#i need to be in between her legs more than i need air

[aspenmissing]

hiiiii hii hi hi ummm could you do jinx (anyone, but mainly jinx pls) with a reader just as clingy as her? not so much chaotic as her but they both always share that “pls don’t leave me” energy and bond over it, idk do whatever u want ofc, thank you !!

ᴡɪᴛʜɪɴ ʀᴇᴀᴄʜ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ꜱᴘɪᴄʏ? || 5226 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ꜱᴘɪᴄʏ? ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴘᴏꜱꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴠᴇɴᴇꜱꜱ (ᴏɴ ʏ/ɴ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ)

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏᴏᴏ ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ʜᴇʟʟᴏᴏᴏᴏᴏᴏ, ᴍʏ ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ! ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴄᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴʟʏ ᴅᴏ ɪᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴅᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ɪᴛ!! <3 <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx

JINX

The moment Jinx first laid eyes on you, something shifted inside her—a subtle spark that said you were different. Not in the “I can fix you” kind of way—she never wanted to be fixed—but in a way that quietly filled the emptiness, like discovering a mirror that reflected more than just her own loneliness.

It wasn’t long before you realized that the connection was mutual. You found yourself drawn to her erratic energy and vulnerability, clinging to her as fiercely as she clung to you. In your shared silences, in the unspoken assurances between hesitant touches, you both found a solace that the chaotic world around you never provided.

One chilly evening atop a worn rooftop in Zaun—where the city’s harsh neon glow danced against the dark sky—Jinx broke the silence. With her legs dangling over the edge, she mused, “Y’know, most people get all weird about this whole attachment thing.” Her eyes, alight with mischief and a hint of fear, searched yours for understanding.

You settled beside her on the crumbling ledge, drawing your knees close and resting your head lightly against her shoulder. “Like we care what most people think,” you replied, your voice soft but resolute.

A crooked smile spread across her face as she nudged your forehead with hers. “Exactly! That’s what I like about ya.” There was a quiet intimacy in that moment—a shared defiance against a world that always seemed intent on leaving you both behind.

For both of you, the bond was born of the same desperate energy: the need for someone to anchor you when everything felt like it was spiraling out of control. You never thought she was too much, even on nights when she clung to you after a terror-filled dream, or when she demanded you stay close while she lost herself tinkering with unpredictable explosives. And in return, she never questioned the way you’d reach for her hand when the uncertainty of life in Zaun grew overwhelming, or how you always made sure to be by her side when the world fell into a heavy, uneasy quiet.

Some might call this attachment unhealthy, but you both knew it was more—a lifeline amid chaos. Because in a city where every moment was a struggle to hold on, you only ever wanted one thing: to never be alone.

=

Then, one night as rain slicked the metal and concrete around you, she asked, almost in a whisper, “Where are you gonna go?” Her fingers toyed with one of her cherished bullets—a ritual of sorts whenever fear crept in.

“What do you mean?” you asked, genuine curiosity mingling with concern.

She paused, her eyes reflecting the harsh blue lights of Zaun. “Y’know… if everything goes to shit. If Zaun burns, if Piltover clamps down even harder, if—if everything falls apart.” The words hung in the air like a question with no easy answer.

A small frown creased your brow. “That’s a dumb question,” you said, though your tone betrayed the worry beneath your words.

Jinx’s fingers froze on the cold metal. “Oh?” she challenged softly, uncertainty flickering in her gaze.

Slowly, you turned your head, allowing the scattered light of Zaun to dance in your eyes as you gave her a look that said, without words, you idiot—I've got you. “If everything falls apart,” you murmured, “I’ll still be here.”

For a long moment, the only sound was the steady patter of rain against the metal. Then, almost imperceptibly, Jinx extended her pinky toward you. Before she could even fully process it, you responded in kind, interlocking your pinky with hers in a timeless gesture of promise. She stared at that small, tangible commitment—afraid, hopeful—and then gripped your hand a little tighter, as if anchoring herself to a lifeline.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper yet filled with unwavering certainty, “I promise.”

In that simple act, the weight of a thousand unspoken fears eased just a little. It was a fragile promise in a world where nothing was certain, but it was enough. Because even if the streets of Zaun burned and the chaos of Piltover seeped into every corner of your lives, you knew that as long as you had each other, there was a chance to weather the storm.

JAYCE

The warm glow of Piltover’s streetlights bathed the city in a golden hue as you walked side by side with Jayce, your fingers loosely hooked around his arm. The night carried the scent of metal and oil from the nearby workshops, mixed with the faint aroma of fresh bread from a late-night bakery down the road. Despite the cool breeze brushing against your skin, the warmth radiating from Jayce’s body kept you comfortably snug, and as always, you couldn’t help but press yourself just a little closer.

Jayce let out a soft chuckle, his deep voice laced with amusement as he glanced down at you. “Y/N, you’re practically glued to me.”

“Mhm,” you hummed, nuzzling your head against his shoulder as your grip tightened around his bicep. “That’s because I missed you today.”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “We were only apart for a few hours.”

You pouted up at him, exaggerating the expression just to see if it would get a reaction. “That’s a few hours too long.”

Jayce smirked, shaking his head again, though the fondness in his chocolate-brown eyes was unmistakable. He pulled his arm free for a second—just enough to sling it around your shoulders and tug you even closer against him. “You really are something else, you know that?” His voice was full of mirth, but there was an undeniable tenderness beneath it.

You grinned up at him, taking the opportunity to slip your arms around his waist as you both continued walking. The streets of Piltover were mostly quiet now, the usual bustle of inventors and enforcers settling down for the night. The two of you strolled along at a leisurely pace, Jayce’s thumb rubbing gentle circles against your shoulder.

“Do you ever get tired of this?” you mused, your cheek pressed against his chest as you matched his steps.

He arched a brow. “Of what?”

“Me clinging to you all the time.”

Jayce let out a low chuckle and pressed a kiss against the top of your head. “Not even for a second.” His voice was sincere, steady, like he meant every word. “If anything, I’d say I’m the lucky one.”

You felt your heart do a little flip at that, your arms tightening slightly around him. “Good. Because you’re stuck with me.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

=

After a while, the two of you made it to his workshop, the familiar scent of parchment, oil, and metal filling the air as you stepped inside. The space was cluttered in a way that was undeniably Jayce—blueprints scattered across his desk, half-built contraptions lying around, and his signature hammer propped against the wall.

As soon as he sat down at his workbench, you wasted no time climbing onto his lap, draping your arms around his shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world. Jayce didn’t even flinch. If anything, he welcomed it, one of his hands automatically settling on your lower back as he reached for a pencil with the other.

“You know,” he murmured as he sketched, “if anyone else saw us like this, they’d probably think I’m completely whipped.”

“You are,” you teased, leaning in to nuzzle his cheek. “And you love it.”

Jayce exhaled a soft laugh, his free hand slipping up your spine to tangle in your hair. “Can’t even deny it,” he admitted, turning his head just enough to brush his lips against yours in a fleeting kiss.

You smiled triumphantly, feeling warm and utterly content. “Good answer.”

For a while, he actually tried to focus on his work, his pencil scratching against the paper as he murmured calculations under his breath. But every so often, you would shift in his lap, pressing a kiss to his jaw, tracing patterns along the back of his neck with your fingertips—little distractions that made him exhale in amusement, though he never once asked you to move.

“You’re gonna get distracted,” you murmured eventually, brushing your nose against his.

Jayce hummed, setting his pencil down and finally giving in, both of his arms wrapping tightly around you. “I already am,” he admitted, his voice softer this time. “But I don’t mind. Not when it’s you.”

A pleased hum left your lips as you melted into his embrace, pressing your forehead against his. His warmth, his scent, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat—it was all so perfectly Jayce, and you never wanted to be anywhere else.

Jayce tilted his head slightly, his lips brushing against your temple as he murmured, “I really do love how clingy you are, you know.”

“I know,” you whispered, grinning as you buried your face against his neck. “And you’re never getting rid of me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmured back, his arms tightening just a little more around you.

And just like that, the rest of the world faded away, leaving only the two of you tangled together in the warmth of his workshop.

VIKTOR

The familiar creak of the apartment door opening was nearly drowned out by the howling wind outside. The bitter chill of the night air followed Viktor as he stepped inside, his cane tapping softly against the wooden floor. He exhaled, his breath slow and measured, exhaustion seeping into his very bones. Another late night. Another long evening lost to the glow of blueprints, the sharp scent of metal, and the endless calculations that cluttered his mind.

As much as he was devoted to his work, as much as his mind thrived in the pursuit of progress, there was only one thing—one person—who could make him feel like all of it was worth it. The thought of her waiting at home, the warmth of her presence lingering even when she wasn’t beside him, was what had kept him going through the hours of grueling research.

He leaned his cane against the wall and sighed, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to ease the tension settled deep in his muscles. The fatigue wasn’t just physical; it was mental, emotional—a weight that only lightened when he was home.

The apartment was quiet, bathed in the dim glow of candlelight from the bedroom, casting soft golden hues against the walls. His heart softened. She must have left it burning for him, just as she always did, a silent yet ever-present reminder that she was waiting.

He stepped forward, moving toward their shared bedroom, and the moment he pushed the door open, the sight before him made his tired heart ache.

She was curled up on his side of the bed, her small frame tucked beneath the thick blankets, her arms wrapped so tightly around his pillow that it might as well have been a lifeline. Her soft face was buried into the fabric, her lips slightly parted as she breathed steadily, the faintest trace of warmth lingering on the pillowcase where her breath had melted into it.

She looked so peaceful. So delicate in sleep, like a dream that would slip away if he made too much noise.

Viktor’s lips curled into a small, weary smile. He knew how much she craved his presence, how she always sought the warmth of his touch, the security of his embrace. She was clingy, some might say—always reaching for him, always resting her head against his shoulder, always finding little ways to touch him, whether it was intertwining her fingers with his or pressing herself into his side absentmindedly.

And he loved it.

It was grounding. She was grounding.

He had spent most of his life feeling distant—too absorbed in his work, too separated from those around him, too accustomed to being left behind. But not with her. No, never with her.

With her, he was not just Viktor the scientist, Viktor the co-creator of Hextech—he was simply Viktor. The man she loved. The man she waited for.

Carefully, he slipped out of his vest, letting the fabric fall away before loosening his tie and undoing the first few buttons of his shirt. The night had been long, but this… this was what made it worth it.

Moving slowly, he approached the bed, sitting on the edge with careful precision, not wanting to disturb her. His fingers reached out, brushing against a few strands of her hair, gently tucking them behind her ear. The warmth of her skin lingered beneath his touch, and his chest tightened at the way she instinctively leaned into it, even in sleep.

She mumbled something incoherent, shifting slightly before clutching his pillow even tighter, her brows furrowing as though she felt the emptiness of the bed beside her.

Viktor let out a soft chuckle, quiet but full of warmth. Even in sleep, she missed him.

His body was heavy with exhaustion, but he wanted to be close to her. Carefully, he lowered himself onto the bed, moving slowly so as not to wake her too suddenly. The mattress dipped under his weight, the familiar creak of the frame filling the silence.

And then, as soon as his warmth settled next to hers—she stirred.

“…Vik?” she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep, barely above a whisper.

“I am here, lásko,” he murmured, his accent soft, his voice full of quiet reassurance as his fingers ghosted over her cheek. (Love)

She hummed, barely opening her eyes before she let out a slow, sleepy sigh. Without hesitation, she released the pillow from her grasp—only to immediately replace it with him.

Her arms wrapped around him with surprising strength, her body shifting so she could mold herself against his. Her face pressed into his chest, nuzzling against the fabric of his half-unbuttoned shirt, her warmth sinking into him in a way that made the weight of exhaustion disappear, if only for a moment.

He let out a slow breath, a quiet chuckle humming against the top of her head. “You are clingy, even in your sleep, moje láska” (My love)

She only hummed, her fingers grasping at the fabric of his shirt as if making sure he stayed this time.

“I missed you…” she murmured, her words muffled against his chest, tinged with drowsiness.

His heart clenched at the softness of her voice. He pressed a lingering kiss to her temple, his lips warm against her skin.

“I am here now,” he whispered. “Sleep, moje láska.”

She exhaled slowly, her entire body melting into his like she had been waiting for this moment all night. Her breathing evened out again, her grip on him not loosening in the slightest.

And for the first time that day, Viktor felt at peace.

He closed his eyes, allowing himself to relax, to breathe in the comfort that was her.

She was always within reach

JAYVIK

The lab was warm, filled with the gentle hum of Hextech cores and the rhythmic scratching of Viktor’s pen against parchment. The soft glow from various devices cast long shadows against the walls, flickering slightly as if alive. The faint scent of oil, parchment, and a lingering trace of Jayce’s cologne mixed in the air, comforting in its familiarity.

Jayce, sleeves rolled up and brow furrowed in concentration, leaned heavily over a blueprint sprawled across the worktable. His muscles tensed as he studied the schematics, fingers twitching slightly as if he were already assembling the mechanism in his mind. Every so often, he would mutter something under his breath, adjusting a measurement or making quick annotations.

Viktor, on the other hand, sat poised, a stark contrast to Jayce’s fidgeting. His pen danced effortlessly across the page, notes forming in neat, efficient strokes. His golden eyes flickered toward Jayce now and then, a quiet amusement lingering in them at his partner’s obvious frustration.

And then there was you—nestled between them, wrapped up comfortably in one of Jayce’s coats with Viktor’s scarf draped over your shoulders. The coat smelled like him, like home—an earthy warmth mixed with hints of metal and the faint traces of whatever cologne he had dabbed on that morning. Viktor’s scarf was softer than expected, well-worn and slightly frayed at the edges, but you liked it that way. It smelled like ink and faintly of copper, a reminder of just how much time he spent in the lab.

You always needed to be touching one of them. It wasn’t even a conscious thought—just an instinct, a tether grounding you to them. Whether it was the warmth of Jayce’s arm beneath your fingertips or the way Viktor’s knee occasionally bumped against yours as he shifted in his seat, the contact soothed you. It was as if their presence alone wasn’t enough; you needed to feel it, to confirm that they were real, that they were here.

At that moment, one hand rested lightly on Viktor’s arm, feeling the warmth beneath his sleeve, while the other absentmindedly played with the hem of Jayce’s shirt. The soft fabric slipped between your fingers, an idle motion, but it kept you connected to him.

Jayce let out a deep sigh and leaned back, dragging a hand through his already tousled hair. “I think I’ve been staring at this too long,” he grumbled, closing his eyes for a brief moment.

“You have,” Viktor replied without looking up, adjusting his notes with careful precision. “Your handwriting is suffering.”

You giggled softly, shifting slightly to lean into Viktor’s side, careful of his cane propped against the table. “Told you so,” you teased, nudging him playfully.

Jayce cracked one eye open and shot you a playful glare. “Oh, so now you’re ganging up on me?”

You hummed in amusement, resting your head against Viktor’s shoulder. “Mhm. That’s what you get for not taking breaks.”

Viktor, ever the enabler of your clinginess, smirked and gave your knee a light pat. “She does have a point,” he mused.

Jayce groaned dramatically, stretching his arms above his head before reaching for you. Before you could react, he grabbed your waist and effortlessly pulled you onto his lap, securing you in place with a strong arm around your middle. You let out a small squeak of surprise, squirming slightly as he held you there.

“If you’re going to be so cuddly,” he murmured, voice deep and teasing against your ear, “at least distribute the affection evenly.”

You huffed but didn’t resist, letting yourself sink into his embrace, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you. Even still, you stretched your arm out, fingers searching for Viktor’s. He didn’t hesitate, intertwining his fingers with yours in a quiet show of acceptance.

“Better?” you asked, peeking up at Viktor with a playful glint in your eyes.

He let out a soft, long-suffering sigh but squeezed your hand lightly. “You are insatiable,” he murmured, shaking his head slightly, though the fondness in his expression betrayed him.

You grinned unabashedly, nuzzling against Jayce’s chest while still holding onto Viktor’s hand. “You love it,” you said, your voice muffled against the fabric of Jayce’s shirt.

Jayce chuckled, his free hand stroking lazily up and down your back. “We do,” he admitted, pressing a warm kiss to your temple.

Viktor hummed in agreement, though he shifted slightly, as if debating whether to pull away from the moment to return to his work. You weren’t about to let him. With an exaggerated sigh, you tugged at his hand, keeping him anchored to you.

“No more work,” you insisted, peeking up at him. “Just for a little while.”

He looked at you, eyes scanning your expression as if trying to argue, but in the end, he relented. With another shake of his head, he exhaled and leaned back slightly.

“You are a terrible influence,” he murmured, though he made no move to pull away.

You beamed at him, victorious, and snuggled further into Jayce’s embrace, feeling the comforting weight of Viktor’s hand still holding yours.

The work would still be there in an hour. But right now? Right now, none of you were in any hurry to move.

VANDER

The Last Drop was quiet tonight. A rare thing, considering the usual hustle and bustle of Zaun’s infamous bar. Normally, the air would be filled with the sounds of laughter, the clinking of glasses, the occasional scuffle breaking out in the corner. But tonight, it was different. The usual patrons had either stumbled home early or were deep in quiet conversations at their tables, leaving the bar unusually subdued. The dim lanterns above flickered, casting long, warm shadows across the wooden walls.

But none of that mattered to you.

Because he was here.

Vander.

Your Vander.

The sight of him alone was enough to pull you in. He sat at the counter, broad and sturdy as ever, nursing a tankard of ale in one hand while his other absentmindedly rested against the wood. His expression was unreadable, but you could tell—he was thinking about something. He always did that when things got too quiet. His brows would furrow just the slightest, his jaw would tense, and his fingers would flex as if grasping at something unseen.

You hated seeing that look on him. It wasn’t that you didn’t respect the weight he carried—how much he took on for everyone, how much he sacrificed—but you wished he didn’t feel like he had to do it alone.

So, naturally, you did what you always did.

With a soft sigh, you draped yourself over his shoulders from behind, arms winding around his thick frame, pressing your cheek against the worn fabric of his coat. He was solid and warm, the scent of smoke, leather, and a faint trace of ale filling your senses.

Vander let out a gruff chuckle, setting his drink down as he tilted his head just enough to acknowledge you. His thick, calloused fingers reached up, lazily brushing against your arm.

“Again, love?” His voice was low, rough in a way that sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. But it was warm too, like embers glowing beneath the ash.

“Mhm.” You hummed, nuzzling into his shoulder, arms tightening around him like a lifeline. “You’re so comfy.”

He let out a deep sigh, one that might’ve sounded exasperated if not for the undeniable fondness laced through it. His broad chest rose and fell beneath you, steady and sure.

“Y’know, people are watchin’.” His voice held a teasing edge, but beneath it, there was something else. An unspoken question.

Are you sure you wanna be this close to me in front of everyone?

You barely hesitated.

“So?” you murmured, pressing a kiss against the rough stubble along his jaw. The scratchy texture made you smile. “They already know you’re mine.”

That got him.

Vander let out a deep, rumbling chuckle, the sound reverberating through his chest and into you. His shoulders shook slightly with it, the tension he’d been holding onto melting away like ice meeting warmth. He shook his head, but you could see it—the way his lips twitched, fighting a smile.

His hands, strong and scarred, slid up your wrists, prying you away just enough so he could turn on the barstool to face you. The moment he did, you climbed into his lap without hesitation, making yourself comfortable as if you belonged there. Because you did.

He let you settle, his large hands bracketing your waist, holding you against him like you might slip away if he let go. You could feel the heat of him through your clothes, the slow, steady rise and fall of his breathing.

“You’re somethin’ else,” he murmured, his gaze flickering over your face like he was memorizing every inch of it.

You grinned, poking a finger against his chest. “Something you love.”

A beat passed. His expression softened, something unspoken lingering in his stormy blue eyes.

“Yeah,” he admitted, voice lower now, rougher in a way that made your heart stutter. His grip on you tightened slightly, fingers pressing into the fabric of your shirt as if anchoring himself. “Something I love.”

That was all you needed to hear.

You melted into him, resting your head against his broad chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. He smelled like home—like smoke and steel, but beneath that, something distinctly him. Safe. Familiar. Yours.

His fingers moved, slow and absentminded, tracing circles against your lower back. The touch was warm, soothing, like he was grounding himself as much as he was grounding you.

“Y’know,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper, “you could just carry me everywhere. I wouldn’t mind.”

Vander let out another deep chuckle, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Mhm.”

He shook his head, but his arms didn’t move from around you. Instead, they tightened just a little, as if silently agreeing with your request.

“Spoiled little thing,” he muttered, though there was no bite to it—just adoration.

And, well—if he held you just a little tighter after that, neither of you mentioned it.

SILCO

The atmosphere in The Last Drop was thick with smoke and the murmurs of business, as always. Silco held his usual commanding presence, sharp-eyed and unreadable, every movement deliberate. He stood at the center of the room, a sharp contrast to the chaos surrounding him—where others drank, gambled, or plotted, he remained poised, a force of control amid the unpredictability of Zaun.

You stood beside him, posture composed, expression neutral, as though the act of restraint didn’t tear at you from the inside out. It was a battle you fought every time you were by his side in public. You knew better than to cling to him, knew that in the eyes of others, Silco was a man who demanded power, respect, and unwavering loyalty. He had cultivated an image, one that didn’t allow for softness, for indulgence, for anything that could be perceived as weakness.

But it was so hard.

Your fingers twitched at your side, aching to reach for him, to feel his warmth, to remind yourself that he was there, close enough to touch. But you held yourself back, forcing your hands to remain still, curling them into small fists to resist the urge. It was second nature to want to be near him—to press yourself against him, to let his presence ground you, to absorb his very essence. But out here, in front of everyone, that wasn’t allowed.

Still, he noticed.

While he discussed dealings with Finn, while Sevika hovered nearby with a drink in hand, his sharp gaze flicked toward you—once, twice—brief, calculating glances that told you he saw everything. The way your body tensed with effort, the way you stood rigidly in place, the way your lips pressed together in frustration.

And then, without a word, his gloved fingers brushed against yours.

It was so subtle, so fleeting, that you might have thought it accidental. But before you could dwell on it, his fingers deliberately laced with yours, pressing firm, solid, real.

Your breath caught, your heart thudding against your ribs.

It was small, barely noticeable, but to you, it was everything.

You held onto that touch for the rest of the evening, even after he withdrew his hand to return to business. It was enough to get you through, enough to keep you from crumbling beneath your own restraint. But every second that passed, every deal he struck, every hushed conversation he had, you counted down to the moment you could finally have him to yourself.

And then, after what felt like an eternity, the two of you returned to the privacy of his office.

=

The second the door clicked shut, it was as though an invisible chain snapped. You surged forward, wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing yourself into him as though you might melt into his very being. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his vest, clutching it like a lifeline as you buried your face into his chest. He smelled of cigars and expensive cologne, a familiar scent that wrapped around you like a blanket.

Silco let out a soft huff of amusement, though his arms came around you easily, pulling you flush against him. His grip was firm, his touch practiced, as though he expected this from you the moment the door closed.

"You," he murmured, voice tinged with amusement, "must you always act like you’ve been starved of affection?"

You nodded without hesitation, your cheek pressed against the warmth of his chest. "Yes."

He let out a low chuckle, his fingers stroking absentmindedly down your back, tracing small, slow circles. "You held back admirably."

"I hated it," you admitted, your voice muffled against his vest. "I just want to hold you all the time."

Silco sighed, tilting your chin up with a gentle touch, forcing you to meet his mismatched eyes. The red one gleamed in the dim light, sharp yet softened by something unreadable. "You do realize I am not going anywhere?"

"Don’t care," you muttered, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of him. "Let me be clingy now."

His lips brushed over your temple, and this time, there was no teasing, no sharp amusement—only quiet understanding.

"Very well," he murmured, then took your hand and led you toward the worn leather couch near the fireplace.

He sat first, sinking into the cushions with the ease of a man who had lived a thousand battles, and you wasted no time following. You practically threw yourself onto him, arms winding around his torso as you half-climbed into his lap, tucking yourself against him like a puzzle piece meant to fit. Silco exhaled softly, one arm draping over your shoulders, the other hand resting idly against your hip as he leaned back into the couch.

For a man so guarded, so sharp and calculating, he had a way of holding you that made you feel like the most precious thing in the world. His touch was firm, grounding, as though even in these rare moments of stillness, he was unwilling to let you slip away.

You let out a deep, content sigh, shifting slightly to get even closer. "This is better."

Silco hummed in agreement, fingers threading lazily through your hair. "I imagine you'd suffocate me if given the chance."

"Probably," you admitted, voice drowsy with comfort. "Wouldn't even regret it."

His chest rumbled with amusement, but he didn't move away, didn't push you off. If anything, his arm tightened around you just slightly, just enough for you to feel it.

You stayed like that for a long time, wrapped up in the warmth of each other, away from the prying eyes of the world. Here, there was no restraint, no expectations—just the quiet understanding between two people who knew how cruel the world could be, but had found solace in one another.

And Silco, despite all his carefully cultivated power and distance, let you cling to him for as long as you needed.

[undercvrfan444]

Summary - Roomie Satoru walks in on you during some uh, intimate time!

WC - 2.5k

AN- Okay wait because if this post gets flagged like my other one i’m going to be so mad. Hopefully yall like roomie Satoru because I love him.

Two weeks have passed since your little episode with Satoru. Naoya was now a thing of the past after reading his rather uh…colorful texts he had left for you! And you were kind of thriving truthfully. 

Everyday life had seemingly gone back to the way it had been before you were sprawled out on your roommates bed, his tongue plunged deeper inside you than anyone else had ever been. So aside from his teasing growing dirtier with each passing day and his occasional “accidental” walk in on you changing or getting in the shower, he was still your same old roommate. 

Earlier this morning Satoru was called into work which left you with much valued and needed alone time thankfully. Now listen, you absolutely loved the silver haired man, but being sexually on edge each time he came around was antagonizing. You were constantly on your toes whenever he was close. A part of you was still embarrassed with the drunken activities you had partaken in, especially knowing there was a video of the whole ordeal. 

With your roommate leaving for a few hours you decided to take this time to just relax. Take a nice shower without worrying about him walking in, make a warm cup of tea to relax the tense muscles, and delve into whatever show you wanted knowing Satoru wouldn’t be in your ear making sly remarks. However, as time passed you grew somewhat bored of the silence. 

One thing led to another and you were scrolling on twitter, a hand lazily between your legs. Clicking on a video that seemed to pique you interest, the girl on screen screeched dramatically and honestly it turned you off more than anything. Swiping out of the video and scrolling a little more you finally get sick of the cheap rehearsed porn on your phone. 

Then, as if a little devil appeared on your shoulder, a thought drifted into place.  

You still had the video Satoru recorded for Naoya. Slowly you opened your photos app, scrolling up a little while your eyes scanned for the little white number indicating where the video was. 

Found it. 

Was it weird that you were watching a video of your own pussy being eaten alive? No. Because you weren't necessarily watching the video to see yourself, but rather to see that messy mop of white hair. To see how his jaw flexed with each passing line of his pretty pink tongue. It was hard not to be pulled in by Satoru, anyone that knew him couldn’t argue with how sex seemed to be emanating from him in everything he did. 

Clicking on the video you were immediately flooded with red hot embarrassment. Your own moans matched the girl who previously annoyed you. Satoru’s chest came into frame for a second before he laid the phone flat on the bed, giving a perfect angle of your weeping pussy and the even wetter man behind you. 

“So pretty baby, can’t believe how good this cunt tastes.” Velvety rich words flow out of the speakers making your core ache. You could feel heat rising to your fingertips and down to your toes, arousal blooming. As time went on, slick seemed to pour out of you as if your pussy remembered the way Satoru took care of her. Moans fell from your lips in breathy huffs followed by the broken syllables of Satoru staining the air. Caught in your own world, you fail to hear the jingle of keys unlocking the front door you roommate insists on being locked. Something about “pretty girls like you are taken advantage of all the time.”

His soothing voice calling out to you informing of his arrival home falling on deaf ears. Heavy footsteps make their way to the start of the hallway before he freezes, ears perking up. 

“Fu~ck! ‘Toru..” Muffled high pitched whimpers bounce off the walls from your room. A tent growing impossibly fast from Satoru cultivating a mental image of what’s going on behind your door. How lucky was he to come home in time to get a glimpse of the perverted things you do behind doors, there was no way he’d pass this up. 

There were many ways for Satoru to go about this. He could either 

A. Interrupt your little party and embarrass you 

or 

B. Let you embarrass yourself. 

He decided to go with B. 

Of course. Who would he be if he didn’t indulge himself in a harmless tease?

So despite his cock aching underneath his uniform, he knew the look on your face would be worth a little discomfort. A small smile plays on Satoru’s lips as he makes his way into the bathroom, turning the shower on and stripping down. If he was going to embarrass you then he’d pull out every weakness he had against you. 

Back in your room, you’d finally reached an orgasm. Legs shaking while your eyes drew back towards your skull with how hard sparks tingled against your bones. Ragged breaths heated the cool air of your room while you regained your composure. Slipping off of your bed and reaching for a pair of shorts you had previously discarded, you finally heard the water running in the bathroom. 

Your eyes widened at the thought of Satoru coming home and possibly hearing you. It takes a few seconds before you conjure enough courage to step into the hall and make your way into the kitchen. 

Attempting to push away the horrifying thoughts of being heard, you open the fridge doors and rummage for something to drink. 

Satoru steps into the kitchen with a slightly damp towel hanging loosely on his shoulders and a pair of black shorts on. He smelt strongly of his soap, delicious herbal musk with hints of saccharine notes. Strands of wet hair curled nicely against his head while his undercut peaked through softly. 

“Oh hey!” 

You jump at his sudden chirp of voice, spinning to see a beautiful grin on his features. Swallowing thickly you move to lean against the island separating you two. “Hey. When did you get home?” 

Internally you wanted to cringe at how stupid you sounded, quite the opposite to Satoru who was beaming so bright you swore you could see light seeping through his pores. “A few minutes ago. Yaga let me leave early after dealing with a couple curses and bratty kids.” 

Nodding along, you take a swig of the cold water you fished from the fridge. The conversation dies as Satoru makes his way behind you, mimicking your earlier actions and finding something to drink. Your heart beat lurched against their confines beneath your ribs so hard it felt as though you might burst.

Before you get the opportunity to turn around, Satoru pressed his chest against your back. His legs finding their way between your own while he slots his chin on your shoulder, lips brushing against the sensitive skin below your ear. His hands press against the fatty part of your hips as they slowly squish into the countertop, hinging so that your face is flush with the cool marble below. 

“S-Satoru?” 

The man pecks gentle kisses down the column of your throat, leaning in with his hips to press his erection against your ass. “Is this what you imagined?”

Quiet whines float up into Satoru’s ears. Your elbows bend softly to keep yourself upright against the island. The air is dizzy between you, Satoru’s strong smell offering a familiar comfort you cling to in the tense moment. 

“What?”

Low rumbles of laughter erupt from behind you. “Don’t play dumb with me baby, you know exactly what I’m talking about.” His lips latch on to a few spots on your neck leaving blooming bruises in their wake. 

Humiliation was all you could feel. Unadulterated humiliation and…arousal. Satoru was so warm pressed against you it was impossible for you not to rut back against him. The thin fabric of your shorts did nothing to block his prying hands. All it took was a tug or two and you felt the clothing item slip down your legs. 

“Don’t be embarrassed,” two thick fingers slip against your slit, teasing the already puffy hole. “You sounded so beautiful. The way you said my name would make any man go crazy.” 

Filthy squelch’s echo in the kitchen from where Satoru plays with your gooey folds. His abs flex against your clothed back, the older tshirt doing nothing to deter his advances. Any other time than now you would appreciate how strong your roommate was, all rippling muscles completely at your disposal. From your low lying position on the counter you can’t see any of Satoru’s actions, only feel them. 

Squeezing a clammy hand against your mouth, whatever schoolgirlish whine or moan that threatens to come out is muffled quickly. Sinking a long digit past the swabs of slick dripping down your thighs, Satoru can’t help but push the shirt he’d given you up your waist to expose more of your eager body below. “Why aren’t you speaking baby? You’ve got such a sharp tongue until I’m knuckle deep in your pussy.” 

Shaking your head, you can’t help but push back onto the wall of man behind you. Your pussy is still sensitive from the last orgasm so any touch is amplified. “It’s embarrassing! Just..stop talking.” 

A loud “tch” rings in your ears. “Embarrassing? Awe, how come?” 

Satoru slips another finger past your gummy ring of muscles, scissoring the two digits in a slow deep rhythm that has you leaning forward in an attempt to find a way for his fingers to plunge further within you. 

“Toru please! Don’t start with the teasing like last time. If you’re going to fuck me then do it already!” Your words come out in a shrill breathy whine. To be completely honest you’re not sure if you’d be able to take Satoru’s incessant teasing once more. Here you were, stretched over the kitchen counter while you gushed over your roommate's fingers and all he could do is act like a dickhead! 

Your pleas are music to his ears. 

You feel his touch slip away from your lower body, instead being used to push his own shorts down. Low groans vibrate in your shoulder from where Satoru latches onto the soft skin for an anchor. You might be needier, but Satour was right there with you. Craning your neck to look back, your met with a core achingly intimidating sight. 

He was huge. Both in length and sheer girth. Breaths get stuck in your throat when you feel his cockhead nudging at your clit in rough pumps, the bulbous tip hard against your red puffy lips. You wiggle your hips the best you can in this situation, toes barely skimming the cool wood floor of the kitchen. 

Inch by girthy inch, your pussy is fed with Satoru’s cock. “Oohh fuck baby, I haven’t even put it all in and your already clamping down on me.” Softly he slides his body against yours, leaning down to trail sloppy kisses mixed with nips over the curve of your shoulder. 

A deliciously burning sensation tingles as each thrust of Satoru’s hips pull gasps out of you. You’ve never been this full, ever. Finding a grip on the counter was a struggle. Each relentless slam of Satoru’s hips leave your body jerking forward, dragging your pebbled nipples against the sealed surface. “Feels like y’r gonna tear me apart ‘toru! Sl-ah! Slow down!” 

Satoru’s hips slap against your ass in unforgiving waves. The spongy spot buried deep in your cunt getting abused with each bite from his leaky tip. “Slow down?” Moving one of his hands down between your legs, his fingers latch onto your clit and roll the nub around between the pads of his finger tips. 

“No, I don’t think so baby. Remember that you -ngh-asked me for this.” A shit eating grin forms on Satoru’s perfectly straight teeth. A pack of wild horses could stampede through the kitchen and it still wouldn’t deter Satoru from fucking you silly on his cock. For months, uh uh fuck that, YEARS, this man has minded his manners and let you go about your sad relationships. Now that you were right where he wanted you there was a better chance of hell freezing over than him letting you tap out. 

The longer you struggle to find a grip on the counter, the harder Satoru’s thrust become. Like some pussydrunk teenager he becomes absolutely ruined by the sight of your ass jiggling against him. With each passing moment you can feel an orgasm building ferociously in your belly, that same spot you swear the male behind you fucks into. “Pl-please ‘toru. Not like this.” 

Luckily for you, he knew exactly what you meant. Pulling out of our your fucked out cunt, Satoru pulls you into him for support. Carefully he lifts you up until your back is stuck to the counter and he can wrap your ankles around his waist. “That what you want baby? Hmm?” Stars dance behind your eyes as the slippery feeling of Satoru’s dick realigns itself between your pussylips one more time. Leaning down to kiss you, the older man locks your lips with his in a strangely soft kiss while he spreads your walls apart. 

Lewd squelches erupt between your legs, louder now than before. Your previously shy orgasm is now raging through your muscles before you get a chance to say anything. Stark white blinds you as Satoru swallows whatever sounds arise from your throat, his hands hold your hips down on the marble to keep you in place as he chases a high of his own 

“S’toru! I-” 

“Shh I know baby, m’ right here. Give it to me pretty.” 

Wave after wave of euphoric pleasure crash over the two of you, bodies melded together with the sticky sap like slick from your pussy mixed with sweat. The world falls away around you for the entirety of your come down. Satoru being the only thing keeping you tethered to the world and him wanting nothing short of that role. 

Heavy pants mix together in hot breaths that fan over your chest like a warm blanket. Satoru pulls his achy cock away from the gluey entrapment between your legs causing a small pout to force its way onto your face. He giggles cutely, leaning down to peck a kiss on your damp forehead before searching for both of your clothes. Before he can put your shorts on he takes a rather long look between your legs, a mixture of both yours and his cum leaking down onto the counter; pooling. 

Without another thought Satoru reaches into his shorts pocket to pull his phone out, snapping a picture for safe keeping. “Think the neighbors heard?”

“Shut up and help me get clean. This is so gross I don’t think I can ever eat off the counter again.”

[ihavethedreamies]

Thirsty | S.Coups [NSFW] (2)

Choi Seungcheol (S.Coups - Seventeen)

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~3.8k

Pairing: S.Coups x AFAB!Reader

Genre: Sci-Fi AU!, Reader-Insert, Smut, Even Less Plot, Sequel but just Filth

!!This is smut…if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, Pet Names (Doll, Princess, Pumpkin, etc.), Daddy Kink (its required), Swearing, Kissing, Oral (M! & F! Receiving), Facefucking, Deepthroating, Spanks (two), Car(?) Sex, Table Sex, Hot Tub Sex, Anal, Double-Penetration (Surprise~!) Soft Dom! S.Coups, Unprotected Sex (Use a condom!), He's still got some ~fancy~ tattoos ;)

Author's Note: So...I got this request. Anyway, this is a sequel to Oasis, which is S.Coups's part for my Seventeen Sci-Fi series, but you don't really need to read it first since the plot doesn't matter and there is even less plot here.

~Part 1~

-> Series Hub <-

-> Hoshi's <-

-> Woozi's <-

-> Wonwoo's <-

I am cross-posting this on Archive. Please reblog! Share, even if its to the other sites! Let me know if you want to be on the taglist!

“I’m not a piece of candy, doll.” Seungcheol huffs, looking down at you kneeling between his legs. His much fancier rover has enough leg room for him to drive comfortably while you sit on the floor between his legs, sucking his cock like it’s giving you life. You glance up at him with a bored look, swirling your tongue around the head of his cock, then descend again. You have to use both hands to cover the rest of his length even when he hits the back of your throat, and you wish you were at a better angle that you could get him down your throat. Alas, you have to just suck what you can and you’re making more noise than him. You’d learned last night that he had the stamina of a work ox, and you’ve been slobbering over his cock for nearly 30 minutes, and he still hadn’t even come close to cumming. You grunt, pulling off with a pop, drool dripping down your chin and his cock.

“Are you using your weird sensory tattoo thing to last so long?”

“No, hon.”

“Am I not good at it?”

“You’re really good, why?”

“You still haven’t cum!” He chuckles lowly at your frustrated whine, one hand leaving the steering wheel to rest on your head, fingers running through your hair.

“You want me to cum that badly?”

“Yes!” He shifts to sit a bit lower in his seat, using the panel to maintain speed rather than the pedals and plants his feet on the ground.

“You gag easily?”

“Nope~” You giggle as he leads you back to his messy cock and you suck him back into your mouth, shifting your own position so you’re at a better angle, already knowing his plan. You grip the edge of the rover seat and his hand in your hair tightens pushing your down further, his cock sliding into your throat. You gag very, very softly, he’s much thicker than anyone else you’ve taken, longer too. You breath harshly through your nose, the rush of air stopped as he sinks deeper and you whimper around his cock, making him groan.

“Oh you really are so good for me, pumpkin~” He huffs, chuckling lowly as your nose presses to his groin, and you swallow over and over to fight gagging, your cunt clenching around nothing. You follow the guiding of his hand in your hair, and he thrusts, starting to fuck your face, making sure not to cut off your air too much, but every time he buries his fat cock down your throat, your cunt spasms, desperate to be filled as well. You whine pathetically, a mixture of saliva and his pre slathered over your face and his thighs and you’re glad you had pulled his pants down earlier instead of just opening them, because they’d be a mess.

“You like how daddy tastes, don’t you?” You hum in the affirmative, your head swimming and you barely register the swirling tattoos on the skin of his legs starting to glow. The swimming in your head goes away, but your other senses dull, the taste of his leaking cock in your mouth sharpening and your cunt feels like it lights on fire. He shoves one of his feet between your legs and you instinctively grind against his boot, the seam of your thin leather leggings perfectly hitting your clit. Your desperate need for air softens and the slight soreness of your throat heats to a numb point as he continues to batter his cock down your gullet.

“Fuck, hold on, just-“ His groan is so deep it rumbles through you and he presses your head down, deep in your throat and he cums. Your hips rolling to help your needy cunt grind against his boot stutter as your orgasm hits you as well, swallowing all of his hot cum eagerly, moaning as you do. Finally, like you’re just pulled out of nearly drowning, he pulls his cock out of your mouth, and you desperately heave for air, your senses returning to normal.

“You’re such a good girl.” He smirks, thumb brushing over your lip and gathering the sticky fluid and you suck it off his digit when he presses it into your mouth.

~

You and Seungcheol stop to eat lunch in a small outpost about an hour outside of the capital. When you get back to the rover afterwards, you both sit for maybe about thirty seconds before he turns the window tint all the way up, blocking view of the interior and hauling you into the back seat. You straddle his lap, moaning as he kisses you, his large hands running down from your waist to your ass, gripping the flesh through your leggings. Your fingers weave into his hair, tilting his head to get a better angle as his tongue slips into your mouth. When you both pull back for air, he scoffs.

“I’m buying you a skirt to wear just so I can get to your cunt easier.” His hands leave your ass, sliding back up and then down again, his hands going into your leggings to reach your bare skin underneath.

“How ‘bout I just don’t wear pants in the rover~?”

“I think that’s just perfect~” His smirk might just be the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen. While trying to focus on his next kiss, you lift your leg to get your boot off and then you squeak when he tosses you onto the seat, climbing over you. He helps you get your pants mostly off, the garment still hanging on where it’s tucked into your below-the-knee boot. You hadn’t put on panties before you guys left the hotel since you couldn’t find them, he claimed to know nothing about that- He gets his pants open and shoved down just enough and his strong hands on your inner thighs lead you to spread them further and your back arches, breath hitching as he sinks his cock into your soaking cunt. Your pussy spasms, burning slightly from the sudden stretch and your eyes roll back when he snaps his hips to get the rest of his length inside, his groin meeting yours. He gives you maybe thirty-seconds to get used to him before he’s fucking you so hard the rover lets out a ding, warning of a possible ground disturbance.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck-!” Your body jerks as he swiftly brings you to orgasm, his huge cock barreling through it, carving his shape into you over and over, and you know for damn sure your body is going to get addicted to his dick inside of it.

“Oh, you’re sweet little pussy just loves hugging my cock, hm~?” Seungcheol chuckles, grinning like an idiot as he watches your folds struggle around him, a thick sheen of your wet coating his cock, nearly frothing at how hard he’s railing you.

“D-Daddy, you’re gonna break me~!” You practically squeal, drool spilling from the corners of your mouth, eyes watering as he smashes through your second orgasm.

“I sure am, pumpkin~ Daddy’s gonna ruin your body from ever wanting anyone else.” His next chuckle is much lower than before, grunts lacing his words. You can feel his cock pulse harder, and his thrusts get a bit unsteady the closer he gets. You have just enough mental capacity to wrap your legs around his waist, holding him in, needing his hot cum to fill you up.

“Cum with me, doll, cum with me~” His thumb goes to your already slightly stinging clit and with one last battering thrust, he roars out a groan, painting your core white. You’re thrown over the edge as well, nearly screaming out, eyes crossing as your cunt squirts out nearly as much as he’s filling you with.

~

When you leave the treasurer’s office at the Assembly building, he looks up from where he was waiting in the lobby. You’re staring blankly at the holo-chip they had given you with the payment for the huge diamond you had found. They recommended you immediately deposit it at the bank so as not to risk it getting taken.

“(Y/N)?” You stop next to him, still looking at it. You only look up at him when the lifts your head up with his crooked finger under your chin.

“Was it not worth much?”

“T-they just gave me… 200 million credits…” Seungcheol’s eyes widen at that.

“Seriously?”

“T-they said it wasn’t from S.V.T and so…it’s super-super valuable because almost all of the diamonds here are tiny.”

“Are you okay?”

“I…I could by my entire hometown with this and more…”

“Overwhelmed?”

“Yes…”

~

You decide to celebrate by booking the nicest room in the fanciest hotel of the capital…after you deposited the funds. When you brought the holo-chip into the bank, the system immediately noted it as fraudulent despite the official Assembly signature on the chip and the poor teller had to call her manager over, and then he had to call the president of the bank to call the governor to get the right code for the system to allow the deposit. The second thing you did – the hotel was third – was send 500k of it straight to your family. You honestly might have done more, but you didn’t want to overwhelm the little bank in your hometown as well and it was more than enough for them to not just pay off any debts, but your dad could even retire. You always told your mother that your scavenging would pay off, but you had no idea to this level.

“Woah…” You look around in awe as you and Seungcheol enter the suite you booked, the entire building was made with white marble, or it at least appeared that way, and the entire room had gold accents.

“Is it everything you hoped and dreamed?” He huffs a laugh, and you nod, jumping giddily.

“This is so fancy~!” He laughs harder, shaking his head at your excitement, finding it adorable. You then turn to him with a mischievous grin.

“Let’s order then entire room service menu~”

~

And so you did. When all the food arrived, you were actually glad that you did. It was so many different dishes, but because it was fancy food, the portions were…tiny. Just doing what you did blew through 50k credits, but in a lot of way it was worth it. You got to try so many things you’d never had the chance to before, some of it you’d never even heard of and Seungcheol had to explain to you what it all was.

When you’ve both finished all you could, leftovers put in the fridge of the full kitchen of the suite, you both look over all of the plates and platters on the table. You then watch him pull the tablecloth to the end of the table, pulling all the dishes along with it and you squeak when he leads you the edge and bends you over it. You’d barely register what happened before your leggings are shoved down once more and his fat cock is back inside you. At that angle, he manages to get as deep as he could, and the dishes and cutlery clatter as the table shakes as he starts to fuck you silly once again. He leans forward, hands on the table by your head holding him up, his thrusts getting very shallow but just as hard. You gasp with each little movement, the head of his dick rubbing over your weak spot over and over and your orgasm is already rising.

“C-Cheol-!” You nearly squeal out a moan when his hand smacks your right ass cheek, then his fingers grip hard into the flesh.

“What’d you call me?” The low tone of his voice makes your cunt clench around him tighter, your thighs twitching.

“S-Sorry, daddy-“ Your fingers scramble for purchase on the table, your pulse whooshing in your ears and it feels like you’re lower half is on fire. He suddenly pulls out and you cry out in protest, but then he’s kneeling behind you, arms wrapping around your thighs and his tongue is wiggling into your cunt.

“Fuck~!” You giggle, nearly delirious as he eats you out as if he hadn’t just had a full seven-course meal. He swipes his tongue through your folds, then sucks on your clit, drinking from you as you cum, squirting out release all over his face which he eagerly drinks. You barely have caught your breath when he stands and grabs your arms, pulling you off the table and forcing you to your knees in front of him, his hard cock right in front of your face, a mess from his pre and your own release. You don’t even wait for his direction, opening your mouth wide, obediently. He smirks and his fingers weave into your hair and he slides his dick into your mouth, and you eagerly suck on the head, inhaling through your nose right before he starts to get deeper. Your throat is still a bite sore from when he fucked your throat not even 24 hours ago, but you can’t help but moan at the feeling and taste of him in your mouth.

“Swallow it all, just like that~” He groans as he fills your throat with his cock and your fingers dig hard into the carpet under you as he cums down your throat, over and over. As he pulls out, you suck to clean him off, breathing hard once his half-softened length leaves your mouth.

~

“I-Is it safe?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Couldn’t it…burn?

“Does it burn your skin?”

“No…”

“Then why would it burn inside?”

You sigh, realizing he was right. For some reason, you were hesitant to get in the hot tub since you knew it would likely lead to more. You’d heard of people having sex in a tub, but this seemed…dangerous. Though, the more you talked to him about it, the less you believed it could cause harm, and the more stupid you felt.

“Just get in (Y/N).” Seungcheol huffs a laugh, and you carefully put your foot into the bubbling heated water and it’s not too hot like you worried, so you get in. You sit on the little bench built into the wall of the hot tub and you watch as he gets in as well.

“I’m glad they were able to get us swimsuits.” You luckily could have the hotel bring you guys swimwear, because you later wanted to use the pool, but you obviously had to do that covered since it was public.

“I understand for the pool, but we’ve definitely seen each other naked… Wait, did you want to wear a swimsuit in here because you worried about burning your pussy?” He grins, trying to fight actual laughter and you blush with a huff.

“Yes, okay!?”

“Why are you over there?” He nods to where you sit diagonal to him.

“Where-“

“My lap, pumpkin.” Oh. You blush in a bit of embarrassment again but get up and he pulls you over to him and down onto his lap, facing him.

“Much better~” You wrap your arms around his neck and his fingers go into your hair and yanks your head back and you whimper as he starts to leave open-mouthed kisses against your throat, and you shudder when he licks a stripe from your collar bone up to under your ear. You can feel his cock already getting hard, only the thin barrier of your swim bottoms separating you two.

“You’re an absolute angel, you know? Taking my cock over and over again, in any way I want.” Seungcheol chuckles when you nod in agreement and his hand leaves your hair, moving to join the other to palm at your ass. He pulls you down so he can grind his growing hard-on against your covered cunt, making you both moan softly. You bring your hands down to the fly of his swim trunks, getting it undone so you can pull his cock out. Lifting your hips, you move the thin strip of fabric of your bikini bottom to the side and start to sink down his length. Despite being in the water, you were no less wet, the thick release clinging to your gummy walls helps you take him inside once again. The angle difference lets the head hit you at a new pleasure point he hadn’t yet found, and he grunts when his cock bottoms out inside of you.

“You’re still so fucking tight.” He hums and you twitch, still trying to get used to him inside, gummy walls fluttering despite taking him so many times.

“Cuz you’re so fucking big.” You huff and he chuckles, letting you get accustomed to his fat cock splitting you in half once again.

“Maybe you’re just small?” His hands on your ass pull you down so he grinds up into you and you gasp, the wind getting knocked out of you at the sudden sharp increase in pleasure. He was so deep, you would swear he was in your stomach-

“AH?!” You nearly scream when he starts to thrust up, the bubbling water sloshing further at the movement and your eyes roll back, nearly going limp. He wraps his arms around you better so you don’t splash back into the water, not slowing his thrusts, rearranging your insides and you can’t get enough.

“F-fuck, daddy~!” You squeal, your entire body twitching as he fucks you through your first orgasm of the session. His hand goes back to your hair, weaving into the stands and twisting the lock around his fist, pulling your head back to expose your throat for him again. He seals his lips around your throat, sucking hard, the slight pressure on your windpipe makes your head swim and cunt clench. He groans, the noise rumbling straight to your head from where he’s attached to you, working the skin to leave a big hickey right where you couldn’t hide it. You gasp when he suddenly lifts you off of him and before you can protest, he bends you over the side of the hot tub. You whimper when he ruts his hot, messy cock between your ass-cheeks.

“You ever been fucked here, pumpkin?” He spreads your cheeks, his cock rubbing directly over your pucker.

“O-Once, b-but I’m not prepared-“

“Don’t worry, daddy’ll take care of you~” Seungcheol pulls back just enough for the head of his dick to press against your rim and you immediately tense. You feel his cyber-tattoos flare to life and your lower half gets hot, especially right where his cock is bumping.

“Breathe in, princess.” He prompts and you do, forcing yourself to control your breathing as the head of his cock starts to press in. The searing burn is not accompanied by the pain you anticipated, the tattoos working perfectly, dulling your nerves and only leaving you with pleasure. Still, it doesn’t change the fact that his dick is fucking into your ass, and your body forces all of your air out in slight shock.

“Breathe…” He coaches and you try and relax, your cunt spasming around nothing, your slick and his pre coating his cock allowing and easier glide. When he bottoms out, he lets you catch your breath, groaning at the intense vice, even tighter than your cunt. After about a minute, he pulls back, the obscene squelching noise is nearly drowned out by the rolling water of the hot tub and your fingers white-knuckle the edge of the tub, trying to level your breathing. Seungcheol snaps his hips and your cunt spasms, your brain still trying to register the intense sensation of him in your back hole.

“Ready?”

“Y-Yes, just-“

“I won’t go too hard, pumpkin.” He assures, then his fingers are weaving back into your hair, holding your front half down as he starts. Soon, he picks up the pace and you swear loudly, cheek pressed to the edge of the hot tub, drool pooling from the corner of your mouth as he fucks your ass, rubbing your weak spot through your inner wall. It’s intense, but feels so good that your brain can’t register what’s really even happening.

“W-Wha-?!” You let out a choking noise when your wind is knocked out of you again, what feels like a second hot dick starting to spread your cunt open. It’s different though, and you can tell its his tattoos somehow. You can’t see it, but a red holographic copy of his dick forms inside your cunt, immediately spurring you into an orgasm, slick spurting out of your cunt and he chuckles lowly. The second dick he’s spawned fucks into you at the same time as his actual cock and all thoughts fizzle out of your head. Seungcheol looks down at you, face red, eyes hazy, you’re completely fucked out, squeaking with each thrust.

“You’re so good for daddy, princess-“ He gasps out, then huffs a laugh as your walls spasming as you cum again, the praise somehow cutting through the fog in your mind and hitting you right in the core.

“I’m gonna cum in your ass, doll, and you’re gonna take it good, yeah~?” You moan out something positive sounding and you nearly black out when he buries in deep and cums. Your insides catch on fire, despite only having the holo-dick in your cunt, it feels like he’s filling you up there too. You’re fading as he pulls out, barely registering him lifting you up into his arms before you fall asleep.

~

You don’t wake until morning, sleeping nearly thirteen hours after the marathon sex-day you had with Seungcheol. You blink, trying to register where you are and then remember you booked such a fancy hotel room. You’re laying on your stomach, probably a good thing since your ass is so sore, and you turn your head to face the other way. Seungcheol is still asleep, the covers resting against his stomach, showing off his bare chest. Your eyes travel down a bit lower, grinning when you see the tent in the comforter. While your cunt is far too sore to take him again so soon, your mouth sure isn’t. With a soft groan at your sore muscles, you wiggle under the covers and between his legs. You can feel the weight of the comforter on your head as you wrap your hands around his cock, and it quickly gets to full hardness. He groans softly but you don’t bother to worry if you woke him or not, sealing your mouth around the head, tongue swirling, then you descend. Humming at his taste, you can even taste the faint bitterness from the soap he most likely used in the shower. As you bob your head, you don’t even startle when you feel the comforted lifted, the slightly cooler air of the room hitting you as he removes it, looking down at you amused.

“I thought I told you before, I’m not a piece of candy~”

-> Series Hub <-

Master-Master List

Seventeen Master List

Taglist: @gaslysainz

[dinkerr]

rockstar vi touching herself to playboy model reader ♡

warnings: this is kind of part 2 to my first one, masturbation, fingering, brief mention of alcohol, vi is a loser, rec from anon, this is absolute ass and very short i'm sorry, i wrote this while sitting in the waiting room at the eye doctor, that's it i think.

｡･ﾟ･♡･ﾟ･｡ vi can't stop thinking about when she had the fortune association of meeting you. you're burned into her head like a branding, the image of how you looked that night, how you talked and carried yourself- she misses the taste of you when you were in that bathroom stall with her and holyfuckyou'renotreturninghercalls.

a brand new playboy magazine with you plasterered on the front cover had just come out and of course she bought it like a horny teenage boy as soon as she heard about it after playing a show. the famous rockstar herself wasn't even amusing the thought of what it'd look like if her fanbase saw her buying a porn magazine the same hour it came out. she just needed you.

she layed on her old leather couch the moment she got back to her apartment, limbs sprawled over it with empty bottles of alcohol on the coffee table in front of it. she was mindlessly flipping through the thin pages of the magazine, eyes boring into each image and deciding if it was worthy or not with the only true thought running through her head was seeing you.

her moans are mixed with the sound of nightime in la when she sees you after another flip of a page- the distant sounds of police sirens and cars honking and people walking on the cold streets the moment she flips a page and brings her free hand to quickly unzip her jeans and rub lazy circles on her clit.

you're on your knees, your bare ass in the air with your elbows propping you up, your only prop is your hair and the cherry red telephone you're holding to your ear.

she sees your familiar eyes on paper looking into hers like they did when the gleam of the blue lighting radiated down on the two of you when she met you in the same club she's been going back to every night ever since you haven't been returning her calls.

it's like you're taunting her, like you asked to hold a telephone and to look into the camera lense because you just knew that she'd see this, like you knew that she'd be touching herself to you.

she threw her head back on the armrest of the old leather while her eyes focused on your tits that were barely visible, instinctively spreading her legs apart almost as if you were there between them. she moans and her hole clenches around nothing at the thought, and all she can do is slip her fingers inside her and pump them as quick as possible.

the familiar sound of her pussy squelching and her moans filled her ears with her eyes focused on you, and they never had any plans of leaving whatsoever. she wants you to fuck her backstage before and after every show, to watch your tits bounce and hands grip at her biceps to stabilise yourself.

her back arched off her couch and her eyes roll to the back of her head at the thought, her heart shaped lips open in a moan when she pumps her fingers faster and her cum stains the inside of her jeans. she fucks herself through it, pretending it's you who's doing so. she's had sex with you before, right? she's not creepy for pretending you're fucking her when she looks at naked pictures of you.

later, she's walking through her apartment to reticently reach for the phone to call you for what felt like the most repeated thing she's done this week.

she hears the phone beep before it stops, her heart skipping like a loser at the realisation that you've answered.

"hi." she says over the phone, her voice sounding more sad than she'd ever like. "you haven't been answering my calls."

"i know, i'm sorry i ditched you. going to cancun for work." you explained.

"without me?"

"you can't come. it's for my work."

"i'll see you there. my and my buddies will find you." she spoke, and she knows you know who she is now. she knows you know that you're stuck with her.

[sprnklersplashes]

five times telemachus sleeps in his parents' bed (ao3)

buy me a coffee!

Telemachus won’t even remember this. He is mere months old, and outside his palace his city is preparing for war. The kitchen table is weighted down by his father’s things, swords and daggers, a travelling cloak and provisions, stacks of paper for the letters he will write home. The air is heavy with grief for what it is to come, but Telemachus knows nothing about this. All he knows is that Father lifted him from his cradle and is taking him down the hall, pulling faces and babbling so that his little laugh fills the palace. He knows that his father loves him more than anything.

“Odysseus,” Penelope sighs. “You need to let him sleep in the crib. The midwife says he should learn to sleep on his own.”

“Let me have this.” He eases himself into the bed, shifting Telemachus from his hip to his stomach. “When I return he may not be in the crib anymore.”

“Odysseus-” 

Telemachus babbles and reaches forward, fascinated by his father’s beard and oblivious to the admission he let slip. Odysseus kisses the boy’s tiny hand, his heart already aching. To think that he’s had so little time with his son, and now has to leave because…

It’s not your place to question, a voice whispers. He can’t tell if it’s himself or Athena.

To his side, the sheets rustle and Penelope’s head comes to rest on his shoulder, her leg slipping between and tangling with his. If he only could, he would stay in this moment forever. His boy on his belly, his love by his side. It’s why he cannot say no; if anyone touched either of them, Odysseus would make the world burn to get them back. There is no bliss like this. 

“You be a good boy for your mama while I’m gone, all right?” he asks him. “And when I return, I’m going to teach you all manner of things. We’re going to go hunting and I’ll teach you to shoot and we’ll go sailing and oh, wait until Athena meets you properly. She will love you. She’s going to train you like she trained me.”

I did not agree to that her voice booms in his head, but for once he waves her off. Telemachus gurgles, kicking his feet with delight as he kisses him and that is all that matters. 

They lie there for some time, sitting in tender silence, until Telemachus’ eyes begin to droop. He blinks and rubs them and sways like a tiny flower caught in the breeze. Odysseus lowers him slowly, so he lies flat against his chest. His heart beats against the tiny body; a special melody to lull him to sleep.

“I almost don’t want him to go sleep,” he whispers. “I don’t want him to close his eyes and wake up without me here.”

“I know.” Penelope runs her feather-light finger up Telemachus’ back. Unlike Odysseus, she doesn’t hide her anger. She might not speak it aloud, because she has common sense, but he can feel it coming from her. And hell has no fury like his wife scorned. 

It is almost enough to make him stay.

Odysseus kisses her head. He doesn’t mention the tears running down her face, nor the ones gathering in his own eyes. Right now, he is here, and he has promised to return.

It will have to be enough.

2

It takes him a while to knock on the door. His cheeks burn, half-hidden behind his hands. Part of him wishes to run back to bed, to hide under the covers and pretend like nothing happened. But the palace is different at night, the corridors are longer and cast in shadow, and the silence is suffocating. Telemachus doesn’t know which steps he should take, if monsters lurk around the corners he passes so freely during the day. 

“Tel? Sweet boy, why aren’t you in bed?”

Telemachus looks up. Mama stands over him, hair messy and eyes heavy. He opens his mouth, only to give nothing but a feeble croak. The words he has learned over the past four years desert him in less than a second.

Luckily, Mama knows. She lowers down until she is his height and in no time sees the soiled nightshirt. Telemachus whimpers, a feeling he can’t yet name gripping him, and before he knows it his face is screwing up and his whole body is hot and tears are running like rivers down his cheeks. 

Mama pulls him close and lets him rest his head on her shoulder.

“It’s all right, sweet boy,” she tells him. “It happens. It happens, it’s all right. Let’s get you cleaned up now, mm?” She pats his back. “It’s all right.”

Telemachus keeps his head buried as they make their way to the washroom. The monsters don’t come after Mama, but he doesn’t want to look up in case one finds him and comes into his room later. 

Fear strikes him, sharp and sudden, and his sobs build.

“It’s all right, Tel. Mama’s got you.”

In the washroom, she doesn’t bother calling for a servant. Instead, it’s her who washes his legs with warm water and soap that smells like honey. It is Mama who places his damp nightclothes in the basket and pulls fresh ones from the cupboard. It is Mama who wipes his tears and kisses his head and braves the monsters to walk back to their chambers. Telemachus wishes he could be like her, he could be brave and strong and walk back to his chambers alone, but he can’t. He doesn’t know how to be brave yet, and part of him worries he will never learn. 

“Now, my boy,” Mama whispers. “Why don’t you sleep in my bed tonight, mm?” She smooths his hair away from his face. “Just in case there’s any more accidents.”

Telemachus nods, and when Mama wraps him in her covers and cuddles him, he forgets about the monsters outside. 

3

Telemachus has never liked storms. Not when he was a child, not when he was a baby according to his mother, and certainly not at 10. The problem is, he is the man of the house until Father comes home, and the man of the house cannot be running away from storms. He cannot be huddled beneath his covers with his hands clamped over his ears because he does not like the thunder.

He should not be shrieking when the covers are pulled from his head by his mother.

“Telemachus,” she sighs. “What on Earth are you doing?”

“I was asleep,” he protests. He doesn’t know why he continues trying to lie to his mother, not when he has been caught out every time, but he does. One day it has to work, doesn’t it?

Mother sighs, sits on the bed, and rubs his back.

“Come and sleep in my room tonight.”

“No,” he says. “I-I’m fine. I can sleep on my own.”

“Tel-”

“I’m not scared,” he insists, just as another thunderclap booms overhead. Telemachus jumps before he can stop himself, and his mother’s reaction is equal parts concern for him and equal parts ‘I told you so’.

In response, Telemachus can just scowl, not even sure who he is angry with. 

“Well, I am scared,” she says. Telemachus shakes his head; he knows Mother is not afraid of anything. “No Tel, I really am. I hate storms.” She shudders and whimpers as she peers outside the window. “And I keep thinking if only I had a big strong man in my rooms to keep me safe.”

“The guards are there,” he responds. But a smile tugs on his lips.

“Oh, them!” she scoffs. “They’re good, but I wish I had a proper hero to keep me safe until the storm passes.” She puffs out her cheeks and fixes Telemachus with her most pleading eyes. He buries his face in his pillow. “But, if I can’t have that, I shall have to return to my rooms.” She gets up. “Alone.” She steps towards the door. “Afraid.” Another step. Telemachus bites his lip to keep the giggles inside. “And sad-”

“Wait!” He jumps from the bed, breathless. “Maybe I should come with you. To keep you safe.”

“Oh Telemachus!” She touches her hand to her chest, eyes brighter than the stars. “You would do that for me?”

“Of course I would.” He strides up to her and takes her hand. “I am the man of the house now.”

Mother squeezes his hand, a slight hitch in her breath.

“Yes you are, my little prince.”

With a newfound energy, Telemachus surges into his mother’s room, wasting no time nestling in the blankets. Mother rolls her eyes as she discards her cloak and climbs in beside him, more grace any all the nymphs put together. She lets Telemachus have the whole other side of the bed and when she settles he grabs her hand, his heart thump-thump-thumping like a canon. 

“Tell me a story. Please.”

“Which one?”

He pretends to think, but there is only ever one answer.

“One of Father’s,” he says. “Oh! Tell me the one about Athena’s magic boar!”

“You’ve heard that one fifty times, Telemachus.”

“Please,” he insists, bordering on whining. Definitely not how the man of the house behaves, but at present he is just a boy in his mother’s bedroom. So he can get away with it.

“All right,” she says. Telemachus grins and wriggles into her lap. Stroking his hair, his mother begins the story, of how his father was out exploring with a patrol when he came across a boar in the woods. His friends wanted to move on, but Father knew something was different about the boar, something in the way the fur glowed…

As Telemachus listens, Mother’s voice drowns out the storm outside. He fights the sleep taking over him until his Father becomes Athena’s warrior of the mind. Mother was right, he has heard this story so many times, but he never gets tired of it. To know his father is one of Athena’s chosen warriors, known throughout Greece. Powerful, clever, courageous. 

Definitely not afraid of some wind.

4

He is fifteen when the suitors start arriving. 

He doesn’t like them, and no, it’s not just because they aren’t his father. It’s not because they call him small, or that they sneer at him when his mother’s back is turned, or that despite him standing at his mother’s side they act like he’s not even there. It’s nothing he hasn’t faced before; he’s spent his life pretending he doesn’t hear the whispers, the constant comparisons to his father and how he is all the things Telemachus isn’t. He can handle it.

It’s the way they look at his mother. It’s the way they move close and closer and that Telemachus’ presence does nothing to deter them. Their hands on hers at dinner, their greedy eyes roaming everywhere except her face. It’s the way their teeth clench, when she tells them she hasn’t made a decision, that she is still weaving her shroud, that she has a duty to her son first. Impatience builds until their palace stinks of it and Telemachus can’t get them out of there fast enough. He watches his mother, his unshakeable, unbreakable mother, shudder whenever they leave. She sobs, silently, whenever she thinks Telemachus can’t see her. He begins to resent the dining hall, the front entrance, each plate and cup that they have touched.

The worst is what he hears when they think he’s not there.

“I’ll take that fucking shroud and strangle the bitch with it.”

“We’ll make her pathetic brat watch.”

“Him! I’ll hang the kid with his own innards if I could. String him up like the flower garland he is.”

“Do you think she’d beg if we did?” One of them asks giddily. “Maybe she’d let us have our way with her if her precious prince was in danger.”

Thankfully, Telemachus has learned not to scream. He forces his fear down, down, down, and by the time he can breathe again, his teeth are stained red.

He doesn’t tell his mother. But when she comes into her room to find him already there, she doesn’t make him leave. All she asks is he puts the sword beneath the bed.

“I don’t want you to hurt yourself with it.”

He does, but he keeps the hilt towards him and a smaller dagger strapped to his leg.

If anyone wants to enter his mother’s rooms without permission, they will go through him first.

He can be just as deadly as they are. 

5

The palace is quiet. Telemachus’ mind is anything but. He paces his room, afraid to lie down and close his eyes lest he sees it all again The hallways gushing blood, the tip of Antonius’ blade. Each man falling, one by one, as if torn down by an invisible wind.

Except it wasn’t wind or anything natural; it was his father. The space that sat vacant for twenty years is now filled and it is…. Everything. And incredibly, incredibly loud. 

As minutes and hours go on, Telemachus finds he can’t take it anymore. Voices overlap in his head, the walls of his bedroom are pressing inwards and whether it’s a trick of his mind or something else, he doesn’t want to find out. So he slips out with a blanket around his shoulders, and tiptoes down the now-scrubbed corridors to his parents’ room.

He’s barely knocked on the door before Father answers.

“Son?” 

Telemachus hesitates before slipping inside. The room isn’t as dark as he expected; a single lamp in the corner bathes it in a soft glow. Father is still awake, half propped up against the pillows with Mother asleep on his chest, her arm tight around his waist. Telemachus can’t shake the feeling that he’s interrupted something, even with Father beckoning him in. His eyes hold so much and he can’t help but wonder if he’s up for the same reason Telemachus is. That his thoughts were too loud to let him rest.

“What’s bothering you?”

Telemachus pulls on his sleeve, his breath shallow. 

“I can’t sleep.” 

Father smiles. Despite the heaviness in his eyes, it feels sincere. It’s a steady on his shoulder, a reminder to breathe, a warm embrace to keep him safe. A suggestion that maybe things will be fine.

“Come here,” he says softly. He hadn’t realised how much he needed to hear that.

Mother is pulled from sleep as Father shifts to make room for him. There’s a moment where she hasn’t realised the second person yet and she smiles up at Odysseus, completely free of lines and worry as if it’s 20 years ago again.

Telemachus feels blessed to have seen it. 

“Tel?” she mumbles when she notices him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He slides into the space his father left and reaches across to squeeze her shoulder. “I’m all right. I just couldn’t sleep.”

Mother nods, an easy smile gracing her lips. Propped up on her elbow, she leans over and musses Telemachus’ hair, chuckling when he protests. Father laughs too, and Telemachus feels it against his body. Solid, warm, real. Here. Alive.

Mother settles back into the bed, pressing kisses to Father’s bare shoulder as she goes. Father grins and again, it’s like Telemachus is watching a scene from twenty years ago, from a world where nothing bad ever happened and he grew up whole. And maybe it’s the late hour talking, but for the first time, he has hope he can be.

Especially when Father kisses his head. 

“Go to sleep, son,” he whispers. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

“I know,” he murmurs. He presses into his father’s side and sleeps soundly the entire night.  

[aheathen-conceivably]

The next day Zelda found Gio in the field at sunrise, just like she had most mornings for the last five years. He was in his work suspenders, his hat not yet needed to protect him from the harshness of the day, and his button down showing old stains that no amount of scrubbing could get clean.

He was staring at another newly wilted plant when he saw her, and she immediately regretted her choice to talk to him here. It had seemed appropriate when she was agonizing over it the night before - to talk to him where they had both found hope when all seemed lost, and the world felt just as likely to collapse in on itself as the air was to be taken over with tornadoes of dust.

Only it was harder than she expected it to be - telling him that she was leaving. That when the day got too hot she would no longer sing to herself to move the still air, or that now his rambling stories of New Orleans in the 1910s would have no audience other than the earless crops. It was harder than she expected to tell him that she was leaving him there to work the fields alone when they had been there together nearly every day for five years, laughing and struggling as they tried to pull life from unwilling red dirt.

But just like Antoine had said, he didn’t begrudge her for a moment. He had smiled and wished her the best of luck, and made her promise that if he forgot everything she had taught him she would find the very best farming manuals the library had to offer. He never let his loneliness make her feel guilty, or try to stop her when she walked away.

But God, he wanted to. For all the mistakes he had made in his life, he wasn’t an idiot. He had seen the signs in every wilted crop and fallen leaf. With every harvest that went by having two of them there seemed more and more superfluous; and he couldn’t blame her finding work elsewhere, especially not when it was something she was clearly so passionate about. 

He only wished that this wasn’t what he was passionate about. Not farming, of course, but what it represented to him and the life he had imagined it would give him - the kind he had once heard his grandparents talk of in the countryside of Sicily. Working all day with your hands alongside someone you loved, seeing something grow to fruition, and just living comfortably without fear hanging over your head.

Was it so far fetched to dream of having your own land, a home that was yours like a bastion against the encroachments of the world? And if he could turn a profit for himself and his family in the process, well then all the better. That was what it meant to be an American, wasn’t it? And it was what he had spent every last penny of his savings trying to achieve.

Only now the crops were dying again.

And even worse, it seemed like they were all moving on from the base he had provided for them while he had been left here near bankruptcy. Each and every one of them was moving onto something newer and better, like fate had brought them out here with a plan that had forgotten to include him.

It was like the land itself had conspired against him; stolen and twisted beyond what it once was, it gave less and less every year despite the promises of plenty that had lured him out there with all the trappings of the American dream. Meanwhile the banks swarmed like buzzards, searching for the carcasses of dead farmers and broken dreams whose pockets they could peck clean like bones.

Now he was out of money and nearly out of time. The crops that were still blooming were the only shining beacon left of everything that he had hoped for when he left home. Behind them, lingering in their wilting leaves like a shadow, was the knowledge that he could end all of this with a single phone call. One groveling phone call - his tail tucked between his legs and his morals steamrolled under reality; then it would all be over. None of them would ever have to worry about hunger or struggle again. Only then, what was left of his soul would finally be gone. Father, I was wrong.  

But he couldn’t. He had worked his whole life to avoid that, fought every naysayer and washed himself of the blood of his family in pursuit of this. What was left in the dying soil was hope. No more and no less. He just needed more time. He couldn't give up now. Otherwise it was all for nothing. The mockery, the loneliness, the lies. The struggle. And if it had grown once, what was stopping it from growing again?

Only a horrifying thought was beginning to take root in the back of his mind. That maybe, just maybe, he had bet it all on a lie.

Previous / Next

[mistyshane30]

You Were Never Mine to Lose (Chapter 7)

Synopsis: A yacht party and a horseback riding trip put you and Agatha in closer proximity than you can handle. The teasing, the fleeting touches, the way she looks at you—it’s messing with your head. Is she just being Agatha, or is there something more?

Word count: 3.4K

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol consumption, Subtle angst, Lingering tension, Unresolved emotions

You wake up feeling fine, stretching lazily before reaching for your phone. It's around 8 AM, and a new message from Jen lights up the group chat. 

Jen: Private yacht party at 10 AM, ladies! Get ready to live like queens today ✨🍾✨ 

A flood of excited responses follows, filled with emojis and exclamation marks. Everyone seems thrilled, but despite the distraction, your mind is still occupied with Agatha. Something about last night, about the way she left things, lingers like a splinter you can't quite pull out. 

Shaking the thought away, you push yourself out of bed and move through your morning routine. A quick shower, skincare, light makeup. You pick out a high-waisted wide-leg pant and bralette combo, paired with pink leather sandals, black shades, and a tote bag stuffed with essentials—your bikini, sunscreen, phone, charger, wallet. Everything you’ll need. 

By the time you arrive at the yacht, the sun is high, reflecting off the pristine white of the vessel. It's a superyacht—luxurious but not obnoxiously oversized. Classic Jen, always going all out. 

Stepping aboard, you're greeted by the sound of laughter and clinking glasses. The group is gathered around the pool, already in their swimwear, drinks in hand, lost in easy conversation. They wave you over, and just as you're about to join them, your eyes find her. 

Agatha. 

She’s lounging on a patio chaise, champagne flute poised between her fingers, dark sunglasses obscuring her eyes. But you know she’s watching. When she finally catches your lingering gaze, her lips twitch into a smirk. You look away first. 

“Well, don’t you look like you own the damn yacht,” Agatha muses, lifting her glass in mock admiration. “Did you forget this was a party?” 

You roll your eyes but smirk back. “I brought a bikini, didn’t I?” 

“Oh, what a relief,” she teases, tilting her head. “Would’ve been a shame if you spent the whole day in CEO mode.” 

Another round of banter flickers between you, sharp and familiar. But instead of indulging further, you shake your head, slip away, and head inside to change. 

When you reemerge, you feel the sun’s heat against your bare skin, the air thick with salt and summer. The group is still at the pool, but your eyes are drawn elsewhere—to the saloon bar, where Agatha stands, pouring herself another glass of champagne. 

Something about the way she carries herself, so unbothered, so effortlessly poised, compels you to walk over. She notices before you even reach her, glancing up over the rim of her glass. 

“Well, well.” She lets her gaze sweep over you. “Now that’s more fitting.” 

You don’t acknowledge the way your skin warms at her approval. Instead, you fold your arms and nod toward the bar. “Any whiskey?” 

Agatha hums, scanning the bottles before plucking one from the shelf. “Sticking to your usual,” she muses, pouring a generous measure into a glass before handing it to you. 

For a while, it’s just the two of you, drinks in hand, the distant chatter from the deck fading into the background. Conversation drifts, winding through neutral topics before landing on politics. 

She speaks, and you try to focus—but it’s not just what she’s saying. It’s the way she says it. The cadence of her voice, the way her hands move as she emphasizes a point, the sharp wit woven through her words. And those damn blue eyes. 

You lose track of the conversation completely, too busy memorizing the shape of her mouth as she speaks. When she pauses expectantly, you nod, feigning interest. 

Just like the night that changed everything—for you, at least. 

Seventeen years ago, a karaoke night with the group, your usual Friday tradition. Drinks flowed, laughter filled the air, and each of you took turns at the mic. Then, it was Agatha’s turn. 

She chose Always Be My Baby by Mariah Carey. 

She had sung in front of you all before, but that night felt different. You couldn't explain why, but as she sang, everything slowed down. The way she moved, the way her voice curled around each note, the way she stood—it was as if she was the only person in the room. 

You snapped out of it when the song ended, confused and shaken. What the hell just happened? 

But as the night continued, you found yourself watching her more closely—the way she sipped her drink, the way she laughed, the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled. Something had shifted, and you couldn't ignore it. 

Later, you told Wanda about it. She was the only one who knew. You told yourself it was nothing, that it would pass. But it didn’t. 

Instead, it only got worse. 

You watched Agatha fall into relationships, then marriage. You became the godmother to her two children. And still, your feelings never faded. 

You learned to live with it, to bury it. But standing here, with her right in front of you, all those old emotions claw their way back to the surface. 

And it feels just like that night all over again. 

You snapped back to reality when Agatha asked you something—but you had no idea what. You were too busy watching her, caught in the way she moved, the way her voice wrapped around her words. Without thinking, you blurted out a quick, “Yes.” 

Agatha gave you a look, clearly unconvinced, but she only shrugged it off. Silence stretched between you, charged and unspoken. Your eyes locked for a moment longer. 

Then Wanda arrived, snapping you both out of whatever that was. Agatha straightened, her posture shifting back into something composed, unreadable. 

“What are you two doing here?” Wanda asked, glancing between you. 

“She needed help finding the whiskey,” Agatha replied smoothly, taking a slow sip from her champagne glass. 

You nodded, grateful for the easy excuse. 

Agatha didn’t linger. She excused herself, making her way back toward the pool, slipping effortlessly back into the crowd. As soon as she was out of earshot, Wanda nudged your shoulder hard. 

“What the hell was that?” she whispered, eyes narrowed. 

“What?” You feigned ignorance, knowing full well what she was referring to. 

“Don’t play coy with me.” She studied you, then smirked. “You look flustered.” 

You scoffed. “I’m fine.” 

Wanda crossed her arms. “Look, I just don’t want you getting in too deep again.” 

You exhaled, shaking your head. “You don’t need to worry.” 

“I always worry.” But she let it go, grabbing the bottle of champagne and motioning for you to follow her back to the pool. 

As you stepped outside, your gaze drifted toward Agatha. She was in the pool, laughing with Jen, Alice, and Lilia. For a moment, you watched, lingering on the way she tossed her wet hair back, the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled. 

Shaking yourself out of it, you dropped onto a patio chaise lounge, closing your eyes to relax. 

Moments later, cold water splashed over you. 

You gasped, eyes snapping open, only to be met with Agatha’s mischievous grin. Laughter echoed around the deck as the others watched, clearly enjoying your reaction. 

“Really?” you deadpanned, wiping water from your face. 

Wanda called out from the pool, grinning. “We’re playing Chicken Fight. You in?” 

You sighed, shaking your head. “Pass.” 

Agatha smirked. “Afraid of losing?” 

Your eyes narrowed. “I just don’t feel like it.” 

“Oh, come on,” Agatha drawled. “Didn’t take you for a coward.” 

That did it. 

You sat up, rolling your shoulders. “Fine. Let’s do this.” 

The teams were set. Wanda crouched in the water, letting you climb onto her shoulders, while Agatha sat perched atop Jen’s. The tension was thick, both teams sizing each other up. 

The game began, and it was intense. Laughter and splashing filled the air as you and Agatha grappled, trying to shove each other off. For a moment, you thought you had the upper hand—you gripped Agatha’s arm, pulling her down inch by inch. 

But then she twisted free, and before you could react, she lunged. 

Her hands found your shoulders, and with one strong push, you lost your balance. A yelp left your lips before you plunged backward into the water, dragging Wanda down with you. 

When you surfaced, sputtering, Agatha was grinning triumphantly. “Better luck next time, sweetheart.” 

You rolled your eyes, splashing water toward her, but she dodged, laughing. The game continued, with Lilia and Alice taking on Agatha and Jen next, the group caught up in the excitement. Teasing, laughter, and playful shoves filled the air as round after round played out. 

Eventually, the energy simmered down. The games stopped, and everyone floated lazily in the pool, the conversation shifting to lighthearted chitchat. 

As the sun began to set, one by one, everyone climbed out of the pool, heading inside to prepare for dinner. 

Later that night, after the laughter and the drinks had settled, you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to shake the feeling in your chest. The way Agatha looked at you. The way her voice lingered in your head. The way your skin still tingled where she had touched you. 

Tomorrow, you and the others would return to your own villas, with horseback riding planned for the afternoon. Another day, another chance to keep up the act. To pretend nothing had changed. 

The next morning, you woke up to the gentle sway of the yacht, sunlight filtering through the curtains. The distant hum of conversation and clinking utensils reached your ears, pulling you from sleep. You stretched, took a moment to gather yourself, then made your way to the dining area. 

The group was already there, eating breakfast and chatting. You took a seat beside Wanda, who offered you a knowing glance before turning her attention back to the conversation. 

“We’re all set for horseback riding this afternoon,” Jen announced, stirring her coffee. “The instructors will be there, but it should be pretty easygoing.” 

Lilia smirked and turned to you. “Though, Y/N might not even need lessons. You probably already know how to ride a horse, right? You’re rich—don’t rich people all own horses?” 

Alice laughed, jumping in. “Oh, right! Maybe you even do equestrian competitions in secret.” 

“Oh my god,” Wanda groaned, rolling her eyes. “Next thing you know, they’ll say Y/N casually rides a horse to work.” 

Lilia gasped dramatically. “Do you? Be honest.” 

Jen grinned. “Bet she has one of those fancy riding outfits and everything.” 

The teasing spread quickly, the others joining in with playful jabs about you being some kind of expert rider. The only one who remained silent was Agatha—who sat across from you, smirking into her coffee cup. 

You scoffed, pretending to be offended. “Not all rich people own horses or know how to ride, you know.” 

Agatha leaned forward slightly, her voice smooth, teasing. “So that means you don’t know how to ride?” 

You met her gaze, catching the glint of amusement in her eyes. “I didn’t say that.” 

“Oh?” Her smirk deepened. “You’re getting defensive.” 

“I’m making a point,” you corrected, raising a brow. “For the record, yes, I do know how to ride. And yes, I own a stable. But that’s not the point!" 

The table erupted in laughter, and Agatha leaned in slightly, lowering her voice just enough so only you could hear. "So you do know how to ride. Good to know." 

A warmth crept up your neck, but you focused on your plate, pretending her words hadn’t sent a slow, deliberate shiver down your spine. Before you could formulate a response, Alice’s voice cut through the moment. 

“See! Knew it!” she gasped, pointing at you triumphantly. 

Lilia leaned back, grinning. “I bet Y/N has a horse named something dramatic like ‘Midnight Storm’ or ‘Celestial Thunder.’” 

You shook your head, laughing. “You guys are ridiculous.” 

Wanda nudged you. “I’m just excited to see you in action later. Show us peasants how it’s done.” 

The table erupted in laughter, and even you couldn’t help but chuckle. The lighthearted energy carried through breakfast, filled with teasing and banter. But through it all, you could feel it—Agatha’s gaze flickering toward you, lingering just a little too long. 

And no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t ignore it. 

After breakfast, each of you returned to your own villas. You stepped into the bathroom first, taking a refreshing shower before going through your usual morning routine. Deciding to stretch a little, you unrolled your yoga mat and went through a few basic poses—not too intense, just enough to feel awake. 

After that, you settled at your desk, opening your laptop to check work emails. Nothing urgent. Satisfied, you shut it down and flopped onto the bed, scrolling through social media, watching random videos, and letting time pass. 

When the afternoon rolled around, your phone buzzed with a message in the group chat. 

Jen: Be at the main entrance by 2 PM. 

You stretched, set your phone aside, and got up to prepare. After a quick lunch, you went to your luggage, picking out an outfit for horseback riding—something comfortable yet stylish. You settled on a fitted maroon polo shirt, black high-waisted skinny jeans, and Dior sneakers. Grabbing your tote bag with the essentials, you gave yourself one last glance in the mirror before heading out, ready for whatever the afternoon had in store. 

You made your way to the main entrance, where the others were already gathered near a waiting van. Your gaze flickered toward Agatha for a brief second before you climbed inside with the rest of the group. Of course, she ended up beside you again. 

The ride took about thirty minutes, and you busied yourself with your phone, scrolling aimlessly to pass the time. The occasional chatter filled the van, but you mostly kept to yourself. 

When the van finally stopped, you looked up to see the sign: Malibu Riders. The group stepped out, greeted by one of the facilitators who welcomed you warmly and led you toward the stables. They gave you a quick tour, explaining the facility, before guiding you to the horses you’d be riding. 

You grabbed the necessary gear, swapping out your Dior sneakers for riding boots and securing a helmet. Once everyone was suited up, the facilitators led the horses outside, preparing them for you to mount. 

At the field, the instructor demonstrated how to properly get on a horse. You mounted yours with ease, while a few of the others struggled but managed to get settled after some effort. The only one still struggling was Agatha. After watching her attempt a few times, you sighed, got off your horse, and walked over to her. 

“Here, let me help,” you offered, steadying the horse as she tried again. 

Agatha huffed but accepted the assistance. With your guidance, she finally managed to get on, giving you a smug look once she was settled. 

“Happy now?” she teased. 

You just rolled your eyes and got back onto your horse. 

The lesson went on—not that you needed it. You were already skilled at horseback riding, though you played along, nodding as the facilitator went through the basics. Once the official lesson wrapped up, the group was free to ride around and put their skills to the test. 

Jen called out to everyone, waving her phone. “Alright, let’s get a quick picture while we’re all still on the horses!” 

One of the facilitators took the phone and snapped a few photos of the group, capturing the moment before you all rode off to enjoy the rest of the afternoon. 

After the group split up, you guided your horse across the open field, enjoying the steady rhythm of its movements. The afternoon breeze brushed against your skin as you took in the quiet beauty of the landscape. After a while, you noticed Agatha riding alone and decided to head her way. 

“You know, horses can sleep standing up,” you said out of nowhere. 

Agatha raised an eyebrow. “That so?” 

You nodded. “Yeah. They have a special locking system in their legs so they don’t fall over.” 

She smirked. “You really know a lot about horses.” 

You chuckled. “Learned to ride when I was nine. My mom taught me.” 

That caught her attention. “Your mom?” 

You nodded, a small smile forming as you recalled the memories. “Yeah. She loved riding. We had a stable back home, and she wanted me to know how to ride properly. She always said there’s something freeing about it.” 

Agatha listened intently, her blue eyes locked onto you, but there was something more in the way she was looking at you—something unreadable. 

She sighed, glancing ahead at the open field. “Freedom. That’s an interesting way to put it.” 

You tilted your head. “You don’t think so?” 

A small, almost wistful smile tugged at her lips. “I wouldn’t know. I never had the luxury of just... riding away from everything.” 

You studied her for a moment. “You ever wish you could?” 

She let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head. “Sometimes. But responsibilities don’t just disappear because you want them to.” 

Something in her tone made your chest tighten. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “I get that.” 

Agatha looked at you then, really looked at you, as if seeing past everything you let people perceive. The silence stretched between you, comfortable yet heavy, like an unspoken understanding passing between two people who knew what it was like to carry more than they let on. 

Eventually, the horseback riding session came to an end, and it was time to dismount. Most of the group managed to get off their horses without much trouble—including you—but Agatha, once again, struggled. 

You sighed with amusement and walked over. “Here, I got you.” 

She hesitated but then accepted your help. Holding her hands, you guided her as she jumped down, though she nearly tripped in the process. Instinctively, your hands found her waist, steadying her before she could fall. 

For a brief second, neither of you moved. Agatha looked up at you, her breath hitching just slightly before she cleared her throat. 

“Thanks,” she murmured. 

“It’s nothing,” you replied, quickly letting go. 

She stepped back, adjusting her posture before leading her horse away. Your gaze lingered on her retreating figure for a moment before you shook your head and followed suit, taking your horse back to the stable and returning the riding gear. 

With the session officially over, the group left the ranch and piled back into the van. You slid into your seat, put on your earbuds, and stared out the window, watching the scenery blur past as you made your way back to the resort. 

After arriving back at the resort, you head straight to your villa, shutting the door behind you with a quiet sigh. The day had been long, but it wasn’t the horseback riding that left you drained—it was her. The way Agatha had been looking at you, the way she spoke, how her presence lingered even after she walked away. It was starting to feel like too much, and yet, not enough. 

You loosen your shirt, moving straight to the minibar. You don’t hesitate as you pour yourself a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid swirling under the dim villa lights. You take a slow sip, letting it burn its way down, hoping it will dull whatever this is—this thing that Agatha is doing to you, whether she realizes it or not. 

You lean against the counter, exhaling through your nose. Is she giving you mixed signals, or are you just seeing something that isn’t there? Maybe you’ve been alone for too long. Maybe the past has made you foolish enough to hope. Or maybe—just maybe—she feels it too, but she won’t let herself go there. 

Frustrated, you grab your phone and turn on the speaker, scrolling through your playlist until your finger hovers over a song. You press play, and Adele’s voice fills the room. 

Should I give up, or should I just keep chasing pavements… 

You close your eyes and let the music wash over you, sinking onto the couch, whiskey glass resting on your thigh. The song plays on repeat as you drink, each sip doing little to blur the thoughts racing through your mind. You don’t even realize how much time has passed—only that the glass is empty, and the weight in your chest hasn’t lifted. 

At some point, exhaustion takes over, and you let yourself sink further into the cushions. The night moves on without you, but Agatha stays—etched into your thoughts, just like she always does.

Taglist: @6stolenangel9 @charlottelinlin1 @milflovers4 @claramelooo @loveshineslikethesky @kaymariesworld @marcelinaceciliarose @misskassycollins @greyella @theothersideofthescreen @whitelotus00 @agathaallalongg @psychickryptonitebouquet @sweetmidnights @angel-kitten-babygirl-u-choose @filmedbyharkness @brekker157 @rizzlesregal13 @starbucks-06 @aboutcustardcreams @crescendoofstars @neverfindmegone @mommy-mommy-mommy-hi

[chloelucia13]

Words are Futile Devices

Pairing: Art Donaldson x reader

Prompt: You never knew that a drunk night out could change so much. Well, for the better, that is.

Warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of smut, language, alcohol use, mentions of DILF!art (absolutely a warning)

A/N: Forgive me for having this one be a little short, It's been a while since I've written. Regardless, I hope you enjoy!

"Your phone number is the same."

You sat in the passenger seat, legs curled up and held against your chest as you leaned against the door. The heated air pumping through the vents made your face hotter than it already was, but you couldn't urge yourself to turn down the temperature.

Your gaze was set out the window, looking at nothing particular although your brows were furrowed, as if focusing heavily on something just off in the distance. The flow of your words left your lips with little discretion and mingled with the warm air, settling heavy and persistent like suffocating humidity.

"What?"

The hum of his voice made your ears ring. It was clearer than it was on the phone; that tinny crackle couldn't compete with the real thing. You hadn't heard his voice since hanging up, staying silent as you crawled into his car and buckled up.

You lifted your head to look at Art, squinting slightly to see just him, not the duplicates that populated in your intoxicated vision. "Your number," you repeated. "Your number's been the same since..."

The words died out, unable to comprehend how many years it's been since you last dialed that number. Or maybe you just couldn't brave saying it out loud.

"You still have it saved in your phone?" he hummed, glancing at you through his periphery.

"No, no. I-" You wet your lips before pulling the bottom one between your teeth. "I still have it memorized." Your eyes searched his profile, the familiar slope of his nose and pout of his lips. "I memorized a few things."

His hair was shorter than you've ever seen it, and though you missed his shaggy waves, this suited him at his age. He seemed so... adult. You hadn't realized how you still thought of him as the boy you knew from college, as if he would stay perpetually 20. Frozen in time as you knew him.

But his beauty knocked the breath out of your lungs. The few grey hairs that highlighted his strawberry blonde waves made his face glow like the sun, and the wrinkles that started carving their place into his skin only made him seem wiser, kinder, more stunning.

It had been so long.

***

Your roommate kicked you out.

It was a stupid fight, honestly. At this moment, you couldn't really recall what it was about. Something about living in the past, clinging onto things you should've turned loose years ago. It spiraled, like things usually do with you, and when you told her you needed some air, she told you to not come back.

You decided that the best way to pass the time was to drink until you basically felt your liver pleading for its life. You decided to kick up dust, the thing you knew how to do best.

Maybe your roommate was right.

Art's penthouse was by no means modest. Overlooking the quiet scenery of the Palo Alto hills, the modern structure lined with windows sat nestled between oak and pine trees and an expansive backyard that held two tennis courts with the local country club's golf course behind it.

As taken as you were with the stunning view, the imagery inside drew your attention in a way that made your breath catch in your throat. Beaming lovers, proud parents, a loving family decorated the walls everywhere you looked.

You'd walked along the halls earlier in the night after Art had retreated to bed with little to say to you One hand skated against the cream-colored wall to keep your balance as your eyes flickered over each frame. Baby pictures, family portraits, eyes that lived in your memory staring back at you like they were never gone.

In one photo, Tashi sat cradling her newborn girl in her arms as she laid in a hospital bed. Even glistening with sweat, she looked so gorgeous, so radiant. It reminded you of her sweat-soaked appearance after every victorious match, a beaming smile on her face. Beside her, Art peered over her shoulder, tears in his eyes as he took in the sight of the two loves of his life.

Venturing deeper, tucked away in one of the back rooms sat lesser trophies and medals and memorabilia, all collecting dust. Photos lined the walls once more, but instead of being displayed in intricate frames, they were stuck to the walls with multicolor push pins.

Patrick and Art holding matching trophies and matching smiles, no older than 14. Patrick and Art in the middle of a doubles match, the scoreboard to the side displaying their drastic lead. Patrick in a Stanford shirt with two thumbs up.

Then, there was a photo you remembered so warmly. It was a photo you had taken on your old Motorola Razr in a hotel bathroom mirror. Besides you was Patrick, grinning and hugging your side. He was having a game a few hours away, and you made the trek to surprise him and cheer for him in the stands.

As the spread of photos continued, your face popped up more and more. You and Art and Tashi posing in a photo booth. You and Art passed out on his dorm bed, textbooks and notes strewn about. All four of you getting dinner together at Denny's at 2 am, exhaustion heavy on all of your features but smiling nonetheless.

The final one, a noticeable distance away from the photos, was one of just you.

You grinned at the camera, dressed in a simple but elegant black dress at one of Art's award ceremonies for Stanford's tennis team. In your hand was Art's, though his arm and the rest of his body was out of sight.

Your brows furrowed. You knew that he was in that picture next to you, and not just because you remembered that day. You had this same picture in your own (well, used to be) apartment.

Looking closer at the edge, you saw that the physical print itself was cut, chopping Art out of the picture entirely.

Hours later, you sat on his expansive couch and clutched that photo in your hands.

You tried to find some excuse, grasp at some reason as to why you were hanging on his wall but the half of the photo that bared his face was nowhere to be found.

Footsteps sounded through the echo chamber of a home and you rushed to shove the photo under a pillow.

Art emerged in a shirt and shorts, bedhead and sleepy eyes on full display. He eyed your alert, albeit a little distracted, form on the couch and offered you a small smile.

You grinned back. "Can't sleep?" you questioned, a break in the looming silence.

He shrugged, glancing at the glowing 5:27 on his oven and releasing a sigh. "Guess I'm still used to waking up early," he offered, grabbing two bottles of water from the fridge. "You?"

"I don't sleep that much." You took the water bottle he held out towards you. "Still being half-drunk probably isn't helping either."

"Still? How much did you drink?"

"Enough to call you." You cracked the bottle open, taking a few swigs to soothe the dryness in your mouth and avoid Art's gaze.

You couldn't see the turmoil on his face, the ache that settled so deeply in his features that reminded him of years past when he was convinced that his face would freeze like that. All because of you.

In a split second decision, he settled onto the couch cushion next to where you resided. You rose from your seat instinctually, floating away from him and towards the collage of photos that decorated his wall.

"You have a daughter," you whispered, though you couldn't tell if it came out more as a statement or a question. Regardless, it burned your lungs as you breathed it out, like cigarette smoke.

He nodded, even though you couldn't see him, his own breath trapped in his lungs. "Her name is Lily," he let out finally, strangled.

You hummed in response, shifting your gaze from the young girl over to Art who held her in his arms, a bright smile on his lips. "Hmm, DILF."

The realization of what you said hit you right after the words came out, and you hung your head and squeezed your eyes closed. Embarrassment warmed your cheeks, but he just laughed in response. A little incredulously, but melodic and loving all the same.

You patted your hand against the wall and, with a shake of your head at yourself, you sighed. "I should, um, I should get going. I think I've greatly overstayed my welcome."

"But you haven't slept," Art immediately interjected, rising from his seat as you turned to face him. "And you don't have your car. Or your apartment."

"it's okay, I can call an uber or something." Reaching for your jacket that laid on the couch's armrest, you felt his gaze burning into your skin.

"You haven't overstayed your welcome."

You froze at that, finally risking a glance at him. The pleading look he wore was all too familiar, the furrowed brows and tight jaw that held back all of the words he wanted to say. It brought you back to the last time you saw him, his silent gaze speaking more than either of you could ever utter.

"Just," he sighed, searching your gaze. "Just stay for a little, to get some rest. It would make me feel better knowing you're somewhere safe for the time being."

Guilt sunk its teeth into your stomach. All you could think of was that you owed him that, you owed him the comfort and reassurance. It was decades overdue.

You gave him a nod and a tight smile. "Okay. Just for a little."

The relief that flooded his features turned your smile earnest, and it grew when he rushed away with the hurried reason of grabbing you some blankets.

He came back with a small heap bundled in his arms, along with a pillow you assumed he grabbed off of his own bed. Brushing past you with a nudge to your shoulder that you couldn't help but question its intentionality, he set the pillow up against the armrest. "Alright, lay down," he directed.

You nodded, crawling onto the couch and settling your head against the pillow. The scent of his shampoo- the same one he used all those years ago- permeated your senses, confirming your suspicions of its owner. You resisted the urge to bury your face into it.

With a flourish, Art unfolded the blankets and draped them over your body. You snuggled in, engulfed in the warmth that they brought and the comfort of Art's presence that you've craved for so long. "Thank you," you whispered, peering up at him as all of that bridled love that festered inside of you threaten to slip loose and escape.

You loved him. You loved him so much. But, like all of those years ago, you didn't have the courage to tell him. Even as he stared at you as if you were the personification of grace, of sweetness, the words clogged in your throat.

He grinned, and his hand reached out to smooth your hair against your head before cupping your cheek. He froze, realizing what he did as soon as it happened, much like you did earlier. He retracted his hand as the tips of his ears glowed pink. "Get some sleep," he coughed out, patting the arm of the couch before slipping away.

The smile that crept onto your lips also couldn't be restrained, and you pulled the blankets up to your nose to hide it, taking in the scent you'd yearned for.

***

When you woke, the sun had made its way deep into the middle of the sky, shining down through the windows and illuminating the living room. Your fingers curled into the soft fabric of the blankets as you blinked sleep from your eyes.

A soft buzz emanated through the spacious room, and your brows furrowed. It came and went in short beats, and for a moment, you questioned if it was the thrum of blood in your ears. But it persisted, too high and tight to be the dull thud of your heart.

You kicked the blankets off your form and rolled off the couch onto your feet. Wordlessly, you padded along the herringbone wooden floors towards the source of the sound. Your steps nearly engulfed the sound, but if you focused, the buzz could still be heard just barely.

Reaching the end of the hall, you turned and peeked through the crack in the door to your right.

Art sat cross-legged in his bed, curled over a neon blue tennis racket that laid in his lap. His fingers deftly plucked the strings closest to the neck of the racket, a plasticine buzz humming with each movement. His pinky, then his ring finger, then his middle, then his index finger. With each pull, the flesh of his finger pad blushed a bright red as it retreated, irritated from the action.

Though the thrum earlier mirrored your heartbeat, the nerves that ate at you from seeing Art in such a state of tranquility, of vulnerability, hurried its rhythm.

As if he could hear your heart from the doorway, his gaze lifted to yours. You gulped, but you pushed the door open with your foot and rested against the doorframe. You crossed your arms over your chest, more of a nervous tick than a standoffish pose. "You okay?" you whispered, your voice nearly as low as the thrum of the strings that he still absentmindedly plucked.

He nodded as he ceased his movements, his gaze falling down to his sore fingertips. His palms were directed upwards, outwards, an unintentional reach. For what, you didn't know.

Your gaze drifted, too, scanning over the layout of his bedroom. The gleaming trophies, the lavish furniture, the world he built for himself. It was mesmerizing, witnessing so much change and so much similarity all at once. He was mesmerizing, the boy that could bring you to your knees with so much ache. A man that you never got the chance to meet until now.

When you looked back at him, he was staring at you. His lips were pressed together tight, but his eyes were wide and awe-struck. The vision that was you, standing in the doorway of the life he now lived in. His past and his present colliding.

With a gulp, he set the tennis racket on the floor and patted the spot next to him. A small grin pushed onto your lips, and you finally stepped into his room. You settled next to him, your right thigh pressed against his left one, your hands folded in your lap.

All at once, the emotions you held at bay flooded out, and a lump built in your throat. Tears streaked down your cheeks as all of the years you missed laid bare in front of you.

All at once, you realized that this could have been your life. Living in this house instead of your shitty apartment on the other side of town, never leaving the side of the man you loved so dearly, getting married, having children that had his eyes and his smile and your nose.

His hand settled on your knee, and when you met his gaze, you could tell that the same thoughts were running rampant through his mind. The same footfalls down the familiar trodden pathway that resided in your minds since you two met, since you left.

Your mouth hung open, but no words could come out. What could you say in a time like this? I'm sorry? I love you?

Like that fateful day, words failed you.

His hand rose from your knee to cup your cheek, wiping away the tears that slipped down, massaging away the furrow in your brow. Your eyes searched his, and his yours.

His lips slotted against yours, fitting together like they had all those years ago. No words were uttered as you melted into the familiarity of each other.

Because words are futile devices.

[ibviously]

Kryptonite

Summary: Kara returns to Gotham and finds the Red Hood in the likeliest of places. Kara addresses Gotham’s villains in the unlikeliest of ways.

Characters/Pairings: Kara Zor-El x Jason Todd, Kyle Rayner x Kara Zor-El, Rose Wilson x Jason Todd

Warnings: sexual content (18+), graphic depictions of violence, pretentious analysis of 19th century art (sorry not sorry)

Jason grinned when he saw the bouncer, leaning in languid calm against the Ice Berg Lounge’s front entrance.

Rose dropped her menthol from her open mouth and laughed. Her single blue eye shone from under the dim street lights, the other covered by a black patch. Alone, she looked like she might’ve been waiting for someone, a lover, or a best friend. This late into the night, when the void of sky tilted into sunrise and the early AM ticked into business hours, nobody waited to enter the club. The thick, red velvet ropes hung still.

“Well fuck me,” Rose spoke plumes of smoke between them, “Back from the dead again?”

A smirk quirked on Jason’s lips. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his black slacks and looked at the greased-stained asphalt. “Something like that.”

“You look like shit. The suit’s nice though- on loan from Daddy Wayne?”

Jason shook his head and reached out his hand. Registering the request, Rose pushed off the wall and passed her cigarette. Jason took a drag, then another. He knew he’d return the suit to Bruce smelling of smoke, but he didn’t care. He hadn’t had a Marlboro or seen Rose Wilson in a very long time. Tonight was a night of reunion.

After Jason exhaled his third drag and let it swirl, eddying in the hot summer air like oil in the ocean, he handed the nub back to Rose. “First off,” Jason cleared his throat, “don’t call Bruce ‘Daddy Wayne’.” A wicked grin from Rose. God- he had missed her. “Second, I need you to let me in and tell me where 44 Below is.”

Rose’s grin dropped. She pulled the frayed edges of her dark jacket over her hands and sulked down into the fabric. Her pale skin stretched taunt over her cheekbones and she was smaller than Jason remembered. He felt a dull tug of worry in his chest.

“So you are on an errand for Bruce,” Rose sighed, resuming her position on the wall. “You’re here to bid on a painting or crack some skulls?”

Jason shifted on the balls of his feet. Dick’s dress shoes were a half size too small. “The former.. but you never can be sure,” Jason amended.

Rose chewed on her bottom lip, contemplating. “You know,” her words came out thin, “I was pretty pissed when I heard the Joker got to you again- that you might be dead.”

“Yeah?” Jason spoke dark and soft, trying to coax her gaze back up to meet his eyes. “How’s that?”

As if Jason’s gentle tone had spooked her from her pensive trance- Rose straighten her back, the blanket of grief quickly shrugged from around her small body. “I was just thinking, well- fuck, I never got to tap that.”

A bark of a laugh ripped from Jason’s throat. He stopped himself, bringing a hand to his mouth. The streets were so quiet his laughter echoed like gunfire. A self-satisfied smirk from Rose. “I’m serious, Mr. Todd, don’t be a stranger. You’re gonna wish you spent more time with me when you actually do die.”

Jason nodded, surrendering to her jest. “So, are you gonna help me or do I have to go use some directive violence?”

Rose shook her head and turned, pushing on the doors of the lounge. A slice of technocolor light cut into the night, flashing red, green, blue, white. The boom of music and layered conversations flooded over Jason. He felt it, shooting up his legs and rumbling in his chest.

“Stay with me,” Rose shouted over her shoulder, “we’re gonna move quick.”

Kara took another swig of wine and held it, let the heady liquid weight on her tongue. She swallowed, registering the burn that bloomed at the back of her throat. The woman who had poured her glass called it a “good red.” Humans said the strangest things.

Feigning interest in the clusterfuck of black and white splatters that hung lifeless in front of her, Kara contemplated the phrase. Had she ever encountered a “good red”? There was the stray speckling of blood that always made its way onto her face, her knuckles, under her fingernails-after every fight. There was the red of Kal’s cape as he turned his back on her. The red glare of stoplights on the perpetually wet Gotham pavement. It was always raining here. Then there was Jason.

Under the dim lights, the wine looked black. It clung in viscous streaks to the clear walls. Kara shivered under the thin silk of her dress. In two swallows, Kara drained her glass. She wished she could get drunk. Determined, she turned for another, grasping at the silver tray of the nearest attendant. Her Kryptonian tolerance wouldn’t stop her from trying. Kara strode to the next exhibit.

The black expanse of Kyle Rayner’s suit jacket swirled before Kara as she approached- a hungry void. “Got something to forget?” Kyle quipped, his gaze never wavering from the full-scale landscape before them. Kara could see his smirk from the corner of her eye. His brown hair curled at his forehead. His face was clean-shaven.

“Figured I’d let loose and let you take the lead on this one,” Kara murmured into the rim of her glass.

Kara had been irritated when the Metropolis Museum of Fine Art had requested Rayner accompany her to the Lounge’s annual auction. That hot anger had cooled over the course of the first few hours. Kyle was competent- amicable, even. Now, the only anger that lingered was Kara’s placement in Gotham’s most infamous club; a club routinely littered with Batpersons. Not even a month after Kara had sworn off working in Gotham, she was ordered into its beating heart.

Kyle’s eyes, a light-honey brown, lit with interest. He liked this one.

“This is the one?,” Kara asked, turning her gaze away from the way Rayner’s eyelashes kissed his skin when he blinked. She nearly lost her breath.

The painting filled the entirety of her vision. It was clearly a parody- a remake of Alma-Tadema’s The Roses of Heliogabalus. All of the original’s carnal opulence was intact- but the figures were changed. Instead of Roman diners, adorned in silks and laurels, drowning in a seal of rose petals, it was Commissioner Gordon. And The Powers’s, proprietors of the Powers Hotel. Three anonymous, male GCPD officers reached out from under the petals- their faces contorted in fear. Centered, sat at a table laden for feast, were Bruce Wayne and Lex Luthor. The tide of roses brushed the hems of their pristine pant legs. They looked down in distaste.

His eyes scanned in erratic strokes over the expanse. Finally, he turned to Kara. “This is the one.”

Before Kara could agree, a wave of nausea pulled itself over her body. The room spun. The edges of her vision blurred- stretching the lights of the dance floor below. Colors flowed into one another. A gauzy, warm glow emanated from Kyle’s concerned face.

Kara knew something was wrong when she began to hallucinate. Behind Kyle stood Jason- clad in a suit, striding straight for her.

The seconds began to contort and bleed as they passed. Kara was staggering backwards, cold fear shooting through her at the progression of Jason’s apparition. She heard Kyle’s voice and felt his hand, warm as it wrapped itself around her bicep.

“Kara- hey! Are you okay?” Kara heard Kyle as if from underwater. The room spun. A warm tingle spread across her skin. The room spun. Kara giggled. “Jesus, Danvers,” Kyle’s breath tickled her neck- he must’ve been behind her. “I didn’t know you were this much of a lightweight.”

“That’s not,” Kara huffed, her vision recentered and stabilized on Kyle’s face in front of her, “that’s not my last name.” Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth. “Where did J-Jason go?” Kara slurred.

Her words seemed to stretch with the room- the sound and the space reaching in tandem into infinity. Bruce’s image, painted into immortality, seemed to grin down from the feast, wolfish and cold. Kara felt a sharp pain in her skull- and then nothing.

Jason looked down at Kara’s unconscious body, crammed in the basin of a bathtub, and thought better of taking a picture. The young man glaring at him from the corner of the bathroom would disapprove.

“So,” Jason prodded, “what’s your deal?”

The man, Kyle, was pacing. Or trying to. The three of them were crammed in one of the club’s few person restrooms- one Rose had located for them. Now, she stood outside the door, keeping watch until Kara decided to wake up.

“My deal?” Kyle gave another incredulous glare. “Are you gonna tell me what happened or am I gonna have to assume the worst?”

Jason grinned and widened the spread of his thighs- taking up as much space as possible from his position on the toilet. He knew what this looked like. Kara passed out, two strangers come and scoop her up. Jason knew enough of Gotham’s grimy places to know things like that happened. Often. But not to Kara. Supergirl didn’t get roofied.

A couple of glasses of wine or any man-made drug wouldn’t- couldn’t- put her on her ass. That worried Jason. He tried not to let his perplexity surface on his expression. They didn’t need two dudes freaking out over Kara’s limp body.

“And what exactly is ‘the worst’?” Jason tilted his head, eyeing the man who leaned against the wall across from him. Kyle fidgeted, but didn’t drop his gaze.

Kyle groaned, running a palm over his face.

When he as met either another groan, Jason continued his barrage of rhetorical questioning. “Do you know who I am?” Jason cast a curt nod towards Kara’s unconscious body. “Who she is?”

“Is that how all you fucking Waynes introduce yourselves?” Kyle pushed himself from the grimy tile of the wall, looking down upon Jason, who couldn’t slacken the shit-eating grin that split his face. “ ‘Do you know who I am’- how about you fuck right off and let me take Kara home.”

Jason leaned back, propping his hands to cradle his head. He ran his eyes up the length of Kyle’s body. He was young, probably around Dick’s age. The first creases of age shot out from the corners of his eyes, but the vitality of youth still lit his stare. He was broad-shouldered and tall. Jason guessed he used to be an athlete, maybe he even played in college. He was exactly the type that Kara should be spending her time with- and yet the sight of him irritated Jason. His skin felt hot and the need to move came over him. He stood up.

This room was too small. His shoes were too tight. Kara was pale and the strap of her dress was falling down her shoulder. The bass pounded like a fist against the door. The informant that Bruce asked him to meet tonight had to be waiting, or maybe he had been offended by Jason’s lack of punctuality and left.

Kara’s cough cut through Jason’s flurry of worry like a light-house’s beam in a dark harbor. No sooner had the sound left her mouth that Jason was crouched at the side of the tub, his hands steadying her shuddering shoulders. She convulsed in waves, dry heaving, the pale spill of her hair obstructing her face. Jason gathered it like corn silk in his hands and pulled it to the nape of her neck. Kyle’s presence was hot at his back- the tension in his body quivering like a taunt band.

When Kara’s fit stopped, and her tremors stilled, she cast her eyes to the men leaning towards her. Her eyes, Jason registered in terror, were aglow. Head radiated from them, warming Jason’s face. Her jaw was flexed, her eyebrows furrows. Fury became her.

“Hey,” Jason demanded, reaching to hold her jaw between his fingers. He forced her gaze on him, fronting the full force of the heat pouring from her eyes. “You’re okay, Kara, you’re okay.” He dropped his grip when the blue returned to her eyes.

Kara yanked her head back, fitting the palms of her hands into the sockets of her eyes. “Fuck,” she breathed. “Kyle- I… fuck.”

Kyle stood, ashen-faced and slack-jawed, behind Jason. Jason narrowed his eyes. How strange that fear did not register on his face- but awe.

Guilt pooled in Kara’s eyes as she look up at Kyle. “Do you think you can just be cool about this, while we get ourselves- well- while I get myself sorted.?” Kyle had regained his composure and now looked at Kara with a calculating curiosity. He nodded.

“Yeah,” his words came out in a whisper, “Yeah I can do that.”

The softness of guilt gave way to steeled contempt as Kara cast her eyes on Jason. Her lips parted, then came together again. She eyes his suit, his hair, the clean shaven expanse of his jaw. The smell of smoke and leather drifted off of him. Kara took a deep breath. “Kryptonite?” she asked, acutely aware of the goosebumps patterning her skin. The porcelain of the bathtub was ice through her dress.

Jason nodded. He balled his hands into fists to keep from pulling off his suit jacket. Kara was shivering.

“Unless you have any other allergies,” Jason drawled. Kara, despite herself, smirked at the quip.

Kara shook her head, using her arms to rise from the bathtub. She stepped out on wobbling feet as a wave of nausea poured onto her. An arm braced against her back and she didn’t need her vision to know it was Kyle. He smelled, consistently, of pine soap.

“Thanks,” Kara murmured, blinking away the spots in her vision.

“Don’t mention it,” Kyle huffed, tightening his grip to keep Kara upright. “You trust these guys?” he whispered into her neck, eyeing Jason.

“These guys?” Kara asked, meeting Kyle’s deep brown eyes- so heavy with worry.

In answer- a sharp nock on the bathroom door. A sinewy, silver-haired girl slipped from behind the door.

“Rose?” Jason prompted her.

The girl’s pale grey eyes matched her bloodless face. She was breathing heavily and slight sheen of sweat covered her skin. He words came out in gasps. “What did the blonde do to piss off Black Mask?”

Before the last syllable left Rose’s mouth, Kara whirled to face Kyle, bracing both hands on his shoulder. He frowned down at her, locks of dark, curling hair falling into his eyes. A question was poised on his lips, but he bit his tongue as Kara spoke. “I need you to go- call a car and go back to the hotel. Go back to Metropolis- immediately. I’ll tell the museum we bid on a couple pieces and are waiting to hear back.”

Kyle shook his head gently, incredulous objection lit his eyes. “Kara- you were poisoned. I’m not just gonna leave you, especially not with strangers.”

Jason, head bent over a cigarette, scoffed- exhaling smoke into the small space. “I’m not a stranger,” he took another drag, “and if shit goes south we don’t need another warm body to keep alive.”

A nod from Kyle. He might be suspicious, but he trusted Kara’s judgement. If she was comfortable with these people, then he could respect that. Kyle moved toward the door, thumbing in his pocket for the cool surface of his phone. The girl- Rose- smirked up at him as he angled his way past her. A hot draft ran through the hallway and the air felt sticky against his skin.

Kyle turned, his worried gaze trained on Kara. He just needed one last glance- one last look to make sure she was safe. Her hand was at her nose, wiping a trail of blood that had begun its descent down her face.

“Go,” she feigned a smile, a streak of red smeared to her cheek. “I’ll see you at work on Monday.”

Kyle nodded, pushing into the trashing masses and flashing light.

Kara knew she was going to throw up. Her stomach rolled as she steadied herself against the bathroom countertop, white-knuckle gripping the marble surface.

“Sweet guy,” Rose mused from the corner. Her voice was low and gravely. Kara guessed she was a smoker. Her suspicion was confirmed when, from the corner of her eye, she watched Jason pass her his cigarette. She took a drag and watched Kara reel.

Kara heaved. The world spun.

“Kryptonite poised my entire planet,” Kara met her reflection’s stare and did not recognize herself. “My parents…neighbors…strangers- all of them.” She whirled towards Jason and Rose. Rage- acidic, corrosive, a green rage- ate at her from the inside out. “And this ‘Black Mask’ thought he could kill me with it?” Her words cut through the smoke.

Jason’s green eyes met hers. He looked surprised- an amalgamation of interest and perplexity painted his features. Maybe he wasn’t used to seeing Kara bleeding. Maybe he had never seen her angry.

Kara hated this. She hated Gotham. She hated the reverberation of the music through the bathroom walls.. She hated her dress- how it plastered itself against her body and held to her skin like paint. She felt naked and weak, standing here, reeling in front of this pair of humans that clearly knew more than her. She reached out her hand- demanding a turn with a cigarette. The smoke was sour and burned the back of her throat, but she inhaled anyways- focusing on the discomfort.

Kara smiled against the paper- it was almost comical how delicate she felt. She wondered how long it would last.

“Easy,” Jason spoke low, “that was my last one.” Kara handed it back and straightened her back.

“Who’s Black Mask?” she demanded.

Rose answered as she moved for the door. “Roman Sionis. Crime lord. Comes from a big Gotham family- cosmetics manufacturing, I think. What’s more important is that’s he’s a real sick fuck- I once heard that he peeled a guy’s face off in front of a mirror and then left him there. Faceless.”

Kara walked after Rose, moving her into the hallway. The light footsteps of those trained by Batman sounded behind her. Jason followed.

“The smart move would be to leave,” Jason said, shutting the door behind them. “Go home- regroup.”

Kara’s back tensed into a rigid line. “It’s a good thing you’ve never been one to do the smart thing. Where’s this guy at?” Red lights danced over her face.

Rose, bathed in red light, grinned at Kara. “His men were roaming the 44- I threw a few of them off your trail.”

“Kara…” Jason warned. He reached for her shoulder. Kara jerked forward, avoiding his touch. Jason’s calluses scraped over her skin. “I can’t help you if you go in there- I’m Bruce Wayne’s Jason Todd tonight. You, especially can’t go in there.”

In tandem with the strobing light- Kara whirled toward Jason- her face inches from his. Her breath smelled of wine and mint. Locks of pale hair framed her face, haloed by the acid-green that glowed from behind her. Her eyes dipped to his parted lips. “Thanks for looking out, Jason- but I got it from here.”

Jason rolled his eyes, ignoring the heat that flushed through his body at the acute pressure of Kara’s attention. She was so close that he could feel the warmth rolling of her skin and smell the perfume she had applied; jasmine, vetiver, and cream. He wanted to bury his head in the bend of her neck and inhale.

“You’re fucked,” Jason stated, letting his eyes roam down the planes of her waist.

Kara smirked. “I’m bulletproof.”

‘Black Mask’, Kara realized, was not the proper title for the man that sat in the long stretches of shadows, lounging in the betting booth at the back of the club. Roman Sionis wasn’t wearing a mask. His face was real- a mess of angular planes- like black, waxy flesh spread over canvas. She could see the gleam on his dark gums under the lowlight as she approached his table.

His thin lips spread to reveal white teeth as he registered her presence. The horrible whites of his eyes tracked the shift of her legs.

“And so the lamb wanders into the jaw-“ His words were cut short by the crunch of his nose against the green velvet of the gambling table. Kara had trouble finding a grip on his bald head. She groped at the tight skin as she yanked him back and raked his skull in a wide arc across the chips.

Shouting erupted in the lounge. Kara felt the wolves descend and grinned. She was feeling better. The rage still simmered in his chest. She pictured her mother’s face, so similar to her own, as she held her for the last time.

Heat bloomed behind her eyes and Kara let it rip from her- all the rage- funneled in beams that shot through the table.

“Tell me Kara-“ Black Mask gritted from beneath her hand- “When you leave this place- will you look back?” He grinned- thin-lipped and toothy- up at her. Kara threw her elbow into the men who launched themselves at her and didn’t stop for a long time.

Jason lost his breath when he saw Kara. Head hung, she stood in his doorway. A slow ooze of blood trickled from her eyebrow, making its way down the angle of her cheekbone, and settling in the bowl of her collarbone. Her lip was split- and bruises blossomed over every expanse of exposed skin.

She drew a labored breath. “I wont be here long- I just- I came to apologize. I had no business telling you how to behave yourself- I was never in the position to do that. So I’m sorry.”

“You’re bleeding,” Jason stated.

“And I’m sorry I took the bracelet- it was a gift and wasn’t mine to take.” Kara was wringing her hands. Her knuckles were split and purple.

“Did you kill anyone?” His words were gruff and so low Kara barely registered them. She shook her head. The hum of the refrigerator filled the silence that widened between them. Kara exhaled. “What do you need, Kara?” Jason reached his hand out and took her chin in between his fingers. He tilted her gaze up- leading her toward his gaze for the second time tonight. “Is it really so hard to look at me?” His words were a smoke-thin whisper.

Tears spilled from Kara’s eyes and fell on Jason’s hand. A sharp, ragged inhale broke her silence. She was gasping for air. Choked sobs dragged themselves from her throat. Kara sobbed. “I could’ve killed him- all of them,” Another pained inhale. She looked like she was drowning. “And I wanted to, Jason. Their blood was all over my skin and all I could think about is how their next target is Kal- how I need to protect him- how badly I wanted to rip apart-“ A sob clipped her words.

Jason opened his arms and Kara stepped into him, melting into the fabric of his sweatshirt. He had changed from his suit and his hair was mussed in a dark halo around his head. He smelled like Kara remembered- the sweet musk of his skin mixed with gunpowder and menthols. She buried her head into his chest and tried to regain her breath.

“I’m supposed to be a hero-“ Kara breathed into Jason, “but I don’t even know what the right thing is anymore.” Sensing Kara’s exhaustion, Jason bent down, hooking his arm under her knees, and lifted her from her feet. When he was met with no protest, he carried her past the threshold of his apartment and walked to the couch.

The cushions gave under Kara’s weight. She wanted to sink deeper and stay there awhile. But she wanted Jason more. When his hands pulled back she reached for the collar of his hoodie- grasping at the fabric with shaking hands.

Jason, following her que, didn’t pull back. Instead he braced his hands on either side of her and studied the way the dim light from the kitchen caught on the navy gossamer of her gown. It was like the ocean’s surface in the dead of night. He flexed his hands and kept himself from leaning closer. It took every shred of his self control to keep from scooping her off the couch and nestling her in his bedsheets. She’d be more comfortable there. He’d be more comfortable with her beside him.

“You should sleep,” Jason spoke into their shared air. He drew up memories of the give of her bottom lip against his teeth and the tone of her moans as he drew them from her slackened mouth. Jason shifted and hoped she didn’t notice the erection pushing up against the fabric of his sweatpants.

“I don’t sleep,” Kara said, leaning up, as if drawn by magnets, towards Jason’s mouth. She shifted beneath his. A slight flush colored her cheeks.

Jason removed one hand from the couch, keeping himself upright with the other, and placed it on Kara’s hip. The lovely curve of bone and flesh met the hollow of his palm. With this thumb, he rubbed slow circles through the thin fabric of her dress.

“You will tonight,” Jason drawled, “I have a feeling you’ll have a nasty hangover.”

Kara’s lips parted. Her hips pressed up into Jason’s touch. She ached everywhere. “And where are you gonna sleep,” Kara mumbled, avoiding Jason’s eyes. She focused on the rotation of Jason’s thumb on her body- using the sensation to ground her.

Jason smirked, removing his hand and bracing it, ounce again, against the couch. “Where do you need me to sleep, Kara?”

Kara frowned, forcing her body to sink back into the cushions and away from Jason’s body. “I don’t need anything Jason- I was just…curious.”

Removing himself from his position above Kara, Jason stood up. He lowered himself between her splayed legs, resting his hands on her thighs. Slowly, he ran them up and down the silken fabric. “I missed you, Kara- but this isn’t the way to heal. As much as I’d love to finally fuck you, I think we should wait.”

Kara pushed herself from the couch and took Jason’s face in her hands. She ran one hand through his hair, gripping the locks and tilting his head backwards. “What if I told you I needed it,” Kara whispered, running her thumb over the pout of Jason’s bottom lip.

“I’d call you a liar,” Jason quipped, dipping his head to suck lightly, once, on Kara’s thumb. The wet heat of Jason’s mouth sent her reeling.

“You don’t want this?” Kara asked, breathless, as she gently pushed her thumb back, letting Jason’s lips take it in. His tongue played on the pad of the finger, flicking slow strokes. He bit playfully- teeth grazing the skin- and drew back. In one fluid movement, Jason cupped Kara’s jaw and pushed his own thumb into her mouth. Kara smirked around it- sucking languid strokes along its length. She opened her mouth, letting Jason see her tongue as she ran it along the underside.

“Kara…’ Jason breathed, moving his other hand to cup her breast, playing with the nipple that rose against the silk. Without warning, Jason dropped his hands and rose. A breathless whine escaped Kara. She stood up, tugging at his waistband in protest.

“Jay please….” Kara ran her hand along the v of his abdomen and Jason nearly came at the sensation, as her fingers nearly grazed him. Kara removed her hands and placed them on her hips.

Resolve crumbling, Jason took Kara’s face in both of his hands. Purple indents hung below her eyes. Mascara was smeared and darkened the bags. Her blue eyes- two pleading pools- searched his. Jason bent his head and grazed her lips with his- kissing her with feather-light contact. It was a whisper of a kiss- an ephemeral promise for more. It wasn’t enough. Kara ached. She wanted to pull him down and drown in him. She wanted Jason in her and on her- pushing her into his mattress and holding her body upright when she couldn’t.

“Sleep for me Kara,” Jason mumbled against her lips, “we’ll see what I can do for you once you’re healed.”

Kara, exhausted and sick of fighting, sighed her acceptance and let Jason lead her to his bedroom. She held his hand as he walked in front of her, not bothering to memorize the path. She felt the cool fabric of his sheets wash over her- and then the warm strength of Jason curl around her.

And just like the kryptonite- Kara let the warmth and the darkness drag her under.

[aperture-hag]

The Rat Man in the Wrong Place (Fanfic)

Seven Drabbles of Doug Rattmann having his own little Half Life crossover for Doug Rattmann Appreciation Day 2025!

And of course I had to make it another pun on that one G-Man quote.

1.

Two figures explored the overgrown ruins of Aperture Science.

After the stories they heard of this place, they anticipated finding skeletons of old employees scattered everywhere. People who died without ever seeing the Resonance Cascade.

Whatever had run this place cleaned up evidence of the infamous “Bring Your Daughter to Work Day.”

The pair considered turning back, until they spotted a sign that read “RELAXATION VAULTS.” Beneath was a pictograph of a stick figure resting in a sealed-off bed chamber.

Out of countless rows of tall glass vaults, only one was occupied. Only one survivor of whatever happened to Aperture.

2.

A burst of chilled air broke across his face. Doug opened his crusted eyes to see the glass shell of the vault open.

You’ve slept for so long…and now they’ve got you…!

Along with the Bad Voice, Doug heard a radio toggling between classical music and the sound of metal beams bending. He had to find the real radio, he had to find the cube and try and hold onto the Good Voices.

“Excuse me, sir-“ a woman said.

She was real. Doug still couldn’t trust her.

“Stay back!” he fell to the floor, arms curled tight around his cube.

(X)

Gordon and Alyx sat with Doug on the sterile floor of the vault, trying to understand one another. Doug frantically asked questions but was never convinced of their answers.

Gradually, Doug distanced from the two, his miss-matched eyes darting around the empty room. The skinny man crumpled his body closer to the gray-and-pink cube, making frightful murmurs to himself. His eyes

Alyx’s brows arched with confusion. “I’ve…never seen this. He needs help, I just don’t know what…”

Gordon pondered, then held two fingers held out in a “V”, pressed forward away from the center of his chest.

“Vortigaunt,” he signed.

4.

Gordon, Alyx, and their Vortigaunt traveling companion were wary of using up their supply of antlion larval extract. However, the condition of the man they found left them no other choice. He needed the healing from the Vortigaunts – not just for the open bullet hole in his leg, but for whatever mental affliction separated him from them.

Doug tried to run when the Vortigaunt approached him. Even a neurotypical man would have been terrified of the leathery green creature upon first sight. In Doug’s weakened condition, his struggles did not last, and he soon submitted under the alien’s healing invocation.

5.

More than the wounds in Doug’s muscle tissue were healed. The Vortigaunt’s healing wove with precise detail, helping to slow the dopamine receptors in Doug’s brain. It gave him the numbing clarity of antipsychotics, but without side effects of dry mouth and dizziness.

The human man and woman had questions, but looked as haggard as Doug felt.

Doug shouldered his Companion Cube onto his back and led the way to one of his dens hidden in Aperture’s walls. If they were to properly introduce themselves and share their stories, at least they could do it over a can of beans.

6.

“We need to get you outta here, Doug.” Alyx stood up from the campfire and pointed to a pillar of light that shone through the dilapidated test chamber. “You should join the Resistance! We need more good men like you.”

Doug’s head dropped. His fingers tore into his scalp. A good man? Whatever gave Alyx that impression? Doug sent Chell to face GLaDOS alone. He deserved to bleed or sleep forever in the pod.

The only thing that broke Doug from his ruminating was seeing the tri-pronged and orange-barreled gun holstered at Gordon’s hip.

Damn Black Mesa stealing Aperture’s patents.

7.

The four wadded through the field of golden wheat. Alyx and Gordon had found what they needed, and were off on their next quest.

Doug faltered. He turned to the rusted shed they exited out of, imagining himself still entombed underground.

Then, a warm hand gripped his shoulder.

Gordon wore a familiar solemn expression.

Doug understood that Gordon, too, was a just like him - an undeserving man being called upon to change the world.

Pleased, the Vortigaunt smiled with a gentle show of teeth and squinted its ruby eyes.

“C’mon!” Alyx shouted from ahead. “We’ve got work to do!”

[glitterpinkfemme]

I’m gonna go fucking feral if I don’t eat her pussy soon. Not giving head for this long is homophobic and should be treated as a hate crime.

[tonycries]

STICKYYY

Synopsis. His new year’s resolution? To knock you up!

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

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, babyféver, BRÉEDING, creampíes, buIges, mentions of kíds, cervíx kíssing, full neIsons, GOJO’S POWERS, ínnapropriate use of jujutsu, PÚSSYDRÚNK JJK MEN, marathons, true form Sukuna, dp, Sukuna’s second mouth, p talking, cúmplay, spítting, making it fit, use of “ma’am”, pet names, swéaring.

A/N. Be honest can y’all tell that I’m ovuIating…

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - FEVER!

“T-Tooooji-”

You’re being oh-so-easily shut up with just three stinging slaps! of Toji’s hefty, swollen tip. Strawberry-red, and just as angrily plump. Making such a mess when he’s smearing between your treacly walls in a gluey kiss - like he never wanted to let go. 

And you never wanted him to.

Not even when he’s rolling his eyes with a mean titter, “Don’t remember my heh- birthday gift includin’ this chatty mouth of yours, doll.” A singular, masculine palm sheaths over your deliriously slack maw - rough. “S’even more talkative than her-”

But it was impossible not to be after these hours upon hours.

Impossible for your sloppy entrance to not drawl out resoundingly filthy slurps every time Toji’s scooping his buttery seed back in with his vicious fingers.

“Ya realize that’s supposed to stay ah- inside, ma?” Wrangling your legs open into a rude full-nelson to leave a sappy smack! at that gooey heaven right between. Toji sounds so utterly sullen at the waste, “How m’I gonna get myself a daughter if ya can’t keep it in, hm?”

It was a rhetorical question - and Toji was fucking you like it was.

Sculptured, beefy biceps barely even flexing at the practically non-existent struggle to manhandle your thighs open. It gave you both such a perfect view - of your saturatedly glossy pussy folds being constricted around his lazily sinking size. Struggling. Goopy masses of Toji’s honeyed cum from just prior being drooled out after every syrupy squelch-

“Mouthy fuckin’ cunt.”’ You’re hearing him whisper from right behind you, puffs of condensed air hitting the tender spots on your neck and making you keen. “Makes me wonder- heh- who the babyfever got talkin’ more. You or her.”

He was babbling nonsense - and you were, too.

The raw ruptures of his bloated head making your jaw droop stupidly open, lashing around your heated insides to probe up rigorously against those sweet spots. Toji Fushiguro had no relent - he had no mercy. 

Because he was promised another damn brat for his birthday, and he wanted one now. 

“N-now?” Your heart-eyes are bulging out, the trembly waver in your voice shrilling upwards after every drag of his balloony tip down the span of your elastic cervix. Oh, shit, did he say that out loud? Whoops. “Toji wh-what if it hasn’t ngh- taken yet-”

Toji’s cutting you off - urgent. Spitting, as if those mere words shouldn’t be spoken out loud. “Move that hand f’me-” Couldn’t even wait the few split-seconds it takes for you to shuffle your carefulling covering hand away before flinging it off with a rude swat. “-touch that lil’ bulge- ngh- wh-where I am. Feel me.”

Your fingerpads are shaky - unstable. Caressingly feeling for that riotous smooch of Toji’s bawling fat tip peppering tiny kisses onto your cervix. Your womb. 

The blood in your veins boil with sheer need at the rounded globular edge, pressing down hard in just the way you knew that would drive Toji wild. Making his weighty breeder balls flinch with a harsh thwack! “See? Feel that? How m’alllll up in that cute womb? Bold of you to think that you’ll fuuuuck- walk outta this bedroom not pregnant, mama.”

He was determined. Feral.

Every puncturing rut had your spine arching into the most perfect curvature on top of him. Your back pressing heatedly in a lecherous massage against his heated skin, so bumpy with every flexing ab and muscle. 

You couldn’t help but feel so…ruined. In the best way.

“I-is that a promise?” You’re craning your head over your shoulder, batting those tear-clung lashes in a way that makes Toji’s willowy eyes widen. Tongue pinpointing his sinful scar once his mouth waters. What a dangerous little thing you were. “Wan’ you allll inside, Toji—”

Yeah, dangerous alright.

“Can’t have it alllll inside if yer hngh- lettin’ this cunt drool.” You’re squealing when a few calloused pads of his strongly thick digits pry open your slobbering mouth agape. Letting your tongue loll out lazily for him to splatter a honeyed wad of saliva, “Tha’s what that hngh- filthy mouth gets.”

Before in the blink of an eye, he’s bullying a few free fingers between the pursed pucker of your sensitive folds until he was knuckle-deep. Rummaging out into the geysering orifices hidden against your melty walls, he’s knotting up the ribbony ropes of his creamy seed from trickling out. 

Can’t have his pretty girl wasting a single ounce, now. How could he?

“And for my cutely ovulating wife…” You could barely even hear him above the thundering plap! plap! plap! of skin-on-skin, in such a cottony state of mind that you just register when you’re being gifted with another quick stream of spit lacquering your tongue. “-ya get- this.”

And it wasn’t just the slewing volumes of spittle that your open jaw was being splattered with.

It was the way you were cumming - without even realizing. Without even registering the uncountable heaps upon heaps of edging whines that flood your mouth, vision sparking white hot.

“M’cumming-” you’re gasping out. One limping hand bravely rovering to clutch onto Toji’s sweat-slicked locks and pull, “M’cumming m’cumming- ah! Toji–”

“Yeah yeah, e-easy on the merchandise, doll.” He’s groaning, but you can almost catch the way that he swallows. The way that his heavy balls shift with purpose underneath that girthy base to squeeze. Pulling taut. “Jus’ s-sit still n’ let me breed this ngh! goooood fuckin’ pussy like the good girl ya are.”

With a shudder, you feel like you’re being split-apart - more so than you already were.

Head buzzing with fuzzy little explosions at the thudding splatter! of just about the nth glaze of his seed scouring your deepest gooping insides. You’re being covered over and over in every tiny ridge and sweet spot with whipped icings of his potent cum.

And you can feel it almost knocking at your womb, creamed globs of it sliiiiding all the way down your walls with a promise.

“God…” You feel so full. Like your rubbery cunt was inflated widely enough that you think you might just burst. 

He’s scoffing, “Toji works jus’ fine.” 

“S-so cocky-” Head swimming cockdrunkenly with every jerking grind up into you, he’s slinging out the filthiest driveling squelches! that halfway drown out your pretty noises. What a shame.

“Oi oi, shut up-” But not to you. Toji simply can’t help but laugh - and if you were in any better state of mind, you’d have huffed at the sheer audacity. Gleaming ivory teeth snagging down onto your tender earlobe, “-the h-heh…mother of my kids is talkin’.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Hubby material.

“Hands on the wall now, darling.” Nanami’s throaty order is spoken gently. Lovingly. But you knew better than to not listen - hastily planting your splayed-out hands onto the cool kitchen wall. “Good girl. Now gimme a little show.”

“Kentoooo-” That slutty arch of your back was almost embarrassing, and you’re sure that if it hadn’t been for the strong arm circled underneath your hips then you’d have been weakly collapsed on the floor. “J-jus’ put it in- already-”

“Shhhh- patience, my love.” Your dear husband is rewarding your pitiful whines with a sudden swat! right onto the jiggling mound of your ass. Tutting with every soothing squeeze of his massive palms, that glinting wedding ring cold against your stinging flesh. “Patience s’the number one trait a good parent should have.”

And he’s so proper. 

Or…at least it seems. 

Because those cracking whimpers spilling their way between your lips only make Nanami greedier. The slight tremble of your thighs when your teary slit douses the tile below with a sticky puddle of slick driving him wilder-

“I- I know-” you’re huffing, head craned with an oh-so-irresistible pout. “B-but a good parent should also be ngh- punctual.” 

Punctual? Nanami Kento was always punctual. 

To every date, every meeting, every appointment - everything but right now when he feels his swollen pink tip twitch at your smart little backtalk. Biting down on the hollowish insides of his cheek to keep that dark chuckling from slipping through.

“Hmmm…” Nanami’s letting his rich baritone drawl, perfectly knowing the way that it was enough to make your thighs squeeze together needily. He’s tapping a soft massage down your curved spine, “Let me think…you really think a good- hah- parent should be punctual, darlin’?”

“Mhm–”

“Y’know I always trust your judgement…”

And it’s so cute the way you can only nod and nod, babbling. “Y-yes. Please- Ken, need it- want it-”

Well then, if his wife says so. Right? 

You’re barely even given the time to fucking breathe in a steadying gulp of the heady air before whatever remnants of it are being fucked out of your lungs. 

Oh…this was a change.

Because there was something about the way that Nanami was shoveling all his long, solid inches into you with almost-reckless abandon. Something rough, something…carnal. 

Like every heaving breath had his poor sanity fraying. Guiding one hand to wrap around his hefting hilt and smear away your adhesive-like folds with the globular mountain of his mushroom tip, the other steadied at the bottom of your back to angle you bent even deeper-

The stretch.

Fuck, the stretch - Nanami was so big. His incredible girth bullying past that taut first ring of muscle and peaking up into those spots without even trying. So fully encompassing each and every hidden nook inside your gooey walls that you always end it wanting more more more- 

“Momma’s always gonna ngh- know best, hm?” Nanami’s hiccuping into your ear, flecks of golden blond sticking to his prespired skin and yours once he kisses away your cockdrunk splatters of dribble. “Awww, n-none of that hngh! drooling now, s’gonna make ya dehydrated n’ that’s not good for the baby, darlin’.”

You’re feeling a softened thumb glide along your lips to tenderly clean off the messy streaks of spittle. “Th-thank you, Ken-” Looking up at him with literal hearts for eyes, “-gonna be the best daddy.”

He was. He was going to make sure of it.

But hearing that from you? 

Shit, Nanami has to sneak down a pinch at the side of his muscular leg just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming or in heaven right this very moment. 

Pulpy surfaces of his toned thighs smushing up against your own, he’s finding himself bending ever-so-slightly a few degrees at the knee to lessen the burden on his poor wife’s legs. Making your ears ring with the filthy paps of his hip-bones ploughing vigorously into your ass. 

Bruising your skin, your cervix, your hips once one of his free hands scurry underneath you to take the pressure off of your ever-weakening hips. Crushing your back tightly against the rippling planes of his sculptured front.

And Nanami’s cooing gruffs come out scorching against the sensitive side of your ear, “C-can’t put too much ah- strain. S’not good for the b-baby…for my girls.”

Girls - not just one.

Nanami wanted two lil’ daughters that looked exactly like you, and loved you exactly as much as him. A blissful image of his little family drawing itself clearer and clearer with every smack! against the fat of your cervix. Tight. Close. 

“Gonna take c-care of ya-” He’s inching his bludgeoning tip to slobber a fat stripe down the door to your womb, accompanied by an innocently tender peck against the side of your forehead. “Reeeal good care. A-and then…”

“And then, Ken?” 

“Then- m’gonna-” You can only gasp when Nanami cranes his neck over to where your open palms are still positioned on the smooth wall. Glassy eyes ogling the twitch of the veins running down his throat when he’s placing a soft smooch right on your wedding ring, “-m’gonna marry ya all over again.”

Nanami Kento is sure that he’ll be renewing your vows every year. Every single week. Every single day - even after your daughters are born - perhaps if only you’d let him. If only you’d keep singing out his name in a sultry whine exactly the way you always do when you cum.

Head tumbling backwards with the sheer power of it, body wracking with boiling peaks of your high. Again and again and again-

“There we go, there- hngh- ready, my love.” He sounds so proud. So fucked. And you know you’re not imagining it when the rugged callouses of Nanami’s fingers dart around your throat to drag you into a steaming hot French kiss. One that left his weighty balls squeezing dangerously- “S’about to get…messy.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Baby SHOWER

“Oh shiiiiit, girl.” Geto’s rolling his eyes, softly rounded fingertips rovering down from its second-favorite position around your neck all the way down to his most favorite - smearing open your thoroughly stuffed pussy lips to pinch your puckering clit. Glazing his long five-inch digits with a treacly lamination of your translucent squirts. “Didn’t think you’d be so ngh- messy. S’this all f’me?”

Yes. yes, yes yes it was.

But you couldn’t mangle out the syllables right now - don’t think you had it in you to even try. Not with the way that he’s planting three sappy smacks! down your slobbering cunt. Snickering at the throaty little S-Suguruuu letting off from your lips-

“Ah ah- needy. Can’t even t-talk properly, huh?” And, fuck, was Suguru Geto ever-so-grateful that your copious amounts of orgasms tonight left you already fucked stupid. Because your saturated mind isn’t catching onto the way his rumbling baritone wobbles, the way he has to gulp before muttering. “Now, gimme a kiss. Heh, gimme a ngh- kiss n’ I might just cum inside to give you a little…daughter.” 

The only thing you’ve wanted for so long now. 

But Geto always did find you the cutest when you were teased. When you were split-open on his mean cock and whining for him to fill you up with each deeply vulgar stroke. It made him only want more. 

Made his palms stretch your jittery thighs even wider in his filthy little mating press, like a gooey little banquet for him. Pearly canines showing off in such a snarl when you’re lolling your head upwards to press a few drawling smooches against the corner of his pretty lips, “O-oops. I missed, Suguru.”

“Try again.” Well, he has to build up the patience for raising his future daughter somehow, right? 

Locking your ankles around that neck of his with only one strong arm, and the other grappling dexterously around your throat to drag you down. You’re being manhandled - unapologetically.

“But-”

“Again.”

“W-wan’ it insideee- wan’ a baby.” you’re squealing when his plummy cockhead spatters a few steaming hot dewdrops of pre against your poor cervix. Rutting out solid pound after pound. Each one making you desperately catch his chin, his jaw, his lips in a few drunken kisses. “Please, Sugu?”

Damn.

Damn that evil, evil nickname of yours. 

And he really can’t help but steal a greedy peak down at your drooling cunt, scoffing at the way he feels his parted maw slip through a few rivulets of drool at the fucking sinful sight. 

Your gummy pussy being molded wiiiidely open around his rummaging cock. Glossy rings upon rings of your sugary slick and his creamy pre being drenched upon every single inch that was bullied inside. Even more so when those bumpily inflated veins of his graze right against your forbidden sweet spots. 

And Geto couldn’t stop his light-headed bout of laughter, teasing. “Second opinion?”

It’s almost as if every battering ram had your overfilled pussy talking back to him. 

“C’mon- speak up.” He’s hastily swiping away the curtains of his silky black tresses sticking to his clammy forehead, yearning to hear those lecherous noises from below better. Before curling his engulfing palm once more around your delicate throat, “Not you- Oh? Mmmm-”  he’s huffing out, ears craning. “If you say so, girl.”

Not to mention that you hadn’t uttered a single word. 

But to Geto that didn’t matter, to him it was all he could do to nod along sappily as if having the most intriguing of conversations with your bulging cunt.

Nuzzling into the treasure trove of the crook of your neck, he’s gulping in your pheromones. Shuttering out hot puffs of words between every bludgeoning thrust, “Aren’t I so nice? Listenin’ ta what she says. Yer real lucky s’me fillin’ up this pretty ngh- pussy, gorgeous. Real lucky- because…”

“B-because- what?” You’re hissing, eyes decorating with puddles of oversensitive tears. They trek down your cheeks and make Geto groan once his ravenous tongue laps up every salty ounce. 

“Because when I breed you, m’gonna do it right.”

A promise. 

One he was already halfway through fulfilling if the way that Geto’s staggeringly full breeder balls were twitching against your slamming mounds of flesh told you anything. Urged you. Pushed and pulled with every mounted pump-

“G-gonna be all round and full, arent’cha, ngh- my gorgeous baby? Glowing?” And he was ruining the both of you. Brows marrying closer and closer with every cozy sheath, your clingy walls made his thickly swollen shaft just flood your spongy pulpy cervix with wiry ropes of precum. “Heavily pregnant?”

“Y-yeees-” Gaze heart-eyed and crossing diagonally together, you’re barely even noticing it when your dear lover rests his damp forehead against yours to pucker his lips and grace your tongue with a heavy wad of saliva. “Want it all, Suguru– a-all ngh- deep inside.”

“All?” He’s echoing, and something in his pupils amethyst pupils darken. Something in his voice hardens. Movements jittery and coated in a shimmer of awe when he strays one of your hands down to soothe over your tummy, “Sure ya e-even have the space? M’right-” Pressing down - hard - on that plump rotund tip of his driveling deeply down inside. “-here, y’know? Where our h-heh, daughter’s gonna be.”

Oh. Motioning out a lethargic nod, “All.”

Because Geto only lets his mind shatter for a split-second, his entire muscular body jolting. Fuck. You were going to be the fucking death of him.

Before giggling. Giggling. All drunk on your pussy and you, “Th-then- then, say it with me. Ngh- t-tell me you’re ready for the hah- biiiig stretch, gorgeous.”

“M-M’ready for-” Shit, so embarrassing even despite your barely-lucid state right now. “-the big stretch-”

“Uh uh- the biiiig stretch. Say it with me-”

Practically sobbing with need now - and your poor cunt wasn’t any different. You swear you could feel a sloshing pool of lewd juices forming right below you. “Fuck! Sugu- Suguru, m’ready for th-the ngh- biiig stretch.”

“Then…” he’s practically purring with delight. Ah, finally. “-fucking cum f’me, pretty momma.”

And when you do it’s riding upon the waves of his, too. 

Seeing white, the peaks of your now-fragile high being ruptured and dragged out with every sticky waterfall of Geto’s aqueous seed. 

Treacling into the narrow orifice of your sloppy hole, you could feel every swabbing ribbon slip and slide its way inside. Deeper and deeper every time Geto was fucking each voluminous ounce back in, in, in-

“Now now, what did I s-say…” Splattering out another sugarcoated douse of streaming spit onto your tongue, Geto is in no way shy about punishing your sopping wet slit with a resounding thwack! Tutting at the buttery white lipstain seeping from the corners of your puffed-up pussy and making such a filthy mess at his thickened base. “Look at all that ah- wasted. Mouthy pussy o’ yours said you could hah- take it all, but s’ like a shower.”

Your lips part when he’s pumping you doubly full with his relentless digits, shovelling back the velveteen slathers of his own seed back in. “Suguru…”

“Guess I jus’ hafta fuck ya full all over again.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Boys boys boys

“C-can you ah- hold my hand for this ngh! first time, baby?” He’s hiccuping out like a mantra - a prayer - after every sloppy peck of his ruddied tip onto your adhesive-like folds. Choso’s poor heart barely working up enough courage to dab a slow circle around your quivering entrance. 

And he didn’t know what to do. What to expect but…the only thing that mattered was that he had you.

“Awww, of course, Cho—” It makes him so fucking shy how your warmly cooing tone is all it takes for his achingly hard cock to twitch. Mind shattering into a zillion shards as one hand of yours sweetly laces with his, “No need to be- ah- nervous.”

It was unfair - it was so fucking unfair. 

You were driving Choso wild - absolutely feral with just a singular plap! of your rounded ass ricocheting down to ride your dear boyfriend free of his fucking soul. So tight. And…heavenly. 

He didn’t read anywhere online that it was supposed to feel this good. Curving your sultry birthing hips in lecherous little circular motions that have his dewey eyes battered in tears-

And that was the fucking problem. Your hips. Your cute cunt. You. 

“Fuh-fuck. So soft and warm…” Making him curdle out a few whining whimpers from between his plumped lips, puckering into an oh-so-cute pout as Choso bats his long lashes up at you. “Didn’t ah- didn’t know a p-pussy could feel so ah- good.”

He didn’t know what to do but let his slagging maw drool around where he was lathering the fleshy mounds of your tits with his syrupy saliva. Sucking. 

Neat brows knitting at the way there was no milk - didn’t that manual say humans produced- ah, not yet. Not unless…He could faintly feel something in the very back of his melty mind sparking. “B-baby…”

“Mhm?” And oh, you could get used to that tone. Seeping out into Choso’s prettily rumbling voice whenever he got just a tinge too pussydrunk. Babbling. “Cho– what h-have I ah! said about talking with your mouth full?”

Fuck- Choso didn’t even register what he was doing - register what you were saying. Roughened pads of his tastebuds gleaming down your nipples for a solid few seconds before he’s gurgling out, “I- I want…”

You’re humming. God, he was so pretty like this. Handsome features blushing strawberry red at your half-lidded gaze and the way your clingy walls were smooching his bloated, mushroomy tip so tight. You had no mercy. “Yeeees?”

“I want a son.”

Oh.

Oh.

And just as soon as that sodden little confession is spilling from his lips - tumbling out like he didn’t even mean to formulate the words - Choso sees white. And he feels it, too.

Feels himself lathering your gooey cunt in heaps upon heaps of his torrential cum. Dousing thick, creamy swabs that pinpoint all your most tender orifices for him to dig into. So hot. Heavy. Swashing around in slight treacles at your thoroughly opened insides like a gluey second skin. And the rut of his hips is so animalistic - up, up, up with every ounce of cursed power he has. 

Part of him knows he’s fucking pathetic to be cumming so early from just that - even if it was his first time.

But he doesn’t give a fuck.

Not when your pretty pussy had him seeing his future with you. Seeing stars - and you right there in the middle, holding onto a giggling bundle with his hair, and your eyes. 

Not when his calloused fingers are latching onto your waist like he was planning on never letting go. And Choso’s jaw simply drops at those velvety ribbons of milky white spattering from your drooly cunt and sliding down the ladder of washboard abs. 

You were clenching around him so cozily. So hypnotizingly. Perfect enough that…

Something snaps. 

“Oh god-” he’s gasping, eyes wide - wild. Slender digits carving out neat crescents so harshly against your perspiration-simmered skin. Entire body hunching to French kiss the valley between your tits, “Oh god oh god oh…god…s-s’not enough. It’s not- I-I don’t think it took. Need to- to get you pregnant, baby.”

Sounding so genuinely devastated. You’re shivering at the warm splat! of his big, pearly tears between your bodies - lower lip wobbling at that heavenly slight right in front of him.

Of course it wasn’t enough. And, right now, Choso thinks it never will be.

His pretty lips are just letting out intoxicated nonsense by now. And during times like this, you really forget just how strong your beloved boy is. 

How…greedy he is.

Because those electric aftershocks of his syrupy high had barely even passed. Barely even started to bate before he’s leveraging his superhuman strength to easily flip the two of you over. 

You’re being crushed pliantly and helplessly in half between those drenched navy bedsheets and his flexing muscles. 

Choso was just melting into you; saliva-glossed mouth slacking into a condensed kiss against your own, forehead desperate and feverishly hot resting against yours, big, beefy arms caging you in. 

You could feel that sappy thwack! of his tight, globular balls smearing against your ass once more. That split, peachy cockhead of his skates right down your headily sweltering walls to gift a puckered snog against your cervix. And another. And one more. And just one more-

“H-hey…come back t’me.” He’s huffing out in lethargic little pants, palms clasping onto the crown of your head and pushing you down. Down. Down. Filling you up with his girthy cylindrical shaft until you were fucked stupid. He’s begging, “Hear me out- no zoning out, m’kay? Need you ta g–give me a baby, m’kay, baby?”

And despite the broken pleas that were flooding into his mouth, you couldn’t do anything against the way that Choso’s body was pinning yours down with hungry pound after pound. Fuck- is this what they say? About losing control? About…baby fever?

God, the thought is enough for him to curl his hips sleazily backwards until you’re squirming. Letting the fountain of opaquely milky seed gush! down your inner thighs with the wettest of squelches. They ring saturatedly in Choso’s ears like his favorite song-

Well, it was his favorite song now. 

“Your hah- lil’ human womb s’gonna be so full- s-so cute.” Taking his time filling you back inch by inch. Choso’s button nose crinkles at the sight bouncy recoil against the spongy ends of your pussy. He can’t part from you - not even that. Doesn’t want to. Leaving kiss after kiss on your jiggling tits, sucking. “Need these f-filled. Need a son- m-my son. Gonna be the beeeest momma mhm- with the sweetest milk.”

A few sneaky set of his lips droop to your puffed-up nipples and bite almost mindlessly. Lacquering a heavy layer of spittle as Choso sucks like his favorite gummy candy.

And the way you arch your back into a perfectly slutty curvature to glissade your fatigued body against his sculpted front has Choso gaping. Has his eyes spying down at the bloated outline of himself inside you, nuzzling one mountainous palm. “A-and…ngh- daughter s’good too actually…maybe both. Maybe- maybe I just- jus’ really wan- need you.”

An uncharacteristically smug grin plasters all over his face at the way your mouth pouts, “B-boy or girl, Cho?”

Choso’s shivering. Aching with that red-hot depravation coiling at the bottom of his stomach to fill you up more and more and more- “Five boys- n’ one ngh- girl- all of ‘em with your pretty smile. You…you’re gonna g-give me that, right, ma’am?” 

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - 1000 Yr. DILF?!

“Cummin’ on my cock again? Makin’ such a damn mess.” And anyone would recognize that disapproving tut wafting sternly from between the King of Curses’ lips, anyone would fall completely to their knees. “This yer hah- first time bein’ bred or what, girl?”

Except for you.

You’re not sure you could even if you wanted to.

Because Ryomen Sukuna had you all over him like his absolute favorite doll - your boneless limbs hanging on for dear life in this rude standing nelson he’d manhandled you into. His favorite. 

One out of four of his massive palms splay out greedily onto the crown of your head, teasingly indenting the sharp corners of his black fingernails into your scalp. Dragging you to bear your droopy eyes into that cracked floor-length mirror at the very ends of his royal chamber. 

“Oh riiight-” He’s rolling his eyes, hips bucking up to overstuff you full of his bloated shafts. And through the ever-so-slightly cracked lids of your own, you can spy his sleazing grin. “-it is.”

“K-Kuna Kunaaa-” Your mouth just can’t stop squealing it out like your own personal mantra, limp legs dangling in midair with every sloppy slap! of his dual lengths. You’ve never felt so…blissfully helpless. “I-inside. I need you inside-”

“M’already inside, woman.” Fuck- you were so cute when you got all stupidly cockdrunk like this. But it’s not like Sukuna was going to admit that, instead covering up for the roughened hitch of his breath with a snicker. Second free hand gifting a punishing swat! onto your clit. One. Two. Three. “Only thing tha’s not inside ya yet is my heir. Yet. Seriously- that fuckin’ ngh- greedy for me t-ta fill ya up till yer overspillin’ or what?”

And you can only nod. Nod and nod and nod while buttery scoops of his glossy pre sprayed all over your g-spot, your cervix, everywhere and anywhere. 

Sukuna was leaving no crevice and sweet-spot unturned, the matchingly staggering sizes snugly barreling inside you until you were spellbound. And it really didn’t make him soothe his pace to be even just a bit more merciful the way those near-thirteen inches made your tummy swell. 

Bloated up with such mouth-watering abandon. Just like it would if you were…

“...pregnant.” Oh, that word is leaving Sukuna with more of a whine than he intended. Hips snagging upwards to peak the lightning bolts of his thumping veins salaciously down the side of your g-spot. “A c-cute lil’ cunt like this is how yer gonna end up ngh- pregnant.”

Listen, he’s not one to get all stupidly sentimental.

But your heavenly pussy was just plaguing him with rosy visions of you and a lil’ gremlin to call your own. With pink hair and that stupid, stupid smug grin that was stolen undeniably from his genes. Dammit. 

Who said you could make him feel all…mushy. He should have you charged with treason for this.

And, well, of course this was Ryomen Sukuna’s favorite position.

Of course, he’s taking that absolutely blasphemous advantage to let the second oversized tongue split apart his abs slosh outwards. 

Slithering muscle careening its snailing pathway down your teary pussylips, lapping up ounces upon ounces of syrupy slick. Before twirling around and around that plump button of your clit. And it was so…filthy, it made you squirm. 

“S-s’dirty…” You’re throwing your head back into the cushiony valley of his toned pecs in a frenzy, electric bolts of pleasure sprinting down your spine with every wet thwack! emanating from down below. Though, you weren’t complaining. You really, really weren’t complaining. “Kuna…”

And- fuck. You should’ve known.

Should’ve realized that letting your mouth smear dangerously open to echo out your whines would result in the devilish curse spitting a wet splatter right at the corner of your pouty lips.

And Ryomen Sukuna had perfect aim - he had the perfect ability to make this ordeal as neat as possible. 

But where was the fun in that?

You were just so adorable with your saliva-slicked lips wobbling open, jolting at the terrorizing scrape of his overgrown nails smearing away the pools of delirious dribble. Gently. 

“Dirty? Hah! Wha’s real hngh- dirty s’this pretty pussy in ovulation. Look.” He’s grunting out, and before you know it you’re being nudged even closer towards that ancient mirror. Fully drinking in the way that Sukuna was filling you up, the way that you were taking him. Chest heaving you up and down as he swallows in a deep inhale, “Can fuckin’ smell it on you- heh, my favorite time of the month. Has you beggin’ f’me to fuck you full with my seed? To give you an heir, huh?”

You were.

Throat scratching out the tiniest of pleas that you don’t even register slipping through your lips - but Sukuna could. He yearns for them. 

Feels them stir up the heated depths of his rounded breeder balls when they stick against your ass after every tireless pap! Your hands crane around to claw useless into those bulging deltoids of his-

“Oi, where’d ya think yer scratchin’? Trynna run?” Preposterous. As if you could ever run away from him - from the bruising smooches that Sukuna was leaving down every elastic inch inside your goopy depths. Sopping. Sodden French kisses. “Or…” Tongue gliding down his bared canines, other tongue leaving a sappy plap! of a touch onto your peaked clit. “...or is it that momma here is gonna heh- cum?”

“C-cum-” Fighting to strangle out - as if you needed to, in the first place. You didn’t, but you were just so endearing like this. “-gonna cum- ngh- gonna- gonna-”

“A-after that, ya better fuckin’ make me a daddy.” 

And if this was any other time then Sukuna would have mocked your pitchy whines. Lilted his growling baritone to taunt you as you fell apart. 

But he couldn’t - because he wasn’t doing any better. 

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck, so fucking embarrassing how the clingy embrace of your sopping walls clamping around his bloated lengths was enough to make him cum. Him. The all-powerful King of Curses at your utter mercy. 

Those split, bawling divots of his splurging out seedy strings of pearly white, decorating your sloshing insides until it felt too heavy. Too tight. 

Voluminous masses of his cum settling deep at the goopy depths of your pussy - and Sukuna always had so much to give. A smirk plastering all over his face once the sensitive undersides of his cocks brush up against one another. 

Twitching to pry your gluey walls wide open enough to let a few thickly viscous dollops of seed frost your puffed-up pussy lips. Lips that his second mouth can’t help but kiss to clean up-

“Tch…such a damn mess.” You’re hearing ring inside our cottony brain from somewhere above, still short-circuiting blissfully. “But yer my mess, huh, Queen of Curses?”

♡ INO TAKUMA - “W-woah…”

Ino can’t stop himself - he can’t fucking shut up.

Pathetically drawling words tumbling out with every slight translucent sliver of fucking drool. With every pussydrunkenly content sigh that escapes him once he’s sinking back and forth past your tender entrance. “Atttta girl, th-this is the life…”

And, in fact, Ino can see his life with you when you’re on all fours and milking him so prettily like this. Especially when you’re like this.

He can see just how much prettier you’d look round and glowing and round- Filled to the brim with all of him until you pop out a cute lil’ boy with his eyes and your smile…or two boys…or three.

Ino can’t help but flex his wracking body forwards until you’re being absolutely crushed with the weight of all his slender muscles. Every plunging bump of his ruddy pink cockhead swirling into your most precious treasure trove of sweet spots. And the way your dewy eyes veer crossed with every one of his bludgeoning rams is so cute-

“P-pretty…” And he doesn’t mean it just as that cute lil’ nickname for you. Plumply puckered lips punching sweet little pecks down the pearlescent beads of perspiration at your forehead, “Wh-what do you think about taking ngh- us to the h-heh..next step.”

And, fuck- that should’ve been an inside thought.

That was supposed to have been something he kept to the confines of his sugarcoated brain. 

But when you’re flashing a simpering curl of your lips like that, then he can’t stop himself from letting his angry cock twitch. Bursting with spattering showers of his scorching pre that make an easy trailway for Ino’s bulging shaft to slip and slide easily deeper. “N-next step?”

“Mhm–” Fuck it. He spits onto the curvaceous pads of his fingertips, gliding to nuzzle your swollen clit. Tugging on the hood of that sensitive nub in a way that makes you see stars. “The next step.”

“Engagement?”

“Nuh uh-”

“Marriage?”

“No, silly girl.” Letting off a few sickly sweet swats at your buzzing clit, he’s snickering at the way that makes your spine arch. Lips sleazing up a few kisses right down the middle, “M’talkin’ kids. M’sayin’ I wanna breed ya- knock ya up f-fuck I need to-”

And you’re so addicted to just how needy he is. 

A bout of light-headed giggles making its way from between your slackened lips, that sound enough to make him huff out a pout and shovel a few solid inches even meaner. You’re mumbling out, “Th-that pussydrunk, Taku—?”

“Sh-shut up.” He’s grumbling, dousing his dextrous digits with a few candied slathers - for only a split-second before stuffing them into the slobbering orifice of your mouth. Making you taste yourself. Taste him. “Shut up when I’ve- ngh! g-got my cock kissin’ yer pretty cervix, sweetness.”

And it was true. 

As if to make sure you don’t underestimate how serious he is - how ready he was right now - Ino’s trekking up one of his feet to plant right on the top of your head. 

Pressurizing with that strengthened weight to shovel your face deeper and deeper into the pillowcase. Completely soaked with waterfalling layers of your saliva, only growing more drenched with every battered ram of his pulpy peach crownhead into that g-spot.

“Ngh- Taku-” Your fingers grapple hastily towards the creakily singing mahogany headboard, clenching. Moaning wantonly, “Taku- baby– fuck! Jus’ like that.” 

“I know I know.” And he honestly doesn’t know how he finds it in himself to fucking roll his half-lidded eyes, all pretty white teeth bared in such a snarl. “Wanna milk me, huh? Take me fuckin’ cock n’ f-fuuuck gimme a ngh- son or two…” Mumbling, “...or three.”

Three. 

Three. 

Fuck.

It’s just about all you can do to weakly buck your hips in an attempt - an attempt - to meet his sloppy cadence. Nudging your hips up in sultry little gyrations that Ino is sure hypnotizes him.

And you can’t even blame him because you’re much the same-

“Wan’ it-” you’re muffling out into the silken fabrics, that awestruck expression on Ino’s face so cute that you’re gifting him with a long few sucks on his greedy tongue. Tasting him like your very favorite lolly, “O-one or two- ah! Want you to f-fill me up-” And he’s so tender interlacing his fingers with your own, letting you guide them up to your still-empty tummy and press. “-right here.”

You didn’t have to tell Ino Takuma twice. 

“Shit- shit.” He’s gruffing out, mere moments before you feel his sharpened canines dig into the delicate crook of your neck. Hard enough to break skin-

Nothing more until he’s letting his sobbing divot burst out in stealthy ribbons upon ribbons of cum - already. Drawing out his initials into your rubbery cervix as much as he can over and over. 

Ragged moans tearing into whines at just how blissful it felt, how embarrassing it was that he’s reaching his high just from a few of your words. 

“M’sorry I-I-” Ino nuzzles the neat circle of his teethmarks, smearing the roughened pads of his tastebuds along those oversensitive indentations. That slight tinge of pleasurable pain making your gripping walls squeeze, and Ino hisses. “-actually- fuck! M’not sorry ngh- not sorry ta breed this ngh tiiiight cunt.”

You’re humming once one set of fingers loop your neck to drag you into every shuddering grind. Pumping your tight channel fuller and fuller with creamy swashes of cum, “G-gettin’ really cocky, aren’tcha, baby?”

“Only for you.” He tuts, “Gotta h-hope our ah- two sons don’t get my personality, huh?”

“Three, remember?”

Oh.

Oh? 

“Can you…” Ino’s whispering, throat ragged and raw. Gazing droopily gluing together with tears and utter heart-eyes when he’s babbling onwards, “...can you marry me, pretty?”

♡ GOJO SATORU - SIX EYES

“Sweetheart…sweetheart-” Gojo’s voice comes out in more of a rasping growl than anything else, and it’s just as fitting that he’s latching his pearly whites onto your throat to help drag you down, down, down. “Dammit…you’ve gotta s-stop movin’ around so much n’ just ngh- Take it take it take it take- it-” 

Take it you were - for the past few hours now, in fact.

And the electricity was already out in every ward of Tokyo, your bed was already splintered and useless. 

But Gojo’s heavy cock was still sputtering out rummaging swab after swab into you right then and there on your bedroom floor. Leaving creamy remnants of cum glissading down your insides everywhere. Anywhere.

Fuck - he came again.

Gojo can barely blink his eyes open to admire the traces of gooey white that made their home inside your sweltering hot pussy. Good, he’s stuffing back that soppy puddles forming at the ends of your puckered crease, very good.

“W-was told m’Christmas gift would be ngh- you all round n’ pregnant-” he’s whining in a sickly syrupy tone against your ear. And you’re catching the way that Gojo’s gummy pink lips curl into a pout, “So we’ve gotta start early.”

Shit- you didn’t know what to expect telling Gojo that you were…ready. 

But it certainly wasn’t for the famed strongest to lose his goddamn mind, for him to lock one beefy bicep around the small of your middle and drag you like some glorified ragdoll to meet his determined mating press. 

“T-talk t’me pretty momma–” He’s plastering his body all over yours, greedily sucking up every ounce of space you own. It was his space now. Just like this was his pretty pussy that he was breeding.

“Satoru—” Your fatigued fingers cradle the side of his handsome face, motioning to scrape across Gojo’s cloudy tufts of white in a way that makes him purr. That makes his overworked cockhead douse your heated cunt with copiously thick dredges of pre. Perhaps even tiny wisping ribbons of cum. Just from that. “H-how are you still…”

Honestly, you didn’t even have to ask.

Because even through your bleary heart-eyes, you’re catching the way that his narrowed eyes bolt with miniscule flickers of bright blue lightning. Zapping with cursed energy as they droop drunkenly half-lidded, “H-heh…perks of bein’ ngh- fucked by the honored one, girlie.”

But the one ruined here was him.

Every warm lacquer of his own treacly seed swirling and sloshing against his shaft with every jittery rut. The weepy swipe of his peach-pink tip has Gojo’s fuzzy mind blanking. Feverish ounces of blood making his bludgeoning cock swell fatter and fatter-

“Sh-shit…” Gojo’s maw spills open, watery eyes of sapphire sprinting all the way to the very back of his lid. Only to be greeted with visions of stars and you, you you - all round and…pregnant. Fuck, he needed this bad. “Dammit dammit- dammit! Think m’gonna cum–”

You’re nodding, “Cum f’me, Toru– D-don’t miss.”

As if he would ever miss.

“Damn- how filthy.” He’s grinning, “Could cum from j-just that, y’know?”

But if you noticed the urging tease in his words then you don’t snap back - you can’t. Making the towering man himself let out a low whistle, “Oh? No mockin’? Shiiit- that fucked dumb, huh?”

And you really shouldn’t be surprised when the stilted atoms in the air seem to freeze around you two. Everything tight and stuffy with the use of cursed energy as Gojo’s activating his six eyes, glowing eyes eagerly feeding down upon- oh.

You can’t help but let out little whimpers at the bzzzzz–! of jujutsu when he’s skimming a few six-inch fingers down your tummy. Down, down, down like he could see through-

“Hmmm, right on time-” Gojo’s chuckling - and there’s something else that’s utterly dark tinting his sing-song voice. Something…dangerous. This really was the strongest. “-yer ovulatin’ right now heh- this one’s gonna be th-the ngh! one.”

“Wh-what?”

“My daughter and my son- duh, my silly girl.”

Fuck, what?

Only being able to gape at the lustrous sheen of drool flooding from between his grinning lips. Snowy brows raising the longer Gojo’s gaze locked right where your womb was. He was so fucking eager. 

Barely even realizing what he’s doing - whether he’s even using his powers - when resting your boneless legs on top of two strong forearms. You could feel the flex of his muscles underneath your flesh as Gojo unabashedly and unapologetically cracks your legs even further open.

His own personal buffet. 

Vicious thrusts ruining the syrupy harmony inside, “Not gonna miss- never g-gonna miss f’it’s ta ngh- make my cute lil’ twins, m’kay, my girl?” Patting at your inflationary cylindrical outline, “Gotta s-safe space riiiight here s-so just-”And you keen when a fat fingerpad lathered in vibrating jujutsu thumbs over your clit. “-cum.”

And you were more than happy to.

To let that tautly pulled string of yours burst to fall right over the edge. You’re cumming with Gojo’s mouth on yours and his swollen tip French kissing your bruised and battered g-spot. Marking out permanent indentations of his girthy circumference. 

“Thereeee we go-” He’s giggling - giggling. Limitless long since flickered off to let your nails drag their red, red patterns down his Herculean back muscles. “Mhm- Toru’s here. Tha’s right, h-hngh! hold on wh-when ah, fuck- Toru here fills ya up…”

And it was much more than just filling you up. 

Because it’s like Gojo was trying to flood your poor insides, his cock hitting in a sappy thwack! against the rubbery end of your cervix to glaze out thick wiry bursts of cum. Again. And again. And again and again and again- because he couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to.

“Take it- oh, take it.” He’s breathing out, heaving right into your open mouth. Perhaps if you were in any better state of mind you’d have noticed the way the furniture jitters, moves. Reeling into the magnetic field that was Gojo Satoru and his six eyes bumping into overdrive. “Can see it- hehhhh– My good fuckin’ girl milkin’ every inch of me. Just look at h-how you have the ngh- strongest. On his fucking knees…”

But Gojo didn’t mind - not one bit as his creamy dabs slipped and slided to stain your pussylips a glossy white. Pretty pinkish balls squeezing out a weighty few wads of sap before he’s whimpering. Yes, whimpering, “Ngh- I c-can tell the ah- first s’gonna be a girl…my cute daughter- gonna be as ah- pretty as her momma. And my son- heh, total momma’s boy.”

Just babbling right now - begging and begging for you to take even more with his hips fucking you powerfully full. 

“Sweetheart…” Gojo’s eventually piping up over those ringing squelches, oversensitive eyes fluttered firmly shut. 

“Hm?”

“Yer gonna be such a fuckin’ MILF.”

♡ HIGURUMA HIROMI - Pony.

“Ride it, angel-” Higuruma knows he should let his poor girl take it easy, he knows he should wipe that filthily sleazy grin off of his face when your hips stutter even harder down all of his mean inches. “-I said ride it- ride me. P-put those hips to work now like a good girl f’me.”

And you were.

You couldn’t stop - not when your babyfever was at an all time high. 

Barely even letting your poor husband walk two steps past the front door from work, barely even letting him take off his sexy office suit before burying his swollen cockhead deep past your sappy folds. Needing him. 

You were leaving needy smooch after smooch of your glossy folds on the neatly trimmed happy trail down his washboard abs for what seemed like hours now. 

But it still wasn’t enough. Still. Your mouth aching for the same kiss-

You’re wrapping your fingers around the silken fabric of his tie to haul him even closer. “Wan’ a k-kiss, Hiromi–” His pretty first name dripping from your tongue like a prayer, and the way that only makes him gulp has your velvety orifice spraying out a sodden rivulet of treacly slick. 

“A kiss?” Higuruma’s batting his dark lashes teasingly, the corners of his mouth turning upwards into a simpering smile that only you had the privilege of ever seeing. Your glissading body gets easily pulled into his with a hefty arm wrapping around your waist, head tilting upwards. Close. “Really think ya deserve a hah- kiss, my slutty girl?”

“Y-yes–” Your hips are swerving in languid gyrations to swallow everything that Higuruma has to offer. To let your depraved walls cling onto the heated girth of him tight enough that it’s almost as if you were trying to permanently imprint every one of his bloated ridges, every vein, every thwack! against your plush walls. “W-won’t you give the ah- mother of your kids a k-kiss, Hiro?”

Oh.

Oh…

Higuruma’s dewy eyes are snapping open, jaw loosening with raw shock and something…carnal. You really were made for him - you clever, clever woman.

“So…” He’s quirking up a stern dark brow, and suddenly you’re reminded why so many find your attractive husband so intimidating. “A kiss, huh?”

Clasping one of your wrists to place a long peck against the back of your hand - it’s so gentlemanly. So tender. “How about this for a hah- kiss? Or…” The complete opposite of the way that Higuruma’s hips were bucking uncontrollably up, up, up - breaking through your steady tempo to plant a thorough clash of his mushroomed tip against your cervix. Sneaking in a loooong drag right down the middle to make sure that you’ll feel him puckering up there for days. Weeks. “-how about this?”

Fuck.

He was so mean.

Cackling out at your huffing and puffing, “S-so rude- Ngh- I take it back, don’t want ya to b-breed-”

“Awww, don’ say that my pretty lil’ wife-” The mahogany bedframe sings out protesting creaks when he plants his feet onto the cushiony mattress, driving his scouring crownhead into you lazily. Mazing through those gluey walls of yours to wrench out tiny squeals as he easily takes over. “Don’tcha know how hck! badly I wan’ my own lil’ family. A lil’ daughter.” One hand tugging on the tie that was still dangling haphazardly from his neck, “You jus’ hafta- hah- sit there all p-pretty and take it. Let me fuck ya full, tha’s all…”

That’s all but it felt like anything but. 

Because Higuruma was no stranger to letting his speed pick up as dirtily as he wished, pounding into the tight crevices of your gummy hole until you felt like you were molding to his exact circumference. 

“H-hate how you always know what to- ah!” He doesn’t even let you finish your half-heated sentence, letting your hands rest precariously on the broad deltoids of his shoulders. Because you felt so weak.

“Mhmm— love you, too, angel.”

He knew exactly how to ruin you.

Tweaking a few fingers over to rub that silvery sheen of your sweet, sweet juices taking over the sensitive nub of your clit. Flicking at where you were the most tender with one index, he mutters, “Heh- cute.” Before tap! tap! tapping your gorgeous tummy - oh, how he loved every part of you. Every part of here that he’d make sure grows full…glowing with his kid. “S’bout time I ngh- filled ya riiiight here. Must be feelin’ awful empty, huh?”

Glazed eyes of yours latching onto his, “Yes- fuck- f-feels so lonely without ya.” Shit, those babbles were affecting Higuruma more than he’d like to admit. More than he wanted but- really, he couldn’t complain. He was addicted. “Want you to c-cum in me. Okay, Hiromi?”

Higuruma can only titter, “Yes, ma’am.”

And when he does - when he finally, finally does with a few vicious strokes plummeting against your most mushy spots - it’s so much that whatever shredded rationality left in you seriously wonders about your little request.

“G-gonna gimme a ngh- daughter, right?” Feeling the hot trickle of Higuruma’s cum showering your inner thighs, buttery globs of pearlescent white drooling from your pussy lips. “Lemme p-play hah- barbies with her. Lemme teach her to have one h-hell of a smart mouth like her parents.” Talking up to him in saturated squelches with every drilling plap! up into your overspilling pussy. “Teach her ta be as sweet as her momma.”

He was daydreaming. Eyes slipping dangerously closed with each stubborn dab of seed pushed into your womb. 

And you’re running your fingers through his now-disheveled slick-back, “S-sounds amazing, baby–”

“Yeah?  This ‘nough?” He’s groaning against your jaw, your throat. Needy and clingy - just the way that he can’t help getting at the honeyed slosh of his seed inside you. “Take it- take it, okay? Shiiit ya got even tighter- S’allll yours ta milk and…and…” 

“And- ah! what, baby?”

Peck after peck until, finally, against your lips, you hear- “And, if ya take it all like a good girl n’ I’ll let ya hngh! ride my nose next, angel.”

A/N. Hope y’all have a lovely week!!

Plagiarism not authorized.

[unintentionalseductress]

Telling The LADS Men to Ditch The Condom

Them reacting to you saying you want them to fuck you raw. Warnings : MDNI, sex, oral, handjob, and general smut These banners are mine, please do not reuse them.

Zayne, as a doctor, preached safe sex. He appreciates the responsibility and nothing is more attractive to him than a woman who is aware of her birth control options and doesn’t mind communicating openly with him about these decisions. After all, having sex was such an intimate act for him that he wouldn’t even think about it until you’d been dating for at least a month. He likes the exclusivity and the closeness of sex, and that includes being held accountable for the choices both of you made in the bedroom. So when you tell him to lose the condom, he blinks, making sure he hasn’t misheard you.

“You…want to do it without a condom?”

His head is between your thighs, kissing and nibbling the soft flesh as he edges his way towards the moist and sensitive folds, and he raises up on his elbows to ensure his ears aren’t being obstructed by your legs.

You nod slowly, blushing as his dark eyes fixated on yours, the flecks of amber in them lightening at the idea. His pupils dilate at your affirmation, and he hoists himself up a little higher, resting on your belly, gently stroking your flanks. “You’re sure about this? There’s no pressure you know.”

“I know. But I feel like we’ve been together long enough to allow ourselves to go one step further. And I’m on the pill. We can monitor the situation later if you want to but honestly Zayne, I think any step I take with you isn’t going to be something I regret.” You say the words candidly, reaching down to stroke his black, silky, locks of hair, heart skipping a beat as he plays with the squish of your belly, nuzzling his face into the softness. “I want to feel you. All of you.”

His eyes flutter closed for a second, the ebony eyelashes resting like fans on his cheekbones before he sighs, the little puff of air sending a shiver across your middle. He crawls up towards your face, capturing your mouth in a tender kiss, tongue sliding across the slit of your lips before entering inside. You cup his face and deepen the kiss, heat gathering in your body. Zayne pulls away only to come to your ear, hot breath tickling you as he speaks.

“I don’t think I’ll regret this either.” He licks the shell of your ear, making you twitch. “But remember, if you change your mind, I’ll stop. No questions asked.”

His words are so sincere and spoken with love, adding fuel to the fire. Zayne, patient and considerate, is looking at you with those sharp eyes as if you’re his last meal on earth. He kisses his way down, pausing briefly to shower some attention over your perked nipples, giving them soft licks and kisses that make you mewl and whine with need. Once he’s back at his original spot between your legs, your arousal has increased a hundredfold, your sex soft and swollen, leaking fluid as he parts your folds.

His tongue darts out, tasting you, licking slow lines from cunt to clit, before slurping the swollen pearl into his mouth, suctioning it with his lips. His middle finger flirts with your entrance, teasing it until it starts sucking in his fingertip, drawing a moan from you as he strokes it along your upper wall.

Zayne knew his anatomy and he never wasted a second in touching you exactly in the spot that made you feel like you were turning into a pile of goo. Never in a hurry, always taking his time, coaxing orgasms from you like a hobby, the breath tearing from your throat, your core spasming from the pleasurable waves that radiate throughout your body. Zayne nudges you through the final vestiges of your orgasm before stroking himself, readying his hardened cock.

He’s done this before but what gets to him as he aligns his tip with your hot entrance is how heightened the sensation is, the absence of latex allowing him to profoundly feel every muscle contract and fully experience how wet and welcoming your body truly was. He grits his teeth, his balls throbbing, desire surging through his veins, almost snapping his self-control.

He inches in slowly, splitting you apart, marveling at how you stretch to fit him, the little noises that leave your throat music to his ears. Once fully sheathed, he looks at you, hair tousled and splayed across the pillow, a flush across your face. He thrusts with care, drawing a moan of longing from you and softly rolls his hips, adjusting himself at an angle he knew you liked.

Every movement brushed his mushroomhead against your gspot, soft sighs filling the air, his lips descending onto yours, his thumb working your clit, gradually bringing up your pleasure to another peak.

“You feel so good darling,” he pants, his thrusts becoming steadily faster, his willpower fading away to primal need. “Taking me so well,” he whispers, capturing your lips in another passionate kiss.

Your body is reeling from the stimulation and with Zayne’s gentle ministrations on your clit you cum with a cry, his hips stuttering as he feels the orgasmic spasms of your core around his cock. He tries to hold on, but it’s too much, his head growing sensitive as your second orgasm sucks him in deeper into your warmth, his balls tightening up and the coil in his belly compressed to a limit until it snaps, and with a grunt, he spills himself into your body.

Afterwards, he holds you tenderly, gently easing out, and cleaning up your messy slit with a warm washcloth, playing with your hair until the both of you fall asleep.

This is a man who’s been taught condoms are the best way to avoid complications. It’s a golden rule that he will not have unprotected sex for both health reasons and to avoid making the person he’s with uncomfortable. You don’t have condoms? He’s running to the pharmacy to get some. He takes these things seriously and understands that it’s simply gentlemanly to be the one to buy condoms. Xavier wants to feel like he can be relied on in situations like this and that you should never feel awkward asking him to make a condom run or any kind of run.

He’s reaching for the box to roll one onto himself when you hold his wrist. Curiously, he looks at you, a sight to behold, a heavenly sight laying on his bed, lips plump and swollen from his kisses, body glistening with sweat from your recent orgasm.

“Ditch the condom Xav,” you murmur, tracing his arm with your fingers, causing goosebumps to bloom on his skin, his usually slow heartbeat picking up a few paces.

“Are you sure angel?” He lays down gathering you in his arms, his erection tickling your belly as he breathes in the perfume of your hair.

“Positive.” You stroke his cheek reassuringly, feeling like you could drown in the depths of his blue eyes, unable to control the little giggle that leaves your throat as he blushes at your confirmation.

“Xavier.” You grasp his chin, forcing him to look at you. “I’ve never been more sure. I know I can trust you, rely on you. And right now, I can’t think of anything I want more than to feel you inside me, no barriers.”

He’s shy, his smile so awkward and his face so pink. This was new to him, and the fact that you’re asking so sweetly is pulling at his heartstrings. After hesitating for another moment he places the condom back on the nightstand.

“All right angel. Since you're sure. But tell me if you feel uncomfortable at all ok?” Xavier rubs his thumbs over your cheekbones in circles, a sweet and tender gesture, carefully laying over you, his chest coming into contact with yours as he tips your face up for a kiss, his hands slipping under you and clasping your shoulder blades to bring your body as close to his as he could.

While his tongue explored your mouth, he raises slightly on his knees and effortlessly finds your moist entrance with his tip savoring each tiny inch that envelopes his cock with aching warmth. He's unable to control the sigh that escapes his lips, lost in your mouth as he feels the wet muscles contract around him, pulling him in. The feeling is inexplicable, the intimacy of skin on skin making him feel heady and light, heart racing in his chest.

His brilliant blue eyes begin to darken at the edges, turning into a darker shade of midnight as he bottoms out, little noises of contentment resounding in your throat as you feel the hot velvet column of his cock fill you, feel the way it pulses as he occupies your pussy.

“Xav… You feel amazing,” you gasp as you pull away from his mouth, his hips coming to lay flush against yours as he thrusts into you, stroking your inner walls and teasing all the right spots inside you. He's hot and flushed, watching your face as it contorts in pleasure, his blush settling across his cheeks and nose like adorable pink freckles. You smile hazily as him and his head dips down to suckle as nipple, his tongue caressing the little bud, turning your moans into sighs of longing.

When his thumb starts to circle your clit you almost cry out from the pleasure of it all, every sensitive spot being hit at the same time with aching perfection. His breath mingles with yours, sweat forming on both your bodies as you rock against each other, creating delicious friction, matching the other rhythm for rhythm, strike against long stroke.

The edges of your vision blur as your climax grows nearer and Xavier’s jaw grows tight, a moan escaping his lips as he tries to hang on, determined not to climaxes before you. His thumb picks up its pace and with a shaky gasp, your orgasm hits, the sweetness of it making you sob as it grips you, feeling your core spasm, and with a final push of triumph, he allows himself to succumb to his own desires, cock twitching and spasming along with your pussy as he cums, coating your walls with his seed.

Tired, he collapses on top of you as gracefully as he can, your hands and soothingly rubbing over his back, kissing his hair, murmuring praise to him as he floats down from his high.

“Angel…you're so wonderful. The best.” his head is on your chest, listening to your heartbeat as he tries to grasp into reality. You can't help but laugh lightly. Xavier always gets pussy drunk and now without the condom it appeared to accelerate to an entirely fucked out state.

His eyes gleam like sapphires as his breathing returns to normal. “Well how am I supposed to be the guy making the condom run now after knowing what it feels like without one?”

You roll your eyes affectionately at him and flick his forehead.

Rafayel isn't unfamiliar with sex and intimate relationships but he doesn't often engage in them. He's quite shy and doesn't tell you what he's thinking. With patience and a little experimentation, Rafayel slowly came out of his shell and learned to feel comfortable enough with you to express his desires and wants. However, he's nervous about how you'll react to him admitting he's been wondering how it would be without a condom so he clams up.

His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are half lidded, whining as he rests between your legs, his back against your chest as you pump his erection with aching perfection.

“Feeling good baby?” You coo at him as he writhes under yourself ministrations at your mercy.

“Yeah… So close… Don't stop… “ he pants, hips desperately thrusting up to meet your strokes, feeling his thigh muscles quiver and his abs growing tighter with each passing second.

“Talk to me Raffy… how good am I making you feel?”

“So good…” His eyes, a lovely shade of lavender gray are starting to turn into smoke as his impending climax builds and rises. His cheeks are flushed and there's sweat on his forehead and chest from the exertion, the gentle crescendo of pleasure building to a steady peak.

He gazes up at you in a haze, those adorably plump lips parted as he gasps for air.

“You're so pretty when you pout you know?” you ask teasingly and as predicted his brow furrows, displeased at your amusement.

“Don't… say things like… that!” the color in his cheeks rises and your own control slips slightly as you lean down to give an admonishing nibble on his lower lip. The extra stimulation is enough to push him over the edge and with a groan he pulses, his cock warm and needy in your palm, spilling his cum into your hand.

Your clean hand plays with his pretty hair as you continue to pump him with care ensuring he rides out every drop of his orgasm, a few more more spurts of viscous fluid leaking from his tip before stopping.

Rafayel relaxes on your lap as you reach over to grab a tissue and wipe off your hand. His eyes linger on your messy hand, sticky with his arousal and he feels his cock twitch despite having just cum.

“I wonder what it would look like slipping out of your pussy instead of your hand,” he says in a quiet pondering voice that has you pausing, a wicked grin forming on your face.

“Raffy… Did you just say you wanted to fuck me without a condom?” You emphasize the word ‘fuck’ on purpose because of how flustered he gets when he hears it and sure enough, he pouts, a noise of embarrassment escaping his lips, rolling onto his side to hide his face.

You quickly discard the used tissue and lay down to face him, pulling his struggling hands away from his face which looks like a setting sun now, adorably flushed, eyes bright and averted.

“Raffy tell me what you want.” You reassuringly pull closer to him, nuzzling his warm neck.

His cheek rests on the top of your head and with a sigh he admits with a hint of bashfulness, “I fantasize about it sometimes. But we don't have to,” he adds quickly.

Your laughter is muffled by his neck as you lean back to look at him. “I think we've been together long enough to discuss doing it raw.” You look at him imploringly.

“Cmon baby. We can ditch the condom today. I kinda want to know what it feels like too.”

His smokey lavender roam over your face, still carrying hints of hesitation in them. “You're sure? You're not just doing this because I want to right?”

“Oh Raffy. There's never been a day where you've made me feel forced to do anything. I'm very sure.” You cup his face between both your hands and gaze at him lovingly.

He laughs awkwardly, smiling shyly and you feel his erection press against your thigh as the both of you draw in for a kiss, Rafayel pulls your knee over his hip, stroking your moist folds with his cock. You whine in pleasure as he holds his cockhead up to your clit and you slide along his length, both of you sighing passionately at the intimate touch. His engorged tip cups the base of your clit so perfectly and you feel your core clench in anticipation.

Rafayel drags his length between your folds one more time before sliding down to your needy hole, groaning as your wet heat circles his tip. You push down on him, feeling the heat of his member, enjoying the way he fills you so wonderfully, his head sitting snug against your gspot.

The thrusts were shallow in this position but it allows you to snuggle into his chest, look deeply into his eyes and kiss him at leisure, each stroke hitting that sweet spot inside you with aching precision. He toys with your clit , pinching and rolling it for your pleasure.

He's amazed at how good you feel, how tight you are around his length, how wet you really are. The condom almost dulled this sensation and it feels like he's woken from a dream and experiencing reality for the first time.

Your orgasm hits sharply, making you cry out and cling to him the combined fondling of your clit and gspot too much for handle. As it starts to settle down you moan in his ear.

“Baby… Give it to me. I want to know what your cum slipping out of my pussy feels like too. Please… Cum for me… Like how I came for you…”

Your voice is whiny and pleading and Rafayel's hips stutter as he reaches his peak, letting out noises of his pleasure into your ear as he cums, and you feel his hot seed fill your eager pussy. As the both of you catch your breath, kissing each other in the afterglow, everything feels right.

Rafayel's erection softens and as it happens you feel the unmistakable feeling of your combined cum sliding out of your pussy, pooling at the crevice of your thigh.

“That's so hot,” you murmur and from Rafayel's expression he's thinking the same thing. He gathers a little bit of your mixed fluids on his finger, fascinatedly tasting it, his eyes intoxicated at the flavor.

“See what happens when you tell me what you want?” you strokes his arm. He nods then gets close to your ear.

“I don't think I want to use a condom ever again.”

Sylus is that guy who loves going in raw but only if he's sure you're into him. And despite the talk of him being the ruthless leader of Onychinus, he's a true gentleman and would never bring the topic of having unprotected sex unless you initiate it. He prides himself on being someone you look to for security amidst the chaos in the N109 zone.

His fingers are knuckle deep into your pussy, wet squelching noises filling the air as his long fingers expertly tease that bundle of nerves inside you while his thumb rubs circles on your clit drawing out a moan of longing from you, your walls clenching around his thick fingers.

“That's it good girl… Give it to me,” his deep voice rumbles in approval as you writhe desperately on his fingers feeling your body tense in anticipation at what was to come.

His lips hover over your collarbone nibbling leisurely and you roll your hips, moaning as your climax washes over you, pussy spasming from the gratification.

He licks his fingers clean, savoring the tang of your arousal before pulling you in for a deep kiss, pulling you snugly against his chest, and pressing kisses to your hair. You taste the musky flavor of your orgasm, transferred from his tongue to yours.

Your hands are already busy with his cock, tickling his thighs and cupping his balls drawing a chuckle from him.

“Easy kitten. We have all night.” His tongue slips between your lips again and gives you a sloppy kiss, a noise of delight leaving you as you stroke the hot velvet of his cock.

“Sylus?” you stroke him in a steady rhythm that has him humming, the noise sounding like a cat purring, his abs contracting in response to your touch.

“Yes doll?” he licks and nibbles down the side of your neck making you shiver. His crimson eyes fixate on you as you hesitate to speak.

“What is it? You know I'll do anything for you right?” He grasps your chin firmly and makes eye contact, feeling flattered when you blush, your nipples perked from your recent orgasm, skin covered in a sheen of sweat, looking divine.

“I was thinking…”

“Yes?”

“Um… How would you feel if… we didn't… Useprotection?” the last few words are said in a rush, and your cheeks grow hot as you make your request. It's not normal for you to feel so shy, after all Sylus was incredibly open to experimentation and exploring kinks with you. But there was something so personal about asking this of him, letting a part of him sit within you so intimately and the vulnerability made you feel exposed.

Sylus rises a contemplative eyebrow, his lips curling into an indulgent smile as he sees how flustered you're getting.

“The kitten has gotten bold,” he says approvingly. “You wish to have all of me? Feel my cock in all it's exposed glory inside your wet little cunt?”

The crudeness of his words sends a rush of arousal straight into your already dripping core. Heat fills your cheeks and you slap his shoulder.

“Don't say it like that!”

“isn't it the truth though?” Sylus rolls you on top of him as he lays back against the pillows, enjoying the view of your soft body. “Don't you want to feel every inch of my veiny cock fill you, rub your sensitive walls and fuck you senseless? All the while your tight little pussy keeps getting wetter for me and you can't do anything except helplessly moan and let me stuff you with my seed?”

His ruby eyes glitter sinfully as he watches you squirm under his gaze. How cute. His fingers idly stroke your sides, your hands full of his cock but momentarily frozen from his teasing.

“Don't feel like you have to stop on account of me sweetie,” he prompts, then can't stop himself from laughing as you hasten to continue with your strokes. “You fluster so easily.”

“Anyone would if spoken to that way!”

“Oh no sweetie. I doubt anyone else would have such an adorable reaction. Why can't you just admit that you want me in you, no barriers, just raw and primal like animals?”

Your nails scratch over his abs, feeling them quiver. “If you don't want to just say so.”

“Don't be that way.” His red eyes narrow, hands tightening around your waist. “You know I want to.” His large hands cup your breasts and squeeze.

“Then why do you keep laughing like it's funny?” you whine as he twists your nipples, and grind his upper thigh.

Sylus's eyes soften slightly before he leans up to kiss a nipple and pull it softly with his lips. “Mhm… Sy…” your nails scratch his scalp as you cradle his head.

He lets go and blows a puff of air over the hardened peak, causing it to perk up more before circling it with his thumb. “I adore you doll. It’s not that I find it funny. I'm very flattered that you want me that way. But if I let my desire for you consume me, you may find yourself pushed to a limit.”

He traces a finger from between your breasts down to your navel. “You may find me… being rough. More than you're used to. Because kitten…” he leans up with you balanced on his body and with a soft tickle of hot breath on your ear that has you jerking slightly in surprise, he says in a feral whisper, “the thought of burying myself in your cunt with no condom on, feeling how you clench and get turned on for me makes me want to eat you alive.”

Blood rushes to your face and Sylus watches with satisfaction. He caresses your cheek. “Ride me kitten.”

His eyes darken as you glance at him under lowered lashes. You crawl over his body on your hands and knees hovering your slick core over his hard length. He sucks in a breath as you lower your hips, teasingly brushing his tip against your wet hole, the sensation of so inviting it takes all his willpower not to slam into you mercilessly. He knew he wouldn't be able to control himself if he was on top, wouldn't be able to stop himself from taking. Putting you in control was the wise choice here.

“Fuck kitten,” he growls, his fingers digging into your hips. “You feel so good. So wet for me.”

Sylus's cock stretches you deliciously as you take him in, feeling his veins and heat pulsate achingly inside you. You whine as you fit him in, you whine each time because he's just so big, and it takes a while to adjust and take him. It never fails to make him smirk but today he's watching intently wondering how he's supposed to last with your pussy gripping him like a glove and enveloping him with your needy heat.

When you finally bottom out, both of you take a collective breath and feeling so full, feeling how he fits inside you. Resting your palms on his chest you start to move, lifting your body up feeling him stroke your inner walls and start to ride him.

You start slow, setting a pace that has him groaning, holding your hips so tightly it hurt but you continue, angling your body until you feel his engorged head brush your gspot. His teeth are gritted as he slips a finger between your legs and finds your hardened clit, stroking it to match your movements.

The texture of his cock has you moaning, his gentle movements on your clit pushing you closer to him edge. Sylus lets out a hiss of air, trying not to disturb your pace but his will is being ripped to shreds.

You were so warm. So tight and wet. And claiming you without a condom in his opinion only solidified further that you were his. Marked, claimed, and rightfully his in the most biblical sense.

Your pace picks up as you ride him, needing more friction pathetic noises leaving your throat as you chase your orgasm. Your thighs quiver and burn from the effort but you're so close that you push through the pain, gasping as Sylus firmly presses into the little bud.

“You're so cute like this, struggling on my cock. Let go for me sweetie… Make a mess all over me.”

His words are a sinful request mingling with the sounds of slapping skin and lewd noises of need. With a loud breath of desire, you cum all over him, eyes squeezing shut at the pleasurable spasms that rock your body.

It's too much for Sylus to handle, and taking advantage of your momentary lack of movements, he thrusts upwards into you, fucking you through your orgasm desperate to cum with you.

The absence of the condom aids him and with a loud bark he feels his balls tightening and his orgasm hits him like a train, holding you tightly as pleasure flows through him, his seed filling into your needy pussy.

Fuck he was addicted. He rolls you onto the bed and holds you close to him.

“You're going to be the death of me kitten.”

© unintentionalseductress original work | no copying, plagiarizing or translating

[yameoto]

caitvi sandwich

wives returning from war

tw; dom!caitlyn, dom!vi, f!reader, double penetration, voyeurism, masturbation, pussyfucking, pussyeating, blowjobs, overstimulation, 3some, sex if it was a competitive sport. wc; 1.8k

you are all they can think about. all fucking day. it’s a wonder they could've waited this long, really, to get home and fuck their sweet, sweet darling. by the time the door opens, they’re ready to jump your skin.

“baby,” vi gasps, bulging arms winding tight around your waist and seizing you—lifting you into the air like you weigh nothing more than a china doll. she kisses you, hard. then kisses you again, and again, and again; peppering down your jaw to your neck to your collar. they’re sloppy in their haste, nuzzling into your throat with a hefty amount of neediness.

seriously. you haven’t even put down your tea, yet.

“stop hogging her.” caitlyn complains, as she collapses back onto the couch. she angles her head upwards, and caitlyn kiramman does not pout—but the gleam of her doe-eyes is uncharacteristically sulky.

vi spins you around, much to your disgruntled (though, secretly pleased), “hey!” before she delightedly turns to caitlyn, smirking. “don’t tell me you’re jealous, little ms. dignitary.”

caitlyn scowls.

“you aren't the only person who’s missed her, you know.” she grouses, and vi just grins. “spread your legs, cupcake.”

there’s a beat in which caitlyn wearily glares, like, really? you’re ordering me around? though she concedes, legs unfolding from their elegant cross to fall open, wide and inviting.

vi promptly plops you into caitlyn’s lap.

caitlyn gasps, pupils darkening in an instant as her knees jerk upwards. she grunts, out loud, when your thighs shift—unintentionally—against her bulge. that’s all it takes, before silk is getting torn of your shoulders by pale hands, and vi is tugging the skin of your nape between her teeth, exhaling shakily against your ear. so. they were clearly on edge.

“been thinkin’ bout you all day, princess.”

“understatement.” caitlyn hisses, hips canting upwards to grind shamelessly up against your groin. oh, gods. she’s getting harder by the minute. “i seem to remember your descriptions on the ride home, vividly.”

“what can I say? it got you all hot and bothered.”

“with nowhere to take care of it.”

you swallow, cheeks hot. “do i get a say in this?”

“no. “no.” two voices resound at once, almost unintelligible with the way vi is biting into your shoulder and caitlyn has begun to ravish the expanse of your tits, like they both won’t be pleased until you leave, bruised and marked to oblivion.

hands seize your hips, flipping you easily—back onto the couch. you can’t tell whose. especially when your eyelids squeeze shut the moment a palm cups your quickly slickening cunt, rubbing over your panties.

“hah..”

“fuck. been dreamin’ bout this sweet pussy all day.” vi murmurs, hungrily, nose dragging up the insides of your thighs. she marks her way in furious nips, getting sloppier and sloppier; desperate to tongue her way to the prize.

“ha.” caitlyn’s voice is drill, yet amused. your eyes fly open when your legs are wrenched apart by large, veined hands, and vi grins up at you from between your legs.

your tea, is now unceremoniously spilled all over the floor, porclein in pieces. all in the name of seizing vi’s pink head of hair and smushing her up against your quickly soddening pussy, whining in need. she winks, the asshole, yanking silken underwear down in clumsy movements, and then her rough hands are clamping, spreading you wide open. she’s being beckoned by the heady scent of your cunt; tantalisingly all-consuming. her mouth is watering.

listen. vi wants to work you up—wants to take her time, relish each and every drop that coats your folds in that thickening glisten. it’s just—fuck, princess. d’you have to smell so goddamn good?

“can you not be patient?” caitlyn husks, and annoyance has never sounded so fucking sexy. “i’m trying to enjoy the view.” her legs have slid, to fit over your shoulders, and when your eyes flutter upwards; you’re greeted with the underside of her cock. it arcs above your head, obscuring most of your vision, and it’s enough to draw a needy little whine out of you, hips jerking upwards—right into vi’s waiting mouth.

that’s how it goes. her tongue drags, hot and flat against your swelling, puffy clit, before exhaling into your cunt like a little fucking tease before she dives in.

“who’s fuckin’ pussy is this?” vi growls, mouthing feverishly, one hand pre-occupied with jerking herself, furiously off, whilst the other slides two fingers, stretching you generously open.

“ah-ah—mm—yours.. ow—!

“ours.” caitlyn corrects, twisting your nipple sharply, in reprimand. it’s hard for her to be too mad, when you nose into the wedge of her thighs, apologetically, your hips shaking the couch—like a kitten nuzzling against an outstretched knuckle.

her gaze lowers, black and blue; and your lips part; glossy, plush, and absolutely begging for it. caitlyn can’t resist—her dick sliding its way into your open mouth.

you take her tip like a greedy thing, lips wrapping round and tongue slicking underneath, arching up for more.

“shit, darling.” caitlyn gasps, entire body shuddering, all around you. it takes everything in her not to throat-fuck you right then and there, nails digging into the fabric of the armrest, eyes rolling backwards as you nurse on her cock.

vi laughs, pleased and breathy. each tremor thrums straight to your core. her tongue swirls, panting; hot and heavy, as she pumps her fingers ever deeper, burrowing into your pussy like a woman starved. there are slurping noises, because she’s a messy fucking eater and there’s nothing she loves more than having you smeared all over her chin, her nose, her cheeks—as long as she’s salivating into your pussy. the searing coil in the pits of your stomach winds, tighter and hotter like a spring, overheating.

you can feel vi’s lips curling upwards with every clench of your thighs—hips spasming—bucking heedlessly into tongue. she fucks your head empty. in fact, all you can do is moan into caitlyn’s cock, and that sends shocks of pleasure trembling up caitlyn’s length to her spine; unable to resist pumping herself, deeper, into the warm, wet heat of your throat.

all of sudden, vi thrusts another finger inside, just as her tongue drags upwards and mouth sucks, hard on your clit. she curls, knuckles pulsing against your tight, tight walls. caitlyn seems to approve, because her slow, treacherously-shaky motions begin to stutter into frenetic jerks, breathing harsh. overwhelmed, you let out a mangled croon—back arching off the couch—pinned down two ways, by the cock in your throat and the tongue in your cunt—and promptly cum all over vi’s face.

vi licks it all up. glances upwards from between your legs, smug and pussydrunk, cum dripping from her lips. she makes a show of swiping it with her tongue, though you’re too spoiled by the warm aftershocks of pleasure wracking your body to do too much about it. caitlyn is still fucking you, trying her damndest to remain in control, but her restraint is slipping with every trickle of white that rolls down vi’s throat, and the way you tug her dick deeper into your mouth, like you were made for it.

all you can do, for the moment, is attempt to catch your breath—chest rising and falling in shallow pants as you suck on caitlyn’s cock, suctioning her in, weakly. her hips rock, and in the fuzzy whiteness that’s throbbing your brain you almost don’t realise vi is lifting up off the couch and fisting her own cock in her hands, until your pussy is being splayed open and—ah—fuck!

“hush, baby.” vi coos, almost in awe at the way your pussy gapes, loosened by her fingers and her tongue and wet, wet, wet with her saliva, your pleasure. it yawns open. takes the thick length of her girth so easily. she fucks back into you, smooth and languid, gently tracing fingers up your hips. you’re trembling in overstimulation, sensitive, sore. they always seem to find a way to leave you like that.

“look at you. takin’ me and cait so well.”

look at you, indeed. the outline of vi’s cock pumps in you, along with caitlyn’s own; one raised against your abdomen, the other down your throat. it has the two of them almost dizzy with arousal. vi buries herself inside you—fucking your aching walls in loose, hot drags; biceps tense in fighting the urge to not roughly slam you balls-deep and fuck you into the couch, like some wild animal—lest you choke on caitlyn’s dick. speaking of—

“oh, darling.” caitlyn shudders, as her balls tighten and her thighs clamp down, around you. “i think i’m—ah—“

at the last second, caitlyn jerks herself out from your mouth and aims. her load shoots out—a thick, white arc that splatters against vi’s tits and streams down her torso. there’s a viscous, glossy streak down the line of your body—like a bucket of paint knocked over.

caitlyn pants. vi ceases her motions, momentarily. glancing down at the mess, glistening down the ridges of her abdomen—and then back up at the woman, thighs locked around your head.

she smirks, chest heaving, hips still working. “wow.”

“oh, shut up.” caitlyn slurs, slumping against the armrest of the couch, temporarily satiated. her cock drizzles weakly, as she pumps it lazily in her hand, watching vi fuck you, gentle and slow—hand curling into your hair. her dick twitches.

“next time, you’re swallowing.”

a drop of leftover cum beads, down her length, and splashes on your lip. your tongue drags out, and it’s with a deliberate little arch, you lick it into your mouth. two, twinning inhales; sharp, and shaky. vi’s hips stutter. caitlyn’s eyes meet yours, dark.

oh, you’re not getting a wink of sleep, tonight.

[robinsgrl]

Rafe with weird girl is a bit more nonchalant and tame compared to JJ with weird girl. he WILL match your freak and that’s a threat and yeah you might be weird but he’s much weirder he makes you shy. YOU.

weird girl masterlist

MDNI 18+

you’re talkative. You’re never not talking someone’s ear off. Most people can’t handle it. Sometimes your own friends need a moment of silence. But never JJ.

you’re laid back on your bed, legs spread open as his face hides between you. “deb deserves so much better. her boyfriend is such an asshole.” you breathe out shakily as he laps at your cunt.

he hums into you, nodding. “she does, mama. much better.” he dives right back in, your fingers threading through his hair.

“yeah, and the weird thing is she doesn’t think she does,” a small moan leaves your lips but you continue. “we tell her all the time. oh! I forgot the worst part! when they were on a break, he came to the store and-and bought condoms. at her register.”

this makes him pull his face from your heat, eyes wide as he looks down at you. “no fucking way.”

You nod, just as exasperated. “yeah, i know, it was fucking crazy” you tell him as you push his head back down

you’ve gone fishing with him and you’re so damn bored. you came to tan but the suns slowly going down and you're sure you’re as tan as you can be. he adds bait one last time and throws it far into the water. your eyes trail on his strong arms that are flexing under the soft hue of the sunset.

you dont even question your thought. you lean over and chomp down onto his bicep. he’s not even phased. “what’s my sunscreen taste like?” he asks as he glances over at you with a pretty smile. it makes your cheeks flush.

“delicious. wanna try mine?” it’s a joke. but you should know better than to joke like that with him. he doesn’t hesitate to drop his rod and rush to you.

a loud laugh leaves you as he tackles you in a hug, making you land on him as he falls to his back on the boat. he’s nipping at your neck, biting and sucking on you. “jj!” you can’t stop the happy laughs that leave you.

“you taste so good, mama!” he trails his lips down to your chest and bites the side of your boob that’s pressing out of your bikini. it doesn’t take long for him to fully take your tit out and bite your pebbled nipple.

“JJ!”

you’re in bed with jj when you realize something. he’s butt naked. “bro, where are your pants?”

“bro, i like letting my balls get air”

“bro, are you clenching your cheeks right now?” You ask with a laugh as you smack his ass. He lets out a fake moan and pushes his ass to you.

“Bro, i loved that. Do it again.” He’s laying on top of you now, feeling his everything against you. Your hands fall to his butt and you easily squish his cheek. “Bro, im getting a boner.”

“Your bro is giving you a boner? Bro, that’s fruity.”

He nuzzles his face into your neck as you keep smacking his naked butt. “Your little butt is so cute” you comment.

“My butt is NOT small”

“Yes, it’s a tiny lil bubble butt”

“There’s nothing tiny about me, mama” you laugh as he rolls his hips into you.

“JJ! Oh my god!” You laugh and try and push him off of you.

Yeah, no one can ever truly grasp JJ’s freak— he leaves you miles behind. Moral of the story…… he wins.

[cybergoth1]

can you do some Jason Todd as a husband headcannon pls !! i just know that when he’s healed , he’s hauling his partner and getting TF out of Gotham , and popping out babies (GIRLDAD) and a nice job in a low-key town and maybe becomes a househusband 😋🤭(for real i’m 100% sure he would) but at the same time he is The Jason Todd . Hot , mysterious , emotional but also not , a big fat nerd in a brick body .

you know your daddy's home.

pairing: jason todd x fem!reader.

warnings/tags: fluffy, pre established relationship. my silly drabble about raising a daughter with jason todd. girl dad jason todd. husband jason todd.

author's note: hey babe i turned it into a drabble! hope you don't mind it!

"look, mommy! i'm batman!”

you suppressed a chuckle as you watched your five-year-old daughter standing tall on the couch, wearing a paper mask poorly shaped like batman’s cowl. the little girl came home from school, talking non-stop about the vigilant and refusing to take off her paper mask, even during lunch time, excitedly repeating what her teacher had said about nowday heroes.

"gotham needs me!"

she was trying to make her voice deeper as she jumped onto the floor. the cats, startled by the noise on the wooden floor, bolted away in a stampede.

"you're too pretty to be batman, baby girl".

your husband jason said as he stepped out of the bathroom. the scent of soap and shaving lotion lingered in the air as he walked down the hallway in just his sweatpants. his scars seemed more visible, glistening under the light as drops of water trailed down his bare back and chest.

“but how do you know what he looks like? he's always wearing a mask!” her childish voice rang out indignantly.

he picked her up effortlessly with one hand, while the other gently tugged the paper mask aside to look into her bright blue eyes — blue like his had been before the lazarus pit. her nose, mouth and ears were just like yours, a glimpse of you both in her youthful face.

"he sounds ugly, like a very old sad man. unlike you, princess".

"i'm not a princess, i'm vengeance!"

you laughed behind the stove.

"well, vengeance," he said, walking toward the apartment’s kitchen with her tiny legs wrapped around his hips "you can save gotham after eating your vegetables," he added with a smirk, putting her on the high chair.

she looked at him with wide eyes, as if he’d just handed her a death sentence.

"broccoli?"

"broccoli".

you placed the plate of food in front of her, the broccoli standing out between the rice and meat like a tiny, green nightmare. she looked up at you with pleading eyes, silently appealing to your good side.

you stroked her hair gently.

"if you don’t eat, i'll have to tell batman that his sidekick isn’t eating properly. you can't patrol without eating broccoli," he said, pulling out the chair to sit beside her. that was more than enough. with a disgusted expression, she began to eat, occasionally poking at the broccoli.

"hi, jay," you said, placing your hands on his broad shoulders and giving him a light massage. he softly kissed your left hand before looking up at you.

"how’s my other girl doing?" he asked with a smile, his lips still lingering against your hand. your daughter was so focused on hating the broccoli that she didn’t even notice the display of affection. normally, she would’ve made a gagging noise, followed by a dramatic, “bleh!”.

"she's missing you a lot" you said kissing the top of his head. a familiar scent makes you pause for a moment.

"you're using my shampoo again, aren't you?"

"maybe?"

©cybergoth1, 2025