—”

“What the fuck was that?”

“What do you mean?”

“The pictures. Your little date.”

“She’s not my date,” He scoffs, “It was a photo. She walked up, I didn’t—what are you doing right now?”

“Wondering how fast I’d get kicked out if I slapped that fake-ass smile off her face.”

“She’s not important.”

“Oh, but she looks pretty important. All over you, dressed like she just walked out of a Lilly Pulitzer wet dream.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m being—” You stand up, pacing now. “Wow. Okay. Let’s unpack that, Rafe.”

Rafe exhales hard. “It was a photo. She came up to me—”

“You sure as fuck didn’t stop her.” You’re pacing now, bare feet hitting the porch. “You look real comfortable. Like old times, huh? Bet she knows exactly where to put her hand.”

He groans. 

“Can you relax for a second—I wanted you here. You didn’t wanna be here, and I respected that. What was I supposed to do? Push you to come somewhere you’d hate to avoid a two-second interaction with my ex?”

“You could’ve told her to back off. You could’ve told the photographer to fuck off.”

“She means nothing. You know that.”

Your tongue kisses your teeth.

“That’s what every man says right before he ends up dicking someone in a monogrammed bathroom.”

“Are you fucking serious right now? She wasn’t even—fuck.” He sighs harshly. “You’re jealous over nothing.”

You stop dead. “Did you just call me jealous?”

“What do you want me to say? That I should’ve shoved her off me at a charity event, my dad’s hosting in front of thirty people and a news crew to protect your ego?”

Wow, okay, that one hurt.

“My ego? My ego?”

“You’re not trusting me,” he snaps. “I love you, and one picture sends you spiraling like I’m cheating on you in broad daylight.”

There it is.

He realizes it too late.

You inhale sharply, eyes stinging. “Right. Got it.”

“Wait—no, I didn’t mean—”

“I don’t do halfway. If you want me, you want me. You don’t let your ex drape herself over you while you're fucking grinning for a photo-op and I’m at home baking stupid brownies for you.”

“You know I want you. I’m not gonna argue with you over one photo,” he grits out.

“Then don’t,” you say flatly.

Click.

You hang up.

You sit back down, popsicle dripping onto your jeans, and feel that sick, familiar feeling settle into your chest. You knew it was only a matter of time before the Kook fantasy ended.

You were just the wrong shape for him.

You toss your phone onto the steps beside you and stare out at the darkness, but all you can see is her. Her glossy hair, her effortless way of fitting into a world you never had a place in.

And he looked like that old Rafe again, the one who looked at you like you were a problem. You feel your chest rip apart, blooming beneath your ribs. You knew this would happen. You fucking knew it. You chew your thumbnail and tell yourself you’re fine.

You told him when things started to get real—when he began looking at you like you were worth more than a secret thrill—that this wasn’t something you knew how to do; you’d never been the girlfriend.

Guys never wanted you like that, not for long. They fucked you, they laughed with you, and they left, never picking you. You’re the girl who wears ripped shorts and tells people to fuck off before they finish their sentence, who drinks out of bottles and picks fights when she’s scared. You’re not polished. You’re not soft.

You’re not someone a guy keeps.

You know the things they used to say about you. Easy. Fun. Drama. A good time, not a long time. You’d hit, but don’t date her. Too much.

Maybe it doesn’t matter that Rafe said I love you, part of you thinks this was borrowed time.

The stars are out, but you’re not looking at them.

You’re still sitting on that rickety porch with your knees hugged to your chest, hoodie swallowed around your fists, and your phone screen dimmed black beside you.

It’s been thirty minutes since you hung up. It feels like years.

Now the anger’s gone. You know what you did, throwing a grenade and watching it blow—on purpose. It’s easier to burn it down yourself than wait for him to walk away. You chew at your thumbnail, heart beating slow and sick in your chest, that ugly lump still pressing up against your throat.

You knew you were being mean, pushing him in the other direction by accusing him of shit he didn’t do.

Better he hates you than pities you.

You drag your hands down your face and groan into the empty air, not knowing how to fix this. You’re not the girl who apologizes first, you don’t know how to come back after you say things you can’t take back.

You’re just starting to get up—arms sore, heart heavier than it was when you sat down—when you hear tires skidding on gravel.

You freeze on the porch step.

Headlights blast through the trees, and then—

SLAM.

Rafe doesn’t try to park right. The truck is half sideways in the grass, one tire up on the edge of the road, he barely remembered to throw it in park before yanking the keys out.

He’s already out.

You don’t say anything while he storms up the path, chest rising and falling, his shirt wrinkled, sleeves rolled, and hair messy—he likes to drive with the windows down.

When he gets close enough to see your face—the red eyes, the guilt and fear still holding your expression hostage—he softens.

“You’re not answering me.”

You glance away, shame washing over you.

“Didn’t think there was anything left to say.”

Old habits die hard.

Rafe steps up onto the porch, right into your space. You can smell his cologne, expensive and warm and unmistakably his.

You give him your best sneer. “How very on-brand.”

“Are you serious right now? You blew up my phone, accused me of God knows what, and then ignored me for thirty minutes. I thought maybe something happened—”

“Yeah. Something did.” You stand up, jabbing a finger toward him. “I realized I’m the biggest fucking idiot alive for thinking this was ever gonna work.”

“Don’t you dare.”

You laugh bitterly, trying to fold your arms over your chest, but it’s flimsy armor.

His eyes flick over your face—reading you like a fucking map he already knows by heart.

“Don’t run your mouth and act like none of this means shit.”

“It doesn’t.”

His eyes narrow. “Liar.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Say that shit again.”

You’ve always been good at mean. It’s your mother tongue. 

He scoffs, disbelieving.

“God, you’re so fucking nasty when you’re scared.”

Your first instinct isn’t offense or surprise. You could pretend to be wounded. Bat your lashes, gasp like a princess in a soap opera, but that’s not you, you’re not built from satin and sentiment.

You’re made of spunk and fight. 

Now it’s your turn: “Say that again.”

He exhales through his nose. “You heard me.”

“Yeah, I did. Wanted to make sure you meant it, Country Club.”

“Stop calling me that. I’m in it with you. Whether you believe it or not. Whether you make it as hard as possible or not. Stop acting like you don’t care when I know you do.”

You scoff, tearing your gaze away.  

“Looked real nice standing there with her. She had her hand on your arm, and you let her. You smiled.”

“She walked up,” He throws his hands up, “She put her hand there for two seconds, and the second I stepped away, the fucking photographer was already flashing. I didn’t invite her to drape herself over me like a fucking accessory, alright?”

You raise an eyebrow. “You used to want her to.”

“I used to do a lot of shit that made me want to crawl out of my skin.”

You shake your head, stepping down a stair, praying the distance will dull the hurting. “Doesn’t matter.”

“You know what?” Rafe snaps, stepping after you. “You know what didn’t feel nice? That text. You sent it knowing it would fuck with me.”

“I was being funny.”

“No, you were trying to hurt me first.” His voice sharpens. “Because you saw something that scared you, and instead of calling me, you picked a fight, convinced yourself I’m gonna leave.”

Your silence is confirmation, and he laughs once, exasperated.

“You think I’m gonna run because some Kook Barbie pressed her fucking nails into my arm? Did I look happy?”

You glare at the porch floor, too humiliated to meet his eyes but too stubborn to admit you’re wrong.

“She looked perfect next to you,” You mutter. “And I-I’ve never looked like that.”

Rafe’s whole chest expands on a rough inhale. “Bullshit.”

Your lip twitches. “You don’t have to lie just ‘cause I’m about to cry.”

“I’m not lying.” He steps closer, and now there’s no space between you, “I want you. I’m with you. I love you.”

You remember how his mouth used to curl when you walked into a room. You glance up—and you see none of that. His jaw is flexed, brows drawn, but his eyes are nothing but heartbreak, and it’s you he’s looking at like that. As if you have already been forgiven.

You hate how fast your voice cracks. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

The words hurt him more than the fight did. He moves, hands coming up to frame your face gently, catching your cheeks even as you try to turn away.

His thumbs swipe at the tear tracks, physically hurting him to see them. “I hate that you don’t see it,” he murmurs. “Look at me.”

You do, barely.

His forehead drops to yours, breathing you in, whispering against your mouth. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I’m not.”

You swallow. “I don’t believe you.”

“Tough shit, baby.”

Your throat works around a sob that doesn’t quite come. His hands are holding your face like you’re made of glass, but his grip says you’re not going anywhere, even if you try to fight him on it.

So you do. “You’re annoying as fuck.”

He almost smiles. “I know.”

You snort wetly, and it shatters something between you. He’s still close, touching, and you hate how fast you want to fold into it.

You try one last time. “She probably smelled better than me too.”

“I love how you smell.” His eyes roam your face—eyes red, nose pink, hoodie collar pulled up to your chin. “Sunscreen and salt and that stupid coconut lotion.”

Rafe’s smile comes then, unstrained as he kisses you. You gasp into it, and he uses it as an excuse to deepen the kiss, tongue sliding against yours, one hand curling around the back of your neck and the other grabbing your hip, pulling you into him.

He pulls back for air, ducking his head to your height one more time, his voice dropping to a rasp.

“I wake up and want you. I get through shit days and want you. I think about my future, and—you’re there. It’s you.”

A single tear slips down your cheek before you can catch it. You hate how fast he’s wiping it away.

“You’re gonna get tired of me.”

“I’m tired without you.”

You let out a small, broken laugh, and Rafe smiles like it’s a fucking miracle.

“You’re gonna leave.”

“I’m here.”

“And if you change your mind?”

“I already made it up.” He kisses your temple, your cheek. “Stop trying to scare me of.”

You sag into him, pressing your lips together, “I’m sorry I was mean.”

He exhales through his nose; you wait for the reminder that you were cruel, but all he does is press another kiss to your shoulder.

“Baby,” he murmurs, “I wouldn’t want you any other way.”

Your throat tightens instantly. “Even when I say shit I don’t mean?”

He nods once, serious. “Even then.”

“That’s fucked.” You bite your lip, breath catching. “I didn’t mean it.”

Rafe cuts in, hands cradling your jaw. “I know.”

You bury your face in his chest, fingers fisting in his shirt, hoping it will stop your heart from beating so hard. His hands rub slow circles up and down your back.

“Country Club,” you say, and it’s usually a nickname you usually spit with venom. This time it sounds sweet.

“Yeah?” he murmurs.

“I don’t want to fuck this up.”

“You won’t,” he says. “We won’t. “

Then, without looking up, you mutter, “I was gonna call you a privileged little trust fund reject with a savior complex and no taste in women.”

He laughs, loud this time, bursting out of him. “There she is.”

The porch is dark and quiet and way too far from anyone who would interrupt, and that might be the only reason you let yourself tip your head back and look at him like that—eyes blown wide.

Rafe mouths at your lips, doing what he’d been waiting all fucking night to earn back, groaning into your mouth, hand sliding up the back of your hoodie, palm pressing against the skin at your spine.

His tongue licks into you again, and your knees damn near buckle. He catches you with one hand wrapped around your thigh, dragging your leg up to hook around his. He pins you back against the porch post with his body, hard already, and not shy about it.

“You always run your mouth,” He makes that annoyed teeth-sucking sound against your neck, breath hot. “Always talking shit.”

You can feel Rafe smirk against your skin when you whimper. His teeth graze that spot beneath your jaw, the one he figured out three nights into fucking you, and he doesn’t let up—kisses, bites, and sucks until you’re pressing your hips forward, forgetting what pride is.

“And now?” He rasps. “Still got something to say?”

You tug at his shirt, breathless.

“Get your hand under my hoodie and maybe I will.”

He laughs and obliges, fingers sliding up over your ribs, under the hem of your bra. He cups one breast in his hand, his thumb brushing your nipple until you’re mewing into his mouth again.

He swallows every sound. Your hands are under his dress shirt now, scratching at the small of his back, hips grinding slowly against his.

“Rafe,” you whisper, need soaked into the syllables.

“Yeah, baby,” he breathes, his mouth dragging over your jaw, lips warm and wet. "I know."

You tug at his belt, and he doesn’t stop you, only continues to palm your ass and groans when your hand brushes his zipper. 

Rafe’s breathing is ragged against your mouth, hands still halfway under your hoodie. You roll your hips against him again.

He groans, head tipping back, needing divine intervention.

Your smirk is pure sin. “Problem, Country Club?”

His fingers dig into your waist. “Yeah, you. You’re the fucking problem.”

You giggle, nipping at his bottom lip just enough to make him twitch. “Oh no. Is the trust fund prince gonna lose his self-control on a porch swing?”

He growls this time and presses his hips forward, cock hard against you and very, very aware of the fact that your leg’s still wrapped around him.

“Don’t tempt me.”

“You already look tempted.”

“I’m serious.” His mouth is on your neck again, trailing hot, open kisses down to your collarbone, voice muffled against your skin. “We’re not fucking on your porch. Your neighbors already hate me.”

“That’s because you park like a psychopath.”

“They’ll hate me more when they see me bending you over the railing.”

You whimper before you can stop yourself, and his hands grip tighter, feeling that noise down.

“Baby,” he warns, teeth grazing your throat. “We can’t do it out here.”

Your hand slides between you, palming him through his jeans shamelessly. His breath stutters so hard he chokes.

“Oh, my God,” he hisses, grabbing your wrist, eyes wild. 

You shrug, all innocence, “You sure you don’t want the neighbors to know how well you fuck me?”

“I’ll throw you over my shoulder and take you inside if you don’t stop.”

You flash him a grin. “Promise?”

“Fuck. Fine. Inside. Now.”

You don’t try to hide the smug little giggle as he drags you inside by the hand, he’s a man being marched to war—hard, panting, and completely ruined by you.

If fighting gets him this desperate and needy maybe you'll keep doing it.

You love being his problem.

[undyingdecay]

ik damn well that bob would lose it if he went to nurse and found that his sweetheart actually produced milk for him - you can end up lactating just from consistent breast stimulation alone and he clearly has made a routine of it. He wouldn't know what to do with himself, poor guy

oh, he like actually loses it.

the first time it happens, you’re both in the usual position—your back half-curled against his chest, the morning light slicing lazily through the blinds, his mouth hot and reverent over your breast like it’s the only prayer he knows how to recite. there’s alwys a rhythm to him. suckle, breathe, moan, repeat. but this time—

this time, you feel a warm trickle. sticky. wet. a strange pressure releases with a faint squirt, and bob’s throat works around it with a startled grunt. he stills. both of you do.

your eyes widen. “wait—” you try to sit up, scrambling to process it, to look down, but bob’s arm snakes around your waist with strength you’v never felt from him before—more sentry than man—and he hauls you back down into the mattress like you’re his sun-warmed anchor.

“don’t go,” he rasps, already descending again. “don’t—please. it’s real, i didn’t make it up—oh god, it’s real.”

and then he’s latched again—louder now, messier. greedy. your breast is being suckled with a pressure that’s bordering on frantic, his lips slippery with fresh milk that leaks faster the more he draws. he’s moaning into your skin, and when he pulls off to gasp for air, there’s a dribble down his chin and he’s sniffling through it, crying.

“thank you. thank you—so much,” he hiccups, milk bubbling on his lips. his nose is pink and leaking like he’s caught in the middle of some personal spiritual awakening. “you’re giving it to me. you made this—for me?” his voice breaks, a thick sound that vibrates against your sternum. “i didn’t think i’d ever—i didn’t think anybody ever would…”

he drinks so fast he chokes, jerking off with a wet cough, milk splattering across his chin and your chest. he gasps through the hiccups, refusing to stop, like he’s afraid it might go away if he pauses.

he won’t let you out of bed that morning. not even for water. he holds you pinned beneath him, body curled like a worshipper at some living altar, lips pressed to your leaking breast, occasionally switching sides to nurse the other, milk collecting in the corners of his mouth. at one point, delirious and trembling, he sobs while drinking—full-body shakes as he tries to mutter out “i love you” between swallows, voice so thick with milk it’s barely a sound.

you’d think it might taper off. that it’d be a one-time thing. (a lie, denial is the first stage after all)

but not even a week later, he shows up with a breast pump in a glossy cardboard box. still shrink-wrapped. his ears are red.

“i thought it might help,” he says, too quickly. “you said your chest hurt yesterday. that it was too full.” he doesn’t meet your eyes when he adds, “i looked it up. you can save it in bags. we can refrigerate it. maybe freeze some. i’ll get a cooler. i can label them—dates, quantities. i’ll drink it all. promise.”

you don’t even get a word in before he’s pushing you down onto the couch, straddling your hips with reverent weight, hands already working over your sore breasts. his thumbs are warm, callused, and the way he massages you feels like he’s trying to coax divinity from your skin.

he moans low when the milk starts leaking, even before the pump is clipped on. “god, it’s already coming. you’re so full for me. fuck, i can see it.” the letdown is messy, splattering over his fingers. he smears it across your nipple with a thumb, staring like it’s some kind of divine ichor. “it’s beautiful, you don’t even know.”

he kisses you between every pump whirr, but never stops watching your chest. when the bags begin to fill with cloudy white, he exhales like he’s watching a miracle.

by the end of the week, he’s built a little stash in the fridge. carefully labeled freezer bags, double-sealed and dated in his loopy handwriting. he’s so serious about it, you catch him checking the temperature twice a day. once, you find him with the fridge door open just staring at them, one hand flat against the crisper drawer like he’s in church.

and then there’s the doctor visit.

you try to be vague. you try. you mention something about induced lactation. about hormonal fluctuation and stimulation. you don’t even bring up the words milk stash or nipple worship, but your doctor’s eyes narrow like she knows.

“have you had a baby recently?” she asks, confused.

you shake your head.

she glances down at the chart. then up at you. then down again. she clears her throat.

“well,” she says tightly. “that… can happen. in rare cases. with persistent… stimulation.” a beat. “be mindful of mastitis.”

meanwhile bob’s in the waiting room, probably scrolling through reviews for breastmilk storage kits and wondering if he can find tiny glass jars instead—“so it feels more special.”

he’s gone full collector. archivist of your milk. he drinks some every day and stores the rest with obsessive care, quietly losing his mind in the most sincere, devotional way possible.

you swear he gets glowy after drinking it.

and the worst part?

you don't think you mind it.

(me next bob!!!)

[luv-lock]

— DICK GRAYSON IS YOUR COWORKER ☆⁠

Coworker Dick who flirts with everyone in the office but only wants you. He’s all winks and easy smiles, the golden boy who makes even the most boring meetings bearable—but it’s you he always circles back to. You, who gets the first coffee he picks up in the morning. You, who gets his dumb little notes scribbled onto reports with “you looked good today” in the margins. You, who catches the way his fingers twitch every time you brush past him, like he’s aching to touch you but knows better than to do it where someone else might see.

Coworker Dick who thought he was normal before you. He thought he had a decent work-life balance, that he could function like a regular person. But now? Now he can’t go five minutes without thinking about you. His whole fucking day revolves around you—watching the clock, waiting for lunch breaks, finding any excuse to be near you.

Coworker Dick who jerks off to the thought of you in the office bathroom. It’s pathetic, shameful, but he can’t stop. All it takes is a glance at you—the way your lips part slightly when you’re focused, the way your nails tap against the desk, the scent of your perfume lingering when you walk past him— and he’s hard. So fucking hard, sitting there at his desk, trying to focus on emails when all he can think about is you.

Coworker Dick who sits in a stall, biting his fist, stroking himself fast and desperate, whispering your name. He pictures your thighs wrapped around his head, your hand gripping his hair, your voice telling him how good he is. And when he comes, messy and quick, muffling his groans into his sleeve— he’s already aching for more. Already fixing his tie, washing his hands, stepping back into the office with a flushed face and a new plan to get you alone.

Coworker Dick who turns into such a needy wreck the second you let him have you. One drunken work happy hour is all it takes—his mouth crashing onto yours in a dark booth, hands shaking as they slide under your skirt like he can’t believe this is real. And you let him. You let him drop to his knees right there, between your legs, breathless, whispering, “I’ll be good, I’ll be so good for you.” And when you guide him out of the bar and into a taxi, dragging him home like a stray puppy, he follows without hesitation.

Coworker Dick who doesn’t stop begging once you let him taste you. He eats you out like a man possessed, moaning like he’s the one getting off. Tongue sloppy, needy, greedy, pushing deep while he ruts against the mattress like some depraved thing, whimpering when you tug his hair. “Please—please let me make you come—” He’s gasping between sucks, his perfect lips shiny with spit and slick, shaking when you grind against his face and come all over his tongue. And even then, he doesn’t stop—just licks it all up, fucking obsessed with how you taste.

Coworker Dick who acts like nothing happened the next morning—except now, his texts are filthier. Thinking about you. Miss your taste. Can I see you tonight? Please?

Coworker Dick who can’t keep his hands off you at work. He’s insatiable, desperate for any excuse to touch you. A hand ghosting over your lower back as he leans in to “help” you with some spreadsheet bullshit. A knee pressing between your thighs under the desk during a meeting. Fingers slipping beneath the hem of your skirt just to feel. And when lunch rolls around, when everyone’s busy laughing and chatting in the break room—he’s already pulling you into the nearest bathroom stall, dropping to his knees like it’s a prayer."Please—fuck, I need it."

Coworker Dick who sobs into your cunt like a fucking starved man. His pretty, flushed face buried between your thighs, licking, sucking, devouring you like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. His tongue flicking your clit fast and messy, lips latching on like he’s kissing your mouth instead of your pussy. His moans vibrating against you, shameless and loud, muffled only by the wet suck of his mouth. And when you yank his hair, grind against his face, drench his chin— he fucking shakes, shuddering through his own untouched orgasm, just from eating you out.

Coworker Dick who follows you home every night now. He doesn’t even ask anymore—just shows up at your door, blue eyes wide, lip bitten, already half-hard in his slacks. And when you let him in, he strips in seconds, sprawling out on your bed, already panting like a bitch in heat.

Coworker Dick who lives to be fucked. "Please, I’ve been good," he whines, voice shaky, presenting himself to you like a gift. And you know what he wants—his favorite strap, thick and pink, the one that makes his pretty mouth go slack the second you lube it up. And when you push in, slow at first, letting him adjust—he’s already pushing back, already begging for more. "Harder, please—fuck me harder—"

And you give it to him. You pound him into the mattress, grip firm on his hips, dragging him back onto your strap with every thrust. He’s babbling, voice breaking with high, needy moans, body shaking as he takes it deeper, rougher, harder. His cock is leaking untouched, dripping, twitching, his stomach clenching every time you slam into him just right.

Coworker Dick who loses his fucking mind when you flip him over. You hoist his legs up, pinning him beneath you, thrusting deep while his eyes roll back, mouth open, whimpering like the pretty little plaything he is. His hands scrabble at your arms, his voice breaking when you finally fist his cock, jerking him hard and fast while you wreck him."Oh God—oh fuck—" He cums so fucking hard, ropes of it splattering his chest, his stomach, his chin, his whole body trembling under you, overstimulated and wrecked.

Coworker Dick who clings to you after. Face flushed, breathing heavy, curling into you, pressing soft, lazy kisses to your skin. You clean him up, stroke his hair, and he just sighs, content, needy, yours.

Coworker Dick who doesn’t care about labels."I’m not your boyfriend," he says one night, naked in your bed, still marked up from your nails, still bruised from your grip. "I don’t need to be. Just… use me whenever you want." And he means it. Every desperate inch of him.

Coworker Dick who gets jealous. He doesn’t mean to. He knows you’re not dating. But when he sees you laughing a little too much with someone else? When some guy from accounting puts a hand on your shoulder? It drives him fucking crazy. He won’t say anything—not out loud. But suddenly, he’s there. Right at your side. Interrupting conversations, finding reasons to steal you away. “Hey, can I talk to you for a sec?” Hand firm on your wrist, pulling you into an empty hallway, crowding you against the wall.

And when you smirk, when you tease, “Jealous, Grayson?” he groans, pressing against you, rutting his hard cock against your thigh. “What if I am?”

Coworker Dick who tries to be normal but fails. He texts you constantly now.At work:Miss you already. When’s lunch? You looked so fucking hot in that meeting. Couldn’t stop staring. At night:Can I come over? Please? I’ll be good. I’ll do anything.

Coworker Dick who always finds ways to mark you. He doesn’t like seeing you go to work without some reminder of him on your skin. Hickeys on your thighs, bruises on your hips, fingerprints on your waist where he held you too tight. He fucking lives for that shit. "Wear a skirt tomorrow," he murmurs after fucking you stupid, panting against your neck. “Want you thinking about me every time you cross your legs.”

Coworker Dick who wants you to ruin him completely. You can see it in his hungry, desperate eyes every time you push him down onto the bed. Every time you pull his hair, shove him onto his back, climb on top of him and ride him until he’s shaking."I’ll do anything for you," he whispers against your lips, aching, devoted, lost. And the worst part? He fucking means it.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[anantaru]

— doing his eyeliner while sitting on his lap

including. xiao, neuvillette, zhongli

genre. fluff, gn! reader, slightly suggestive

— xiao

"hey, you're shaking xiao, i can't focus."

"tzzz, i'm not," xiao rasps— ugh, you're just so pretty, you know? with a faint dusting of light clinging to your eyes, delicate yet indifferent, as if the universe itself had carelessly bestowed it upon you. he believes there was something unsettling in your gentleness, a quiet radiance that seemed to exist beyond the confines of this world— beyond reason, beyond him.

his hands grip around your waist like you might disappear if he ever dared to let go of you as his ears were dusted a telltale red, to be fair, xiao cannot keep his hands of you, and in his opinion it should always be like this, never too far from each other— forever as he snuggles himself a little closer towards you.

you shift slightly, adjusting your position on his lap as he tenses like a tightly wound wire, his thighs firm beneath you, muscles twitching as if resisting the urge to latch onto you with his soft lips.

you bite back a smile, dipping the tip of the pencil against his lower lash line as his breath shudders, yet this wasn't fear, don't misread xiao for his reaction, it was not from discomfort— just something inside of him reacting almost fragile, tenderly beautiful yet he didn't quite know how to name such emotions.

"hah xiao, you're holding onto me like i might fall," you tease him, brushing your thumb under his eye to soften the colored line.

xiao swallows thickly, his gaze flickering, searching yours as his arms tighten around you, a quiet plea, a contradiction? "i wouldn't let you," he responds quietly, his words alone turning your heart aflame.

it was racing so fast to the point that it might rupture through the shape and flesh of your body. it's almost laughable how dearly you two adored each other— how the conqueror of demons, fierce and untouchable alike, was now just a man beneath your firm hands, coming undone over the slightest trace of your body moving atop.

his warmth seeps through his clothes, one by one, through yours, yes, burning into your skin where his hands grip your waist like he's afraid you'll slip away. he needs you, xiao does, and you can feel the faint tremor in his fingers as you press the liner to his other eye, his breath uneven, his body an open book— tense, passionate, but leaning into you like you're the only thing keeping him tethered.

"there," you whisper, pulling back slightly to admire your work.

xiao doesn't let go of you yet, instead he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his shuddering breath warm against your heightened skin, his touch a quiet fire, burning through your flesh and sinking deep into your very bones— although not with pain, but with the kind of warmth that made you realize you have always been cold without him.

"…do the other eye, please," xiao's voice was barely a muse, but you knew what he meant by it,

"stay,"

— zhongli

"I feel like you're enjoying this a little too much," zhongli finds it almost comical on how fast you could determine his mood as you accused him of the obvious— and the next smile he returned towards you felt slow as his hands easily rest at your thighs.

he tilts his head ever so slightly, offering himself up like something meant to be worshipped, when in fact, such was the case considering who he truly was.

"how could i not, love?" he exhales, his voice rich like aged wine dripping down the tip of your tongue— or honey, yes, now we got it, the sweetest of them all— spilling, slow and golden, from the corners of your mouth whenever you kissed him. as if even your lips cannot contain such excess, as if the world itself conspires to make you taste too much, feel too much, drown in the deep pleasure of it.

"my love, perched on my lap, so close, so intent, how could any man resist?"

you roll your eyes at him in order to hide your boiling all the more flustered expression, but the way your fingers tremble just slightly as you drag the liner along his lower lash line ultimately betrays you.

zhongli's amber gaze watches you, unreadable, indulgent as you bite down your lower lip, "hold still," and warn, ignoring the heat curling at the base of your spine.

"as you wish," he responds cheekily.

and yet, his voice descends— lower, smoother, as if sinking into the very marrow of the moment, curling like smoke in the hollows of your ribs, "though i wonder—" zhongli continues confidently, unraveling something unseen, something inevitable.

his hand slides up slowly, fingers curling at the nape of your neck, the touch featherlight, barely there, but you feel it like a brand, searing into your very being, leaving a mark of endless pleasure.

"—is it i who needs to stay still," his thumb brushes over your pulse,

"or you?"

your breath hitches as his lips curl at the edges with a slightly amused demeanor— an expression not quite a smile, not quite anything at all.

oh, he knows.

"i should stab you in the eye."

zhongli chuckles as his grip tightens, his chin slightly tilted, just a fraction, just enough that your noses almost brush, "if you must."

he winks, "though, i’d much prefer if you kissed me instead."

you swear the next line you draw on him will be just a little uneven.

— neuvillette

the storm groaned against the windowpanes, a ceaseless murmur like the whisper of some distant, unnameable grief as beneath you, neuvillette sat in stillness, his breath deep and steady— like an anchor against the restless howl of the wind.

his hands, resting with an almost absent-minded lightness upon your hips, betrayed neither urgency nor hesitation, only a quiet inevitability— the controlled rise and fall of his chest beneath your touch was steady, as if the weight of existence itself laid upon him and yet he bore it without complaint.

"you're very patient with me," you hum at him, your voice barely above the hush of the rain as your fingers find his chin, tilting his face with a careful adoration.

his skin was cool beneath your touch, smooth like polished marble— an artifact of restraint, a monument to something vast and unknowable, "and you're very careful," he replies, his voice low, "i find it… comforting."

you smile at him as your fingers trace slow paths along the delicate sweep of his lashes, the elegant lines of his face as the patience in him was almost sorrowful, an acceptance of longing as though he has lived with it for too long to protest.

then, without warning, he moves— a shift, so fluid and inevitable, and before you could catch your breath and register what was happening, neuvillette's face was buried in the curve of your neck, his lips barely parted against your skin.

an immediate warmth spreads through you, a heat that knots itself into the quiet places between your ribs.

although you freeze, your breath catches on something unnamed, something trembling between desire and disbelief;

"n-neuvillette?"

your voice sounded like a question, yet your body revealed an answer— your fingers curled at the nape of his neck, the press of his lips a silent confession.

his arms come around you at last, gathering you in, as though he has finally allowed himself this.

his nose brushes along your pulse, "mh? what were you saying?" as his arms tighten around your waist just slightly, holding— not trapping, just holding.

"you're supposed to sit still," you chide playfully, but your voice came out softer than you originally meant to.

he exhales, lips ghosting against your throat. "forgive me," he murmurs, "you are warm, i find myself comforted by your presence."

"—and you take such care of me."

©2025 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[wispitty]

(short reacts) | "you had a shitty day and need a hug" + one piece men

summary: you're having a shit day and stomp up to them, no words, no context and just hug them.

characters: crocodile, mihawk, marco, ace, shanks, law, corazon

CROCODILE

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t speak.

Just sets his cigar down and pulls you in tighter—his hook braced on the small of your back while the other gently cradles your head.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs.

He doesn’t ask what’s wrong. Not yet.

He just lets you breathe. And protects you like you’re the last warm thing in a world gone cold.

Later? He’ll send Mr. 1 to find out what made you feel like this. And if it's a person? Hoo boy.

MIHAWK

You crash into his chest. He stiffens for half a second—then one arm comes up around your back, steady and strong.

His other hand goes to your hair, slow and quiet, fingers running through the strands like he’s counting breaths.

“Bad day?” You nod. “Then take your time.”

He stands there with you. No rush. Just silence, wine-scented warmth, and you being safely pressed into the strongest man you know.

MARCO

You stomp up. He sees you coming.

You don’t speak. You just wrap your arms around him, head in his chest.

He’s already hugging you back.

“Hey, hey. I got you, sweetheart.”

His voice is gentle. His hand moves in soothing circles on your back.

“You don’t gotta talk. Just breathe with me.”

You melt into him. He smells like ocean breeze and clean cotton.

The rest of the world? Doesn’t exist anymore.

ACE

You slam into his chest. Hard. He stumbles back, blinking.

“Whoa—hey, hey, what happened?!”

You don’t answer.

You just bury your face into him.

And without thinking, he wraps his arms around you. Tight. Protective.

“You don’t have to say anything. I’m right here, okay? I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

He’s warm—literally. His heartbeat under your ear is fast. He’s worried. But he lets you cry. Lets you cling.

And whispers dumb jokes later to make you laugh through the tears.

SHANKS

You crash into him mid-convo with someone else.

He immediately goes quiet.

His hand comes up to cradle the back of your head.

“I'm here, baby. I'm here.”

He doesn’t make a scene. Doesn’t tease.

Just holds you, his chin resting on your head, as he rubs slow, grounding circles between your shoulders.

And he returns to his conversation with you in his arms like it's the most natural thing in the world.

Later he’ll ask, softly, when you’re ready.

But for now? He lets you take everything you need from him.

LAW

You latch onto him. No warning. No explanation.

He freezes. Brow furrows. He looks down at you—

And something shatters in his guarded little heart.

His arms come around you. Stiff at first. Then tighter.

You open your mouth to say something, but he interjects.

“…Don't. Don’t talk. Don't move. Just stay put.”

It sounds like an order.

But it’s not. It’s him saying, “Let me be your shelter, just this once.”

He doesn’t speak again. He just holds you longer than you expected.

And you feel safe.

CORAZON

You cling to him like he’s a lifeline. No words.

He reacts immediately. Wraps his coat around you. Holds you so close you can’t even tell where you end and he begins.

You feel him press a kiss to the top of your head.

No notebook.

No scribbled jokes.

Just silence and the warmth of someone who would give you his whole heart without asking for anything back.

And when you finally look up, tear-stained and small?

He’s smiling.

Because you came to him. And he's always be here for you.