#i need to read smut

[tobeholyistobeempty]

hey so since i’m in the season of ovulation here is degrading simon riley feeding my size kink. i’m not ok send regrets. 18+

“beggin little whore f’me. not so smart now that i’ve got your brain leakin outta your cunt.”

——-

yeah. you’ve pushed it. simple as that.

and god, you knew better. you really did. but some might say you’re a sucker for punishment. others might say you’re a masochist.

you think it’s probably a bit of both, when it comes to simon.

maybe it’s because he’s a big mean brute. emotionless. big ol wall of mass and muscle. tough bloke like him don’t feel a thing, yeah? at least in your mind. makes it easy to needle - easy to poke and prod and toss little jabs about his eyes or mask or whatever slivered sign of life he might be displaying that day.

he’s contractually obligated not to kill you, might you add. that brings a level of safety you got comfortable with.

but what you didn’t get comfortable with — what you couldn’t possibly ever get comfortable with, is the size of him in your fucking guts. the growl of him in your ear. the clutch of him around your throat.

even big dead-eyed men like simon have a limit. and by the grace of god, you’d found it. the bottom of this particular mine shaft, if you will—

“y’alright down there?” his voice is slick. fuckin slick with glee. a first for him, you’re sure. “still with me, sweet’eart?”

you can practically feel the smirk barring those teeth to your neck. you try to toss something smart assed back, something to keep it goin, but he’s got your wrists pinned behind your back and his cock stretchin your walls in a way that screams he shouldn’t even be able to fit — yet you’re clenching around him like you’d die without it.

all that comes outta you is a moan.

and he laughs. bastard. fuckin filthy rasp right against your ear. “tha’s what i thought. mm. s’what i fucken wanted.”

your eyes roll. he’s so deep your hips hurt. he presses a palm between your shoulder blades to pin you harder to the floor of his barracks. all that pent up aggressions got you leakin down your thighs. pathetic. humiliating. delicious.

“tha’s it. fucken stunned now, yeah?” he thrusts deeper. free hand smacking your ass til it stings. “always mouthin off. startin shit—fuck—y’knew what this was. you’ve always known what’d it take t’shut you up.”

you hiccup when he hits your gspot. over and over. so goddamn good it hurts. “fuck—fuck you—“

“yeah. y’are.” his hips jerk, hissing against the back of your neck. “feelin every inch of me, aren’t you? go on. fuckin tell me how i feel. wanna hear y’say it.”

you bite your tongue. squeeze your eyes shut. he fucks deeper. harder.

“say it.” another smack to your ass.

“big—“ you gasp, choking on it. “fucking—huge—“

he growls like you’ve fed him. “tha’s right. eight inches buried so deep in your tight little cunt y’forgot how to lie.”

youve never heard him talk like this and all you can do is whimper - the airs gone thin. every inhale is like sandpaper scratching at your throat. every thrust is like being punched open. and when every sound you make comes out as something pathetic you know you’ve lost.

you twist your head to try and adjust for reprieve but he fists your hair to still you. “y’wanna tell me again you can’t take it? huh? wanna tell me m’too big?”

he is. he totally is. but it’s delicious pain. makes your eyes water and your walls flutter. something about you can’t help but egg him on.

“s-shut up—“

he slams forward. breath cuts sharp against your neck. “wrong answer.”

you jolt. cry out. the heat is a wildfire across your skin. “s-si-mon—“

“try again.” he breathes, curling his fingers from your hair to your jaw. “or i’ll just keep pushin till y’feel it in your fuckin spine.”

he makes good on the promise with a bruising thrust. you wail with it. vision blurring blue. “fuck! fuck i wanted this—but you’re so—you’re too—fuck please—“

and it’s that last little word. the syllables that slip past your teeth presenting pleas on a silver platter, that make him moan. fucking moan.

“oh yeah. shit. now we’re gettin somewhere.” he exhales with it, shifting just to drag at your walls and angle deeper. “beggin little whore f’me. not so smart now that i’ve got your brain leakin outta your cunt.”

you long to tell him to shut up, fuck off, goto hell — any other circumstances you might have. but the first fuck with simon riley after months of pushing and prodding ain’t one to be won. you’ll be lucky to walk tomorrow. the monster can only be poked so many times before it wakes with vengeance.

[shouyuus]

+18, mdni, jinu is possessing me

thinking about giving jinu a pussyjob till he loses it and goes full demon on you -- softly rocking your hips, your palms splayed out on his broad chest, his cock sliding between your pussy lips, the head catching against your clit -- the friction exquisite. his palms on your hips, fingers digging into your skin, hard enough to leave the inky imprint of his hands there.

there's a deep flush in his cheeks, a bright, glazed-out look in his eyes, the flickering gold behind them, all sin and ghost-light.

"ah -- fuck --" he groans, his head tipping back into the pillows as you work your cunt along his length, your slick and his precum mixing into a pale, sticky mess that coats your thighs and his stomach.

the ac is blasting, the blinds half-drawn. the cityscape outside is a crystal-shard shatter of skyscrapers and neon signs. even in the receding afternoon light, the heat had been unrelenting.

but you'd want to draw it out, wanted to have some fun, for once, and who was jinu to refuse you? except now he thinks he's made a rather elementary error, a miscalculation of sorts -- because watching you like this, skin bare and glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, head thrown back, lips slightly parted, tiny little mewling moans puffing from you with each languid roll of your hips, he can already feel the flittering fire eating up the length of his spine, the deep-seated rumble of want that has always been the core of him --

because what are demons if not creatures of want -- envy and gluttony, lust and pride. he wants -- he has always, always wanted. and like this, watching you, feeling you -- your hot, welcoming heat, the promise of your body wrapped around his, the silken feel of your skin beneath his sharpening fingers --

with a harsh grunt, the world flips, and you find yourself pinned beneath him, his eyes tiger-bright and shining.

"j-jinu -- oh!" you hiss at the feeling of his cock sliding into you, the sting of his canines as he sinks his teeth into your shoulder, your wrists suddenly pulled taut above your head, held beneath one of his long-fingered hands.

"enough --" he rasps, his voice grounding through him, resonating from his body to yours as you clench down around him, and his smile, when you finally manage to open your eyes again, is dark and dangerous, and ever, ever so slightly too-wide.

you keen as he ruts down into you, the tip of his cock pummeling your g-spot with a precision that you'd almost call otherworldly before you remember -- oh. right. he was.

you feel his tongue as it laves along the lobe of your ear, gasp as he groans --

"now it's my turn to have some fun."

[millermouth]

Part VI

Summary: You wake in Joel’s bed, sharing a quiet, tender moment together. But by mid-morning, he can’t keep what’s been bottled up inside any longer, and the dam finally breaks, taking everything with it. || smut MDNI 18+, thigh grinding/riding, handjob, pinv, still considered a pregnancy kink right?, dirty talk, lots of longing and angst, fighting (physical and emotional!!!), no outbreak, they're still terrible communicators, possessive joel, these are not healthy dynamics and I do not support these characters lol, au: joel speaks his mind, this is not medically accurate we do it for the plot || notes: this follows a bit of a different layout than the other parts, more focused on the drama than the smut. and it sure is dramatic. but hope you still enjoy!

The next morning, things felt… well, normal. 

Waking up next to Joel was becoming close to what could almost be routine with how often you stayed there, though your brain still struggled to make sense of how it all happened. How his house, his sheets, his scent had started to feel like home. 

Sleep came in fragments these days, always interrupted: by the need to pee, by the stretch of your skin, by the tiny feet inside you drumming against your ribs at ungodly hours. Nothing about your body was comfortable anymore—except maybe this.

Joel was still asleep, his body slung heavy and loose with the kind of deep, unguarded rest you never saw from him in daylight. He took up so much space—broad shoulders pressed into the mattress, bicep curled behind his head, the other arm draped over your hip as if to anchor you to him. His bare chest rose and fell beneath your palm, warm and solid, coarse hair spreading beneath your fingertips in a dark, masculine patch.

You couldn’t help but touch him. It was always hard to fight the urge, especially when he was laid out like this: soft in the face, the furrow between his brows smoothed out, sunlight painting the bridge of his nose, brushing across the dark stubble along his jaw. You let your hand drift, fingers splayed, tracing idle patterns through the hair on his chest, letting your nails graze lightly just to feel him shiver in his sleep.

Joel was always so warm. The kind of heat that felt like security, the kind that seeped into your bones and made you melt right into him. He was a furnace as he laid next to you. It felt safe and warm and secure next to him. One of his thick thighs was wedged between your legs, supporting your hips and keeping the ache in your bones at bay, but also creating a whole new kind of ache—a throbbing pulse you couldn’t quite ignore.

Sometimes you wondered if it was just the pregnancy. If it was hormones making you this needy, this desperate for him in the early morning light. But then he’d breathe against your neck, heavy and steady, or shift beneath you and pull you closer, and you knew it wasn’t just that. It was him. You’d never felt this strung-out and aching, like you might crawl right out of your skin just to get closer.

You pressed closer then, greedy for him, for the solidity of his body. Your swollen belly pressed snug to his side, your leg hiked up over his, and for a moment, you just breathed him in. He smelled of that pine leather cologne he always wore and the faintest hint of last night’s sweat that still clung to him.

Your hand slowly wandered down the curve of his chest, tracing the faint scar just under his ribs, feeling the soft give of his stomach beneath your palm. Your fingers played along the dip of his waist, following the trail of hair down until you reached the band of his sleep shorts, his hip bones jutting out under your touch.

He shifted, a low sound rumbling from his throat, half a groan, half a sigh. The arm around you tightened, pulling you in closer, and you felt him begin to stir, breath hitching as your nails scraped lazily over his skin. Your eyes traced the length of his body—broad chest, thick arms, the way his stomach rose and fell with each breath, the muscles in his thighs flexing as he adjusted beneath you.

You were so caught up in the feel of him, so solid, so present, so utterly Joel he was that you barely noticed when his eyes cracked open, lashes casting shadows across his cheekbones as he looked at you, still foggy with sleep. His mouth twitched into the beginnings of a lazy, crooked smile.

“Mornin’,” he rasped, voice gravelly and rough with sleep, his hand sliding up under your shirt, palm spreading wide over the curve of your back.

You smiled lightly up at him, your finger hooking into the top of his waistband as you said, “Good morning,” 

He let out a soft grunt, half amusement, half satisfaction, and tucked you closer, big hand gliding up and down your spine with steady, lazy affection. The warmth of his thigh was still pressed snug between your legs, and you couldn’t help the way you rocked against him, just a little, seeking out any relief for the ache you woke up with.

Joel’s gaze flickered down, darkening as he felt you move. His hand stilled, heavy at the small of your back. “Someone’s eager this mornin’,” he murmured, his voice low, the smile never leaving his lips. He squeezed your hip, guiding you to press down just a little harder on his thigh.

You bit back a laugh, the sound coming out as more of a breathless sigh. “I blame hormones.”

He hummed, a deep rumble in his chest, and shifted his thigh, giving you more to grind against. His eyes were heavy-lidded, hungry, but still gentle in the way only Joel could be—with you, at least. 

“Can feel how wet you are, sweetheart.” His hand pressed between your shoulders, holding you steady as he watched your face, watching the way you moved for him. “You want somethin’ from me?”

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but you didn’t stop. You finally moved your hand below his waistband and curled your fingers around him, sliding over the thickness that waited beneath the fabric, already hard and aching for you. He shuddered, hips twitching just barely, a low, broken sound caught at the back of his throat. He let you stroke him, slow and teasing, his eyes fluttering shut as your thumb swiped across the slit at the head of him, spreading the pearl of precum. 

“Jesus,” he said, fidgeting beneath your touch, his hand coming up to cup your face then, pulling you closer to him, his lips brushing over yours as he said, “You like makin’ me crazy for you, huh?”

You nodded, feeling too breathless to tease him back at the feeling of how thick he was in your hand. You reached forward just a little bit to place a kiss against his lips and he sighed dreamily into it, your mouths slotting together, tongues already searching for each other in a dance you’d come to know so well. His hand threaded into your hair, keeping you close as you moaned into his mouth, your hips grinding down on his thigh, matching the rhythm of your hand as you stroked him.

“That’s a good girl,” he whispered against your lips, “Take what you need baby. Ride my thigh, just like that. Gonna take good care of you if you come for me.”

You whimpered, caught between embarrassment and desperate hunger. Your body was so heavy, so swollen with want, and the pressure of him beneath you was almost enough to make you dizzy. He held you steady, watching your face, kissing your jaw, murmuring encouragement every time your hips rolled a little harder, a little sloppier.

“There you go,” he whispered, voice so gentle but the words biting at your resolve. “This all for me? Just from wakin’ up next to me, hmm? Greedy little thing.”

“Yes, Joel,” you whispered as you kept your hand wrapped around him, stroking him as you moved, loving the way his cock pulsed under your touch, how he didn't care to bite back the moans every time you squeezed a little tighter.

“Come on pretty girl,” he coaxed, kissing your lips between words, groaning as you squeezed the head of his cock in your hand, “Want to feel you come just from this. Be a good girl for me, baby.”

His praise did you in, pleasure cresting in a wave as you cried out, grinding down hard on his thigh, squeezing him tight in your fist. He hissed, holding himself together as you rode through your climax, fingers loosening and twitching around his cock. 

When you finally stilled, breathless and shaking, Joel’s arms came around you, gathering you close, his lips pressing lazy kisses to your hair and shoulders.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he mumbled, voice like gravel, “You’re perfect.” 

“Here, let me—” you started, realizing he hadn’t finished yet.

“Don’t worry, greedy girl,” he chuckled rough with affection. “I’ve got you. Why don’t you turn over for me?”

You did as you were bid, rolling onto your other side with his help. Joel crowded up behind you, big hands steady and sure as he adjusted you—so careful with your body, always mindful of your swollen belly, always treating you like something precious and breakable, even as he was aching for you.

He slid his arm across your clavicle, cradling you close so your face tucked into the warm crook of his elbow, his other arm hooking beneath your belly and holding you flush against him. You felt him press up behind you, the thick head of his cock nudging at your entrance, and he groaned low and desperate. 

“Promised I’d take care of you,” he said, his voice tight as his breath fanned over your ear, “Always gonna take care of what’s mine, baby. All fuckin’ mine.”

Goosebumps rose across your skin and he slowly pushed inside you. Your body welcomed him, pulsing from your own release, stretching to accommodate the sheer girth of him. Your head tipped back, jaw slackening as your lips fell open. Joel’s breath stuttered out, his face buried in the nook of your neck, lips pressed to your skin. His hand stayed splayed wide of your stomach as he pushed himself into you.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he whispered, voice rough in your ear, “So good for me, always takin’ this cock so well.”

He moved inside you, slow at first, rocking his hips while keeping you locked tight in his arms. The weight of his body behind you, the press of his hand over your belly, the heat of his breath at your ear. It was overwhelming, and you never felt safer, more wanted.You moaned, helpless, reaching back to grab at his thigh, needing to anchor yourself to him. Joel’s grip tightened, his possessiveness coming out in every word, every movement as it so often did in these moments. His voice dropped lower, rougher, almost a growl.

“Tell me, baby. You ever feel this way before, huh?” His hips snapped a little harder then, his words sharpening with how much he needed you. “My brother ever make you this cock drunk? Ever have you so full you can’t even think straight?”

He didn’t give you a chance to answer, just pressed his mouth to your ear, biting down gently. “Knew you’d never need anyone else after me. Knew you were fuckin’ mine the second I made you come on my cock that first time. Now look at you, carryin’ my baby, takin’ it so well in my bed. No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to make you feel this good.”

You sobbed his name, caught between shame and desperate pleasure, the stretch of him inside you almost too much. Joel’s hand slid lower, finding the pulse between your legs, working your clit in slow, insistent circles.

“That’s right, my pretty girl,” he hissed, “Give it to me. Wanna feel you come on my cock, wanna see you lose your fuckin’ mind for me. Just for me.”

You came again, shivering in his arms, and Joel groaned behind you, the sound thick and desperate as he felt you clench and pulse around him, drawing him in even deeper. His arms locked tighter, holding you close, his hips stuttering as he finally let go, spilling inside you with a low, broken moan.

He stayed pressed to your back, catching his breath, his body curled protectively around yours. His hand never left your belly, stroking gentle circles there, as if he could soothe every ache and tell you without words how much you meant to him.

You let yourself drift in that silence for a moment, letting your breathing slow, letting his touch ground you. But the words he’d said, the rawness, the edge, still lingered, curling in your chest with something you couldn’t quite name.

“Joel…” you whispered, voice small in the hush of the room. He hummed in response, nuzzling the back of your neck.

You hesitated, then said softly, “You can’t… you can’t say things like that.”

He went still, hand pausing on your belly. “What things?” His voice was quieter now, the cockiness gone, just him and you and the smell of sweat.

You sighed, turning in his arms to look into his eyes, something nervous and uncertain there in them as you said, “When you ask me if anyone’s ever…if Tommy has ever made me feel the things you make me feel.”

His brows furrowed, mouth opening for a moment before closing again, eyes drifting over your shoulder in thought. 

“With the way things are right now… I’m already so…” you buried your face in the pillow.

He tucked a lock of hair behind your ear, thumb tracing the line of your cheek as his eyes came back to you. “Hey,” he said again, softer this time. “I’m sorry. I know I get carried away.”

You nodded, not quite able to meet his gaze. “It just… it gets in my head. I know it’s just talk, but right now everything feels so… intense. Heavy, you know? I just need it to be you and me, just for a little while. No one else.”

“Alright,” he murmured, voice softer, “I can do that. I promise.”

You let yourself relax into him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest, his heartbeat thudding strong and sure against your cheek.

“I got you,” he whispered, his lips brushing your hair. “Always.”

You closed your eyes, letting yourself believe it, letting the quiet settle between you. Wrapped in Joel’s arms, for just a moment, the rest of the world could wait.

Later that morning, the house felt unusually quiet—just the low hum of the fridge, the distant tick of a clock, and the sunlight slipping in through half-closed blinds, striping the living room floor in gold. You stood near the old couch, hands braced at the small of your aching back, watching Joel as he finished gathering your things. Your shoes sat where you’d left them by the coffee table, just out of reach.

You eyed them, willing yourself to bend, but your body had other ideas. With a defeated laugh, you dropped your arms and stood there, belly rounding out in front of you, toes barely peeking beneath its curve. “I feel so helpless,” you giggled, breath catching as you tried again to reach for your shoes, only to give up with a little sigh.

Joel turned at the sound, the corners of his eyes crinkling with something between amusement and worry. “Ain’t helpless,” he said, voice a low rumble. You watched the way he moved unhurried, steady, filling the space so completely as he made his way over to you.

He knelt in front of you, the soft thud of his knees muffled against the old rug, and took your foot in his hands, slipping on your shoe, lacing it up with quick, practiced movements. Then the other, just as careful, his broad shoulders hunched in concentration, the top of his head catching a slant of sunlight.

When he finished tying your shoes, Joel didn’t move to get up. He stayed kneeling on the old rug in front of you, one hand wrapping gently around the back of your calf, thumb tracing thoughtless circles. His head bowed a little, eyes fixed on your legs in front of him, jaw set as if he was working something over and over in his mind.

The morning seemed to hush around you as you watched him, noticing the way his brows pinched together, the distant look in his eyes. He was somewhere else, thinking so hard you could feel the air around you shrinking just to this moment.

You opened your mouth, about to ask what was wrong, but before you could, Joel spoke, his voice low, barely above a whisper, still not quite looking up at you.

“Leave him.”

The words didn’t register at first. 

“What?” you breathed, sure you’d misheard.

That’s when Joel finally looked up, really looking at you, still kneeling on the floor in front of you. It felt so vulnerable, so raw, pleading in a way you’d never seen before. He swallowed hard, hands tightening gently at your leg as he met your eyes, voice breaking just a little.

“Leave him,” he said again, everything in him laid bare.

You blinked down at him. “Joel… I—”

He stood slowly, hands trailing up from your calves to your shoulders, his touch hesitant, like he didn’t know if you’d let him hold you. His palms cupped the back of your arms, not squeezing, just there. His eyes searched yours, and for a moment, he looked as wrecked as you’d ever seen him.

“I know I’m not supposed to say it,” he said, the words tumbling out like he couldn’t stop them now that they’d started. “I know it ain’t… fair. But I can’t keep pretendin’ ”

He swallowed, jaw tight. “It ain’t about the baby anymore. Hasn’t been for a long time. You know it. I know it.”

You shook your head, the tears stinging, but he pressed on.

“Tommy—he gets to walk around actin’ like everything’s normal, claimin’ this baby’s his, claimin’ you. All I do is stand on the sidelines, pretend I’m just helpin’ out, just some fuckin’… uncle. I gotta stand there and watch you cry over him, watch him treat you like you don’t matter. And I’m the one here, holdin’ you together when he can barely look at you.”

He looked away, chest heaving, voice breaking. “He asked this of us. Asked me to do this—then treats me like it was nothin’. Like you’re nothin’. And you…you keep comin’ back to me. You keep wantin’ me. So I know it ain’t just me who feels it.”

You’d never heard Joel talk like this before—like the words were burning his throat, like if he stopped, he’d never be able to say it again. Once, months ago, he’d admitted he wanted you. But this was different. Now he sounded like a man drowning.

And you felt caught in his undertow, sinking just as fast.

He raked a hand through his beard, eyes shining with something desperate before his hands fell on you again. “I’m tired, darlin’. Tired of bein’ on the sidelines, watchin’ you cry over him, of hidin’ what this really is. I’m yours, and I love you. It’s killin’ me to watch you let him take everythin’ from you. From me. From us.”

And for some reason, as you watched him, as he waited your answer, your thoughts immediately were of Tommy. Of your vows, of the years you’d spent building a future you could barely recognize anymore. Of all the nights you’d spent crying, and all the mornings you’d woken up in Joel’s arms instead. Was it always headed here? Had you just been pretending too?

Tommy was your husband. He’d been your first love, your future, your family. He was supposed to be all of it. But you couldn’t shake the memories that belonged to Joel too. The way he was always there, always solid, the person you leaned on—at first for Tommy’s sake, and then… somehow, for your own. You thought it was comfort, survival. You thought you were just playing the role Tommy asked for.

It hit you now, standing in front of Joel, just how much you’d missed. You’d been living this way for months—sharing yourself between them, saying it was all agreed, all out in the open. But still, you’d let yourself believe it was something you could manage, that it could stay simple, that no one would get hurt. You hadn’t let yourself see the way Joel looked at you, how often he put you first, how quietly he let Tommy take credit, how he swallowed his feelings for your sake and the baby’s.

God, you couldn’t let him go. You didn’t want to. Maybe you loved him too, maybe you always had and just refused to see it.

But Tommy. And this baby. And the wreckage you’d leave behind if you chose yourself, if you chose Joel.

And here he was, pouring everything out for you, breaking himself open because he couldn’t stand in the shadows anymore. Because he loved you. Because you think…maybe, almost certainly…you loved him back.

 It all tangled together inside you—loyalty, guilt, fear, want—making it impossible to breathe, impossible to choose.

You felt the world slip sideways, like your heart was in your throat. “You can’t…” you whispered, voice barely there, “You can’t ask me to leave my husband.”

Joel’s grip loosened, his hands falling away slow, like letting go was the hardest thing he’d ever done. You saw the pain in his eyes, the way it hollowed him out. He looked older in that moment, worn down and emptied, as if saying the truth had cost him something he couldn’t ever get back.

You took a step back, knees trembling, the world tilting beneath your feet. “Take me home,” you whispered, barely able to meet his gaze. “Please.”

The whole ride home, you tried not to cry. You weren’t sure if Joel said your name once or maybe even twice. Everything was a blur, your thoughts screaming so loudly you could barely hear the world outside. It all felt dreamlike, suspended, unreal.

You’d be kidding yourself if you hadn’t all along how hard this would be, how eventually you’d have to make a choice. To pick one of them. But how were you supposed to choose? The man you married, the man you’d loved for years, who you built a life with… or the man beside you in the truck, who saw you, wanted you, cared for you in ways no one ever had?

And what if fate really was a twisted son of a bitch? What if destiny was cruel enough to let you meet Joel first, only for you to be blind to it and end up falling for his brother instead? You tried to build a future with Tommy, tried to make it work, only for everything to splinter when he couldn’t give you a child. And as if that wasn’t enough, it had to be Joel—his own brother—who could. As if the universe itself was determined to tangle all your lives together, to make you pay for something you never even understood.

You barely said goodbye as you climbed out of the truck, slamming the door behind you as Joel parked. Maybe he thought of getting out too, but you’d already made it halfway to the porch, fumbling with your keys, desperate to get inside. You didn’t even look back. It wasn’t anger, not really, or at least, not at him. Joel was right. He was valid in every feeling, every need. What you had was real, stronger than anything you’d ever known, with a pull you could feel in your bones.

You were angry at yourself. For thinking you could have both. For letting yourself believe you could keep your life neat and easy, that you could somehow have your cake and eat it too. How did you ever think this would work? That you could be the hinge between two brothers and keep the peace?

The door clicked shut behind you, louder than you meant, and your eyes blurred so badly with tears you couldn’t make out anything in the mid morning light. You were already halfway to the stairs when you heard the scrape of a chair, a mug thumping on the dining room table.

“Hey—” Tommy’s voice cracked, hoarse with sleep or worry, you couldn’t tell. He was on his feet in a second, moving toward you, catching you just as you broke, your face falling into your hands, sobs spilling out uncontrollably.

He wrapped you up the moment you let go, arms tight, rocking you gently in the foyer, his chin pressing against your hair. “Honey,” he whispered, kissing the crown of your head, “It’s okay. I’ve got you. It’s okay.”

You clung to him harder, wanting to explain everything and knowing you couldn’t. You wanted him to understand—this wasn’t how you’d pictured things, all you ever wanted was a baby with him. You’d never planned for Joel to become such a force, such a gravitational pull in your life, but now you couldn’t picture a future without him in it. Not as an uncle. Not as a stand-in. You wanted them both, in some impossible, beautiful fantasy you thought could work. Just you and the two men you loved, raising your child together.

You knew, even through the heartbreak, that Tommy had reason to feel the way he did. Even though he was the one who’d first suggested this, he couldn’t have known how much it would change you, how much it would change everything.

He held you until your sobs softened, his hands smoothing over your hair, grounding you.

“Talk to me, baby,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. “Please. Are you okay?”

You wiped your eyes with trembling hands, forcing yourself to breathe deeply, to find your voice again. Nodding, you pressed your palms against his chest, steadying yourself as you finally met his eyes.

“I’m fine. I just…” you shook your head, gazing up at him, “Tommy, why were you so…” you hesitated, your voice breaking around the words, “What happened yesterday?”

Tommy’s eyes dropped to the floor. His hands stiffened around you, searching for the words. “I messed up. I know I did. I… I was angry and I took it out on you. That wasn’t fair. None of this is fair, I know.” He swallowed, eyes shining with something raw. “I’m sorry, honey. I shouldn’t have said those things.”

You nodded, but it didn’t feel like enough. The ache inside you was still sharp. “But you meant them,” you whispered, “Didn’t you? The things you said—about me, about Joel, about the baby.”

Tommy’s jaw worked, shame flickering across his face. He reached up, fingers threading through your hair, his thumb brushing your cheek with so much tenderness, “I was angry. I was scared. I didn’t mean all of it.” His voice dropped, hoarse and pleading. 

You held his gaze, desperate for something real, something to hold onto, “Do you still want this, Tommy?” you asked, your words trembling with need. “Do you still want me? This family? After everything?”

He stared at you, searching your face like he could find his answer there. His eyes were wet, his voice ragged. “I do. God, I do. I just—” He shook his head, trying to hold himself together. “I don’t know how to do this, but I want you. I want our baby. I want all of it.”

Before you could say more, a sudden sharp movement made you wince. Instinctively, your hands flew to your belly, pressing gently where the baby’s heel—or maybe an elbow—thudded against your ribs from the inside. You let out a small, startled sound, your breath catching as the sensation lingered.

Tommy’s hands covered yours instantly, his touch gentle, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “He kickin’ again?” he asked, voice a little lighter now, though still concerned.

You nodded, letting out a shaky laugh. “Feels like he’s trying to break out.”

Tommy smiled, the first real one you’d seen from him in days. “He’s gonna be a handful, huh?” His hands moved to your hips, steadying you, thumbs pressing soothing little lines into the small of your back.

“I uh… Learned somethin’ while readin’ that book you gave me,” he offered, nudging your arm playfully.

“Oh yeah?” You tried to sound curious, grateful for the change in subject, letting him tug you gently out of your head and back into the warmth of the living room. “Which one?”

He bent to press a soft kiss to the top of your head. “What to Expect When You’re Expectin’, of course. The classic.”

You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips despite everything. “Bet you skipped right to the good parts.”

Tommy grinned, shaking his head, “Actually…” He turned you so your back was to his chest, and slipped his big hands beneath your belly, palms lifting with careful, practiced strength. You sighed out, relief washing through you as the pressure lessened, your spine grateful for the reprieve.

“Oh–” you sighed, your head dropping back onto his shoulder, tension melting from your body. You let your eyes flutter closed as you breathed through the release of tension.

Tommy kept you there in his arms with his hands steady, the rise and fall of your belly matching the gentle rhythm of his breathing. He pressed a kiss to your exposed shoulder, voice a soft rumble in your ear, “Let me take care of you.”

You didn’t have it in you to argue. That was all you wanted. Just for him to be here, present, to see you and stay beside you. To be the husband you needed, the father this baby deserved. He’d been so distant lately, lost in his own thoughts, and maybe he didn’t even realize how much you missed him.

You stayed like that for a moment, letting him hold you, letting yourself relax into his body and the softness of the morning. For just a few precious seconds, the heaviness in your chest eased, the worries faded, and you let yourself believe, maybe, that things could be simple again.

Tommy nuzzled your cheek, his hand smoothing down your belly. “He’s lucky, you know. To have you for his mama.”

You swallowed, a tightness returning, but you held onto the warmth as long as you could. “He’s lucky to have you too,” you whispered, your hand finding his on your belly, fingers threading together.

 Joel, a few weeks later

Your eyes.

He couldn’t get them out of his head. He felt haunted by the way you’d looked at him last, pain and shock and something deeper flickering through. Every time Joel closed his own eyes, yours stared back at him. Confusion, then pain, then a kind of sorrow he hadn’t known he could cause. Maybe that was the worst of it, knowing you’d looked at him like you didn’t recognize him anymore.

He sat alone at the far end of the bar, shoulders hunched, the air thick with the smell of cheap beer and fried food. His third glass of whiskey was nearly empty, but the burn in his chest hadn’t faded. He nursed the glass, letting the heat crawl down his throat, wishing it would take the edge off the ache in his gut. It didn’t.

Joel Miller never asked for things. He learned the hard way that nothing was ever handed to him. When Sarah’s mom left, he’d prayed for a sign, for mercy, for anything that might make it hurt less. None of it came. He’d gotten used to that kind of emptiness, filled it with work, sweat, exhaustion, anything to keep from wanting what he couldn’t have.

But then you.

He didn’t mean for things to change, not like they did. Didn’t mean for a deal struck in desperation to become the center of his goddamn world. He never meant to start wanting things like soft mornings, the sound of your laughter, the smell of you in his bed. He didn’t mean to want…this. A family with you. 

And he never meant to need you.

Now look at him. Washed up, bitter, nothing to show for it but a ruined family and a half-empty glass. Weeks had passed with nothing but silence. And these last weeks had been so crucial in your pregnancy, he knew. He knew it was only a matter of time before you went into labor. Would he get a phone call? Would he have to hear about it after the fact? Even Tommy had been avoiding him, working separate jobs, never meeting his eyes in the rare moments they did cross paths. Joel had never felt so exiled.

It was punishment, he told himself. For wanting too much. For saying what should’ve stayed buried in his chest. He deserved it. He’d fucked everything up by asking, by hoping.

But the longer he sat there, nursing his shame, the more it curdled into something ugly, something stubborn. He started to wonder—why shouldn’t he ask for more? Why shouldn’t he get to want you, after everything he’d done, everything Tommy hadn’t?

He thought of how you’d cried to him, how Tommy had left you to do it alone. How you’d reached for Joel in the night, not your husband. How it was Joel you called when you needed someone steady.

Didn’t that mean something? Didn’t he deserve something too, for once?

The whiskey didn’t answer. The bartender didn’t look his way. The whole world spun on, uncaring. Joel stared into the bottom of his glass, jaw clenched, the want and the guilt burning together now, making something sharp and wild out of him.

Maybe he didn’t deserve you. But even if that were true, he knew for damn certain his brother didn’t deserve you either. 

The bar lights blurred as Joel got to his feet, setting down the empty glass with a heavy, final thud. He slapped some bills on the sticky wood, not bothering to count.

He was already moving, pushing out into the night air, his mind made up before his feet hit the parking lot.

You

Dinner was quiet, the kind of quiet that crawls under your skin and makes everything feel brittle. The kitchen light buzzed overhead. You pushed food around your plate, barely eating, feeling every small irritation sharper than usual. Tommy sat across from you, arms crossed, his own meal barely touched.

He sighed, “You gotta eat more than that, honey. For the baby.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Tommy frowned. “You need to keep your strength up. Doctor said—”

You set your fork down with a little more force than necessary. “I know what the doctor said, Tommy. I was there.”

He rolled his eyes, muttering, “Hard to tell sometimes. You never listen to me anyway.”

You stiffened, the tension simmering right under your skin. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just means you don’t listen, is all,” he replied, voice tight. “Always got your mind somewhere else.”

Your hands balled into fists under the table. You wanted to scream, to throw your plate across the room. Instead, you bit out, “Maybe if you tried talking to me instead of talking at me, I’d want to listen.”

Tommy’s face went hard. “Real nice.”

You stared at him, something ugly swirling in your chest. This wasn’t about dinner. It wasn’t even about the baby, not really. You knew exactly what was bothering you. The ache of missing Joel had been gnawing at your insides every minute he was gone. But you couldn’t say that, not now. Not ever. Besides, it was you who’d been avoiding him.

Maybe Tommy sensed something had happened between you and Joel, and maybe he knew more than he let on, but he never asked. Maybe he didn’t want to know.

The argument stalled, both of you sulking in silence, a thousand things always left unsaid. You were about to get up when a sharp, heavy knock rattled the front door.

You froze. Tommy scraped his chair back and headed for the entryway, leaving you sitting there, heart suddenly pounding.

You heard voices. Tommy’s was low and annoyed, and then another, rough and urgent, words muffled but unmistakably angry. The front door banged open, making you jump in your seat. The sound of boots hit the hardwood, the smell of whiskey and cigarettes hitting you before you even saw him.

Joel strode past Tommy, ignoring the hand at his shoulder. His eyes were wild, dark and desperate, and before you could react, he was kneeling beside you right there in the dining room. He looked wrecked, raw, everything stripped bare.

“Joel, what are you doing? Have you been smok–” 

He cut you off, grabbing your hands, holding them tight like he might break apart if he let go. “I’m sorry,” he rasped, voice thick. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry. But I can’t—I do this. I need you to see. Need you to understand what this is, what you are to me.”

“Joel…”

Tommy stormed into the room, voice sharp. “You got no right to barge in here. This is my house. She’s my wife, goddammit, Joel.”

Joel’s eyes never left you. 

He just clung tighter to your hands, gaze pleading, almost haunted. “You don’t know what it’s been like—how it’s been eatin’ me alive, sweetheart. I see you everywhere. I wake up in the middle of the night just... I can’t breathe. I can’t fuckin’ think straight.”

You opened your mouth again, but he just shook his head, voice cracking. “I know I ruined everything. I know I asked for too much. But I can’t stand watchin’ him treat you like you’re somethin’ he has to endure, like you’re not the best thing that ever happened to any of us. You needed him, and he left you alone. Over and over. And I’m the bastard who made it worse by fallin’ for you. But I can’t lie. I love you. I love you so goddamn much it’s made me stupid.”

Tommy’s jaw flexed across the room. “Let her go, Joel. Jesus, look at yourself. You reek like booze. You’re pathetic.”

Joel’s head snapped up at that, finally turning on his brother, rage simmering in his eyes. His hands still held yours even as he looked away, “You wanna talk about pathetic? You had everything. You had her, you had a family, and you still managed to make her feel alone. That’s on you, not me.”

Tommy bristled, stepping closer, voice rising. “You think you’re some kind of hero or somethin'? She showed up cryin' the last time she saw you. And you're...you're just a goddamn homewrecker. You’re supposed to be my brother, and you’re tryin’ to steal my wife—”

“Hey–” you tried to cut in, but they were already too heated.

Joel’s lip curled, the words coming out as a snarl. “You don’t even know what you’ve got. You’ve never treated her like she mattered. You just wanted a baby, and when you couldn’t do it yourself, you handed her off to me like it was a job, not a fuckin’ life. Just admit you’re angry ‘cause you know I can actually take care of her.”

Tommy shoved him then, hard, and Joel staggered back, catching himself on his palms behind him.

“You piece of shit,” Tommy spat. 

“Guys, please, don’t do this.” you begged, looking between the two brothers. Your stomach clenched and tightened beneath your hand as you flattened then against your swollen belly.

They ignored you, Joel getting up on his feet and moving into Tommy’s space. He glared at his brother, chest heaving, eyes wild with grief and fury.

“Go ahead, Tommy,” Joel growled, voice low and venomous. “Hit me all you want. Won’t change a damn thing. You couldn’t give her what she needed. Couldn’t give her a family. And you sure as hell never made her feel the way I do. Had to show you the way, didn’t I? How to touch your own fucking–”

But he was cut off by a right hook to the jaw, Tommy’s fist flying through the air. Joel staggered a little, but was quick to push back, lashing out in return, and then they were tangled, fists flying, bodies crashing into the table, sending a glass shattering to the floor.

You shouted again, stepping toward them, panic clawing at your throat, your hips and stomach tightening in clenching waves. “Stop it! Please, just stop!” But they barely registered you, lost in months of anger, shame, and jealousy.

Tommy had Joel pressed back against the wall, forearm pinning him, spit flying. “You think you’re better than me?” he roared. “She’s my wife, not yours!”

Joel snarled, twisting free, shoving Tommy back and sending him stumbling. He caught sight of you trying to get closer, and his tone softened even in the chaos, rough but laced with worry. “Not right now,” he said, breathless, eyes flicking over you, pleading for you to stay back, “This is between us.”

You hesitated, wanting to reach out for one of them, but Joel was already swinging, fist connecting with Tommy’s ribs, knocking the wind out of him. Tommy slammed Joel back against the wall, knuckles bruising, both men wild-eyed, locked in a vicious, ugly dance neither seemed able to end.

Your whole body was trembling, tears streaming down your face. “Stop it! Please, you’re going to hurt each other!”

A sudden, sharp pain twisted through your belly, stronger than before. You doubled over, a cry escaping your lips, and just as you felt a gush of warmth down your legs, you gasped, “Oh my god.”

The chaos stopped all at once. Joel and Tommy froze, both of them panting, bruised and bloodied, staring at you in utter shock. 

The room fell silent but for your ragged breaths and the sound of water pooling on the floor.

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[chapollynh]

I finished DS9 and here's my first offering to the fandom.

The show is just SO GOOD!! I wanna talk about it so bad, so I will spam the tags quite a bit... My bad. Also, the people who said Bashir would get better - you were right, he became a lot more fun! Plus he's got a teddy bear, that's peak character right there.

[cyber333angel]

SOMONO WITH LOGAN HOWLETT you laid peacefully on logans bed sleeping, the blankets covering only just a bit of your thighs as you hugged the pillow tightly. enjoying your slumber as if half of your ass wasn’t exposed in your tiny sleep shorts just tempting your boyfriend anytime he walked by the door.

he contemplated on what to do, walking back and forth with a semi hard bulge in his pants not knowing if he should wait for you to wake up or just play with you a little bit while you slept so he didn’t interrupt your rest. the decision was especially hard because he had just got back from a failed mission so he just wanted to let out a little steam on his favorite girl. however, logan was not a very patient man, he liked to get things done immediately when he could. so naturally with you, he could only give into the temptation.

and that’s how you woke up with your panties pushed to the side with logans cock buried deep inside your cunt. your pussy just swallowing up all of his thick length as you stirred awake from the sudden pleasure. you hear pants and deep growls of “fuck..” behind you as your boyfriend gripped the fat of your ass tightly. you slur out a whine to the man, “mm lo-logan!” and he wasn’t surprised that you woke up — honestly he expected you to wake up much sooner from the rough pace that he was going at. “you up baby? you were sleeping so nicely I didn’t want to wake you sweetheart, I hope you don’t mind.” and of course you didn’t mind, this was an amazing way to wake up from a nap. “s’okay daddy..but slow down a bit.” hearing a deep grumble from him, a little reminder that he taught to you about how to talk to him with manners.

“p-please..!” logan chuckled at you with a wide grin, “atta girl.” with that he softens up his pace with slower thrust, sliding in and out of your sopping hole letting you feel every sensation. how wide he stretches your cunt out, the echos around the room coming from the slick in between your legs along with the grunts and low growls from logan. not long after logan felt himself on the verge of cumming, mumbling to himself as he got faster trying to to chase his climax. “m’gonna cum daddy..!” you cried. the man behind you nods “me too fuck…give it to me baby c’mon.” the feeling of logan trying to bury himself as deep as he can into your cunt has your legs twitching in the bed, he makes sure that your hole is painted with his cum. with this he has you panting below him, beads of sweat at his forehead. the climax taking energy out of you even with your long nap. suddenly you feel the touch of your boyfriends rough hand, softly grip your throat and bring your head closer up to his head. he whispers “good girl.” as he leave a sweet kiss on the top of your forehead.

[jinusajas]

12/02/24; 12:40pm

dragon/human!sylus x fem.reader / mc.reader

notes: this was written as a soft comfort fic left in the wake of his tragic myth. if you haven't read his story, then avoid this oneshot for potential spoilers.

warnings: this is an unedited mess; somnophilia.

[ minors don’t interact; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings. ]

were your eyes deceiving you?

had your dragon returned to you after all?

did your curse work-

forever tying sylus to your soul?

no, it couldn't be. the forlorn cries of his roars and the memory of how his blood soaked through your skin with the blade lodged so deeply within his chest-

the memory of it all was too much to bear.

yet the way his voice calls out your name was undeniable-

how his clawed hands seemed to tremble as they reached out to frame at your face, the shudder that was felt coursing through his body when he feels your pulse thrumming against him.

and when he crushes your body against his, you didn't feel the need to resist him any longer.

he settles your form amidst the crimson datura blooms, lips seeking yours almost instinctively when he grips at your thighs. the sheer material of your gown shone like gossamer from beneath the silvery moonlight, painting your form in an ethereal glow as sylus began worshipping every inch of you.

your dragon teases you, pressing his full lips across the expanse of your skin. he takes in the sight of your heaving breasts while letting out a pleasured hum of your name. wishing to taste you, he leans forward to capture your hardened nipples into his hot mouth, tongue curled while gently suckling it. such hedonistic actions succeed in making your back arch against the plush grass, hands gripping at the datura blooms as you desperately sought ways to help with grounding yourself.

a muffled laugh was felt vibrating against your skin, with sylus enjoying every reaction that he manages to elicit from your parted lips. keeping you distracted by pressing heated kisses all around your breasts, he allows his hand to slide down your form, not stopping until his hand cups at your entrance.

you gasp at the sudden sensation between your legs, already tossing your head back when you felt the palm of his hand gently slide up and down your slick folds as it provided a friction you desperately craved for. your soft mewls echo throughout the meadows, making you become drunk off of the sweet scent of flowers and the gift of pleasure sylus was giving you.

a wry smile paints his expression, watching your every expression with an intensity that makes the heat travel up your spine and settle against your cheeks. your dragon becomes aware of the sudden shift in your demeanor, giving you a knowing smirk, "ah... are you feeling good, little one?"

unable to respond to him with words, you manage to give him a swift nod all while riding the palm of his hand, earning a string of curses from him. "i can't tell if the scent of such sweetness is coming from the flowers... or you."

your breathing becomes labored when sylus slowly removes his hand from your slick heat, watching as your entrance began to clench around air in desperate need for him to fill it. crimson eyes look down at his hands, seeing the way your sticky arousal clings to his appendages, giving it an almost shiny quality from beneath the moonlight.

"tch." with a click of his tongue, sylus quickly tore away at the leather that covers his bottom half. the belt that once secured it in place was also torn to shreds. his chest begins to move rapidly in response to his labored breathing as sylus looks down at your form momentarily before ripping apart what was left of your flimsy nightgown.

with your form bare to his hungry gaze, sylus settles himself between your legs. he breathes in your pure, feminine scent before licking away the evidence of your arousal. his scorpion-like tail descends upon you almost immediately, gently wrapping around your right ankle while helping with keeping your legs spread as he devoured you like a madman.

heat courses through your veins when you felt the way his wet appendage makes its way within your slick walls, almost greedily collecting the moisture that began to escape out of you. the more his tongue laps up your love juices, the tighter that band around your abdomen felt, bringing you that much closer to your impending release.

his thick cock was felt brushing up against your inner thigh, and the moment you finally climaxed into his mouth was when sylus pulls away from you, removing his hardened cock from your inner thigh before swiftly impaling you with his cock, setting a rapid pace against you-

you gasp, finally waking up from that vivid dream, your heart a pounding mess as it takes you a minute to reorient yourself. when you regained consciousness, you became achingly aware of something thick and hard sliding in and out of your slick heat, making you gasp as you saw your lover already grunting and panting above you, his cock rapidly moving in and out of your entrance.

"s-sylus! t-that dream- ah!" sylus grips at your hair, his form no longer carrying such draconian traits from his past life as he presses a searing kiss against your lips. he continues to thrust his cock harshly in and out of your walls, filled with a need to remain connected to you.

"i felt it, too. that dream- my desire to reunite with you. it's all still here." sylus removes his hand from your hair and chooses instead to grip at your hand, placing it over his rapidly beating heart as he continued to make love to you, "hah, you're mine... you've been mine from the start, sweetie."

the rapid pace of his movements coupled along with the sheer intensity of his thrusts makes you cry out to him, legs already wrapping themselves around his waist as he pumps his cock eagerly in and out of you. with his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, sylus manages to grasp both of your legs before tossing it against his shoulders, allowing his cock to reach even deeper inside of you while trapping you in a mating press.

tears fill your vision as you were practically fucked dumb against him, with a trail of saliva trailing down the corner of your mouth. your moans echo throughout the room when you felt his cock lengthen and grow inside of you, clearly preparing to release his seed into your womb when he leans down to whisper in your ear, "milk me, milk me for all that i am worth, little one."

that was all of the urging you needed as your body arches against the bed, your cunt already pulsating around his cock as your walls tighten around him in a vice grip. your love juices were felt flooding out of you as you cried out to him, watching as sylus continues to slot his cock in and out of your hole to help with riding out your release.

"fuck..." a choked groan escapes from him when he stills his hips, allowing your walls to continue convulsing around him when he releases his seed inside of you, claiming you once more as he made sure he had fully emptied himself. you sigh and fell back in bed, simply basking in the sensation of his cock twitching while slowly softening from within you.

exhaustion takes over, left in the wake of such a vivid dream and how the memory of it all was enough to cause you both to react in such a sinful manner. trying to catch your breath, you let out a soft grunt when sylus lands on top of you with his face buried within the curve of your neck.

it takes you a few minutes to let the post lovemaking clarity to kick in for you and sylus. as your respective heart rates returned back to normal, you felt sylus press a kiss against your damp cheek before slowly attempting to pull out of you-

in which you stopped his actions right away by trapping his waist with your legs wrapped around it. "no, don't leave me yet..."

he scoffs, managing to rest the palm of his hand against the mattress while looking down at you with a smug expression, "is my kitten getting a bit frisky now? need i remind you that this won't feel... pleasant unless you're properly cleaned?" he casually points to the area where he was still limply buried inside of you.

you huff and look away from him momentarily feeling a little embarrassed, "i know that, but... that dream we shared- it felt so real. the anguish of losing you- i don't want to be away from you, not anymore."

sylus's gaze softens considerably in response to your words, hands already framing at your face the moment he leans in to press a lingering kiss against your lips, "and you won't be away from me, not after cursing me to stay by your side."

you were about to pout once more, only for your expression to quickly morph into that of shock when sylus easily picks up your form without breaking his intimate connection with you. you hold on to his broad shoulders for support, feeling the way he steadily hardens for you when he leads you toward your shared bathroom, all while letting out a sigh, "i suppose since i am still buried within you, i can take advantage of our situation and go a few more rounds before spoiling you with a bath."

and when he settles your pliant body against the bathroom sink while spreading your legs, feeling his cock return back to full hardness-

you were unable to stop your neediness for him as well.

end notes: no, i did not receive his myth pair, but i have watched enough videos to know that it hurt. this was written as a bit of a comfort fic, while also doubling as yet another thirst post since sylus looks so good as a dragon. 🫠🫠🫠🫠

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[rafeandonlyrafe]

unexpected consequences

words: 700

warnings: 18+ only!, smut, p in v sex, condoms breaking, pregnancy/breeding talk, unprotected p in v sex, established relationship, mention of marriage

“oh fuck, yeah.” you moan out, fingers gripping rafes shoulders. “right-right there.”

your moans are extra loud today, having been apart from rafe for nearly a week after he had business out of the country. rafe is just as pent up as you, thrusting harshly into your cunt to the chorus of his grunts.

“close.” rafe warns, but you could tell anyways by the swelling of his cock that he wouldn’t last long.

“oh my god, yes.” you moan out, back arching off the bed as your release pushes through your body, cumming with a final shout of your boyfriends name.

rafe drops his head into your neck as he cums inside of you, pushing as deeply as he can as your cunt pulses around him. you wrap your arms around his shoulders and press soft kisses to his head while rafe pants through his orgasm, until you shift slightly and feel it inside of you.

“rafe, pull out.” you shove at his shoulder, causing him to look up in concern, but he slips his softening cock out.

“what is it baby?” rafe asks. you look down at the condom he always wears, where theres always a bit of white cum gathered at the tip, but this time it looks practically empty, like he just rolled it on.

“rafe.” you hit his shoulder, causing him to flinch and look down.

“wha-” rafe suddenly realizes the issue, rolling himself off the bed as he walks into the bathroom, no doubt to inspect the condom and tell you what you already know is true.

“it broke.” rafe says when he comes out a moment later.

“i know.” you admit, shifting your hips from side to side again. “i can tell.”

“im so sorry baby.” rafe says with a sigh, laying on the bed next to you but not pulling you into his arms, not sure if you want to be touched.

“its okay.” you hum softly, mind still reeling. “you didn’t know.”

“what are we gonna do?” rafe asks, knowing you’re not on birth control due to affecting other medication you’re on.

“well, i can take a plan b in the morning…” you say quietly. 

“or.” rafe encourages you to continue, able to tell that you aren’t finished.

“or we could wait and see. i mean i probably won’t get pregnant just from one time, right?” you shrug.

“what about if it does take? and you’re pregnant?” rafe asks, looking at your tummy.

as if you’re thinking the same thing, you lay your hand over your stomach, knowing that even if you are pregnant there is nothing in there yet, but the thought alone has you rubbing gently over your skin. “i don’t know.” you admit.

“i want to keep it.” rafe blurts out. “if-if you are pregnant.” rafe can’t take not touching you any longer, pulling you close to him and tangling your limbs together.

“are you sure?” you raise your eyebrows. you think rafe would be an amazing father, knowing how protective he is of you, and how he strives every day to take even better care of you. “we are so young.”

“i love you. i want to be with you, i want a family with you. why not start now?” rafe questions. he won’t admit it to you yet, but he’s been thinking about taking the next step, having even gone ring shopping to see his options. “besides-” rafe smiles, “why are you trying to talk me out of it? you’ve always wanted kids.”

you grin back at him. “i know.” you let a giggle free, feeling giddy about the possibility. you’ve always wanted to become a mom, especially because you have so many younger siblings. “so, are we doing this?”

“yes.” rafe says definitively, pulling you in for a kiss, a comforting one that you truly need.

“oh my god, im so excited.” you break the kiss to mumble against his lips.

rafe nods in agreement, lowering a hand between your bodies to touch your stomach. “probably too early to start talking to your tummy, huh?” 

“definitely. i mean, we don’t even know if i’m pregnant, it may take a couple tries…” you trail off, hoping rafe gets your intention.

“well, i will just have to keep cumming inside you.” rafe shrugs. “in fact, we shouldn’t take any chances and i should fill you up again right now.”

rafes hand lowers from your stomach to your thigh as he grabs your flesh and pulls your leg over his hip, spreading your thighs for him as your cunt rubs up against his quickly hardening cock.

“rafe!” you shout with a laugh, but don’t stop him as he begins to grind his cock into your core.

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @emma77645 @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart

[prettyboykatsuki]

heaven in your eyes | zayne (li shen)

♡ tags ; afab + gn!reader, established relationship, porn/no plot, role-reversal, so much dirty talk, soft dom + top!reader (using strap), slight brat + bottom!zayne, very light d/s dynamics, orgasm denial, rimming (m!recieving), anal fingering (m!recieving), pegging, zayne-centric, 18+

♡ wc ; 5.4k (just kill me)

♡ a/n ; this is so embarrassingly self-insert and self indulgent. im going to screamdfjkgs. so sorry. i hope its a good read at least.

title from lemme know by vince staples which will be good to listen for vibes. plus the lyric after this one. anjksdkj

additional authors note at the end abt his characterization here!!!

♡ synopsis ; zayne has a hard time asking for what he wants. you have a hard time paying attention when he wears his new outfit.

“My love. We’re not gonna make it to our—“ A deep shuddering sigh leaves his lips as you peer up at him, your hands just at his waist - lips against the column of pale neck. “…our date,”  

“Hm? Oh, I guess not.”  You murmur, not paying attention. You feel Zayne flush under you, the soft beat of his pulse under his skin.  

He gives you a long look. A half-hearted attempt to sway you. You’re almost out of the door by now, and if you don’t leave soon - you’ll be in a rush. All of these are fair worries. You applaud Zayne for being so considerate under the circumstances. 

Even after you’ve nearly jumped him by the doorway, hands wandering as you peer up at him. You feel a little guilty for potentially ruining your evening plans. But even if you did go to dinner now, you’re sure your patronage would be unwelcome. 

You’re not sure you have the self-restraint needed to not eye-fuck Zayne in a crowded dining room—even less that you don’t pay the bill too early to lay your hands on him in the car.  

And that has its own appeal, sure—you think about doing it just to be polite. But it’d be all sorts of inconvenient trying to drive back home in that state, disheveled and half-way to restless so you could get what you’re really offer.  

You nip at the junction between jaw and neck, teeth lightly scraping thin skin as you trail a kiss up to his earlobe and bite. “I feel sorry about our reservation but I can’t find a good reason to go when I could just bend you over right now,”  

His expression is charming. There’s an innocence to it, a novelty at his surprise hearing you speak so clearly that makes you shiver. A flush pinkness that deepens at the tips of his ears, the soft furrow of his brow. Like he’s embarrassed even though Zayne is not particularly self-conscious or coy.  

You suppose this element of your relationship still proves to be a bit much for him. It’s less that Zayne hates showing weakness - but more that control and the presence of it define his life. It’s hard to give that up so easily, you’re sure. Yet you want to do it anyway, so desperately the words fail you and lead you into cornering him for it. You like that it makes him self-conscious. It’s endearing and arousing in the same breath to watch him fall into familiar habits - unsure of himself. Fidgeting with his sleeve, thinking things over.  

A lot of things in your relationship are new for Zayne, but he must’ve had thoughts. Ideas about what love would look like and what sort of man he’d be. You feel a little sorry you’ve thrown a wrench in those plans simply by being what you are. But if he could see it from your view, you’re sure he’d understand.  

He looks almost displeased now though  - a silent plea in the small micro expressions of his face, yet he doesn’t do anything to turn you down.  

Truthfully you’re fond of this mild resistance. It fills you with a playful sadism seeing his general affect change so drastically in a heartbeat. You pull back to look up at him - kissing his jawline again. You let your hand ghost along the edge of his white blouse, tracing the folds of fabric with a thoughtful hum.  

“Would you be more inclined if I said please?” 

Zayne doesn’t say anything back, just looks down at you with expression nearly indiscernible from his others without the keenest eye. Fortunately you’d recognize that mild embarrassment anywhere. You grin haphazardly at him, head tilted.  

“Or maybe it’d be better to be direct and tell even if we do leave, I’ll be thinking of nothing but fucking you until we get home anyways,” You muse. His brows raise ever so slightly. You play innocently, pretending to think. “But if you’re feeling hungry or really want to go then I’ll wait it out. Is that alright?” 

His expression blooms, a bright red flushing down to his chest - avoiding your prying eyes. “You’re being smug,” 

A grin splits your face. “Am I?”  

“We shouldn’t…” He trails off, finally noticing the distant stare in your eyes as you him.  

“Proper as always, Doctor.”  

You’re at a stand-still. Zayne frowns, expression weary in that sweet way. A little more. 

“My love,” 

“It’s your call, sweetheart.”  

“You mentioned liking the outfit on me,” He says, soft and quiet. Not quite a protest - something closer to self-defense. You smile a little.  

“I did. I do. It’s distracting me,” You hum. “You wore it for me right?” 

His blush deepens, just a little. He frowns. “You’re rather easy to distract,”  

You’re kind enough to not point out his avoidance of the question. “Guilty as charged,”  

You let yourself push forward. Your fingers dip underneath the hem of his shirt before you slide your hands underneath, palms pressing hot against cool skin. Smooth and warm to the touch, you squeeze just above his hips, to the small of his back - tracing a line down the center curve until you’re just at the waistband of his pants. You peer up at him again, standing tall enough to press a kiss to his lips as a small offering.  

In many ways, you find this part of Zayne amusing. He’s not shy in the least bit, not really. He can meet your flirting with his own wit so well you’d go as far as calling him smooth. Charming in all the right ways. It’s fun to flirt with him and know he’ll always match your energy.  

But he’s surprisingly weak to directness. No beating around the bush, no euphemism or innuendos. Whenever you make your intentions as clear as you can are the few instances he seems to be sincerely surprised - almost coquettish in a way you find so charming on him when he’s often anything but. 

This specific attention draws it out of him most, and it’s fun. You think it’s less that the attention itself embarrasses him, and more that he finds it hard to admit that he enjoys it. Maybe it’s your own disposition speaking - but you like that aspect best. That he does like it despite himself, and that you get to exploit the few moments he lets himself be caught wanting such a thing.  

You can’t be sure if this is what he had in mind but it doesn’t change that he wore for you because you told him you liked it. And you do like it on him - both in memory and in aesthetics.  

They’re not clothes he’d pick for himself. Long and silky, an open chest and lace choker - layered necklaces and flowers. He looks like a prince out of a fairy tale, an unusually sweet appearance. He’s handsome enough on his own, really. Whenever you let your eyes linger too long you grow impatient.  

He always looks good. 

The clothes soften him is all. It’s a different look and you like it on him. You love it really - if you’re honest. Enough that every time he wears it a thousand thoughts run through your mind and none of them are especially appropriate. Surrounded by flowers, dressed in pink and white. Pretty. Zayne is handsome by nature, but it’s rare he ever looks so pretty. Pretty in the same daisy flowers are. He leaves you half-way between wanting to preserve him, string him into something nice - or wanting to ruin him completely.  

You pull away from the kiss, lips brushing his. A warm feeling settles in your stomach as you look at him again.  

“We’d better go now if you still want to,” You say slowly, eyes flickering to his as he turns the choice over in his head.  

Zayne doesn’t say anything but steps away from you. You find yourself ready to relent and go to dinner - but to your surprise he makes no move to leave. Instead he locks the door where it was unlocked and looks at you with a very faint blush. You laugh warmly at him, it’s just like him to do.  

“Guess we’re canceling,” You hum, pulling him towards you by the wrist. “Good boy for being honest,”  

“I was concerned for the patrons,”  

You laugh brightly at that. “I’m sure you were,”  

He trails behind you as you make your way to the bedroom, his hand in yours squeezed tight. You pull him without looking back, only stopping to shut the door behind you both. The room is dim as the sun gets close to setting - room painted in the warm shades of dusk. When the door closes, you crowd in on him until his back is pressed against it.  

He breathes a long, drawn out breath. The air in the room is thick, dense with tension. You draw your hands up the nape of his neck until both of them thread through his hair, tugging slight enough to draw a breath from him. You push up on your toes to kiss him like this, a hand on your back to hold you steady but obedient enough not to ask for anymore, not to pull you closer without permission 

Zayne always kisses desperately. His body is honest about his desires always, no exception to the rule. A shaky breath and a deep, murky desire , he’s eager for you when you slot your lips against his. You waste no time in stringing him along, giving him a deep kiss with tongue and teeth. You feel him melt in your grasp at the aggression, smiling into it - his sweet panting breaths like music to your ears.  

“So fucking cute,” You breathe, pulling away. His lips are pulled into a frown, but his eyes are something else entirely. He lets his forehead rest on yours.  

“You’re the only one who’d say that about me,”  

“I’m the only one who should,”  

His expression is honest. Eyes widening before the flush on his face goes deeper, glassier. He likes things like this. You always make sure to say it out loud just to see it, and it never fails to fan the flames of your desire. You loosen your grip, cradling his face with both hands to look at him more closely. A face reserved for you - hazy with anticipation and so eager. Wanting for your attention so seriously you feel your core throb just laying eyes on him. You kiss him again gentler, pulling away and pressing a thumb to his lip when you do. Zayne parts his lips unthinkingly. Your thumb slides against his tongue, watching as he closes around the digit. When you pull back, you brush his saliva against his lips, wetting them before kissing him again.  

“It’s good we stayed home,” You murmur. A kiss on the corner of his mouth as you speak. “I don’t know if I’d make it back to the car if we went to the restaurant,” Another, closer to his chin. “I’m sure I’d take my heels off and  get you hard under the table instead. You’re good at keeping a straight face so I’m sure we’d be fine,” One more, further down, closer to his pulse. “No one would catch us, so there’d be no good reason for me to stop doing it, either.”  

Zayne lets out a soft groan, something from the back of his throat. You trail down at to his neck, stopping your wet kisses to sink your teeth.  You suck a hickey into the open space. 

Zayne’s voice is a tremble - still on the edge of even. “You—That’d be… hard for me,”  

You kiss the bruise you leave, finger tugging at his lace choker to leave another one underneath it. 

“Right, of course. And you can’t make a mess even if you wanted to so you’d have to wait till after dinner,” You take a beat to bite down again leaving  a bigger mark this time. You feel the capillaries split underneath the dull scrape of your incisors as a hickey forms - throbbing as it bruises and blooms. “You’d have to wait until after dinner to get any relief, but I think I’d have to leave you on edge ‘till we got home,”  

“Why would you—?”  

“It’d be a waste to make you cum anywhere other than on my cock since that’s what I wanted anyway. Of course I’d feel a little sorry for you, so I’d take the edge off,” You trail down lower, nose brushing against his collarbone and clavicle as you stop to leave more marks. You hear Zayne inhale underneath you - making you smile. “I’d use my hand since it’s easier to tell when you’re going to cum but I can’t let you. And then, when you can’t hold it anymore - then we’d have to go home,”  

Zayne makes a noise. It’s a soft sound, throaty and desperate as you’ve set him on edge. Pleasantly needy. You kiss down his chest, over each brand new mark - adding color to the display of necklaces he already has on. You use another hand to slide down his chest, his stomach and waistband - until you settle over his cock. It’s hard, strained against your palm as you cup and squeeze. He lets he’s head fall back, eyes fluttering closed as you keep speaking.  

“But you’d have to wait a little while longer even we got home. You let me in here easier now,” You slide your hands around, squeezing his ass. Zayne makes a strained sound, muffling it as best he can. “But I can’t just shove it in right? You’re a good boy so you’d have to wait it out some more for me.”  

Zayne pants, eyes searching for you as the room slowly darkens. “My love,” 

“What is it, baby?” You hum. Your eyes meet as you rest, your thumb over the tip of his cock over his clothes. He lets out a shaky breath.  

“Please don’t tease me,” He says flatly.  

You laugh at him. It comes out a little meaner than you want, but it can’t be helped. “You don’t want me to?”  

He frowns at you. “No,”  

You pretend to frown. “Too bad. You’re fun to tease,” 

He looks at you with his face slightly pinched. “Please,”  

“I’ll play nice since you were a good boy for me today,” You praise. You see Zayne blush. “Think you can be good for me again?”  

He nods. You smile, pressing up to whisper against his ear. “Take these off and bend over the side of the bed. Wait for me,”  

Zayne meets your eyes. Obvious embarrassment has a flush crawling down your face, but he goes anyhow - waits for you as promised, as you creep to the other side of the room as you open a drawer in your bedroom. You strap into the harness first, tightening yourself into it until its snug - heavy weight between your legs secured. You take the lube next, assessing that there’s enough in the bottle to make it work. 

Your boyfriend waits for you like you've asked. Kind of. At the edge of his bed with his arms folded on the mattress and his knees on the floor - back arched. He’s slipped his pants just below his thighs but his boxers are on still. You turn a dim light on to keep the room from pitch black before you settle down behind him. Zayne looks over at you from his shoulder when you do - your hands on his hips as you bend yourself over him.  

It’s easier this way to talk to him, your chin on his shoulder and your body pressed to his spine - voice next to his ear. “I thought I told you to take this off,”  

Zayne tucks his chin. “I thought this would be fine,”  

You laugh “Is that right?” 

You do him the favor of leaving his pants on, pulling them down to his knees before you tuck your fingers in his boxers and pull them down entirely. Zayne flinches at the sudden change in temperature. You take a second to admire him. Smooth pale skin flushed rosy as you slide the boxers off, revealing him to you completely. His cock sits heavy, tip ruddy and leaking against your bed sheets as Zayne shudders from the friction. 

You run your finger on the underneath side of his shaft - watching his shoulders tremble at the featherlight sensation. Your lip twitches.“I barely touched you. Did you work yourself up thinking about what I said?”  

He clears his throat. “…It was very detailed.”  

You hum. “Yeah? What detail made you like this? The part about being teased or the part about being fucked?”  

You can see Zayne blush even deeper. It’s visible. His ears are red, but this time its all the way down his back. You don’t think you’ve ever seen it go down so far.  

“No answer?” You coo. 

“…If you already know, it’s impolite to ask,” 

“It’s fine to say it directly,” Your hand slides from his hips to his stomach “That you wanna feel me right here,”  

He shrinks underneath you, face buried in the mattress. You snicker at his reaction - nearly petulant with how he moves away.  

“Are you that embarrassed to say it? You’re good at dishing it out but you can’t handle it at all.”  

“It’s hard to say,”  

“I tell you stuff like that all the time,”  

A beat. “It’s different,”  

“It is? I see, I see. Think you can answer questions then? Just a yes or a no.”  

Zayne pauses, suspicious but unsure. “I don’t see why not,”  

“Do you want me to then?”  

“To what?”  

You grin. 

“Do you want me to fuck you, baby?  You haven’t told me straight once even though I’ve been so direct about exactly what I want to do. I thought maybe you need more details to make you feel comfortable,”  

You can hear him flounder. “That’s not—“  

“See, I’ve got such a pretty picture of you in my head already. You look just like this but you’re getting stretched on my cock and fucked half stupid,” You trace your hand down his spine “Holding you down so you can’t run away from it and making you cum until there’s nothing left to fuck out of you. But I can’t do it until you say yes, see? So it’s a bit of predicament.”  

Zayne’s voice is hoarse. “You’re being unfair,”  

“You said you could answer me right? So answer me. Just a yes or no, with your words and we can make something even prettier out of you together. Doesn’t that sound nice?”  

He’s shaking under you. You almost feel bad.  

Almost.  

“Y-yes. Yes, just -“  

“It’s alright baby. I’ve got you,” You coo at him, and you mean it. And you’re sure Zayne is more than fine with keeping quiet for the time being.  

You kiss down his spine over his clothes, not wanting to take the shirt off even still. All the way down to the small of his back, lower and lower. You use your hands to spread his ass apart, amused by the way he trembles.  

It seems like he catches on too late to what you’re going to do.  

“Wait, wait, you don’t need to—“  

The words fall on deaf ears as Zayne falls forward with a shudder, his hips giving out almost immediately as your tongue slips against his hole. You can hear him start to say something but each time the words seem to fall flat, dying in his mouth. Replaced with what you’re certain are choked out moans that he’s trying  desperately not to let out. You press your tongue flat against the tight rim until you fall into a steady rhythm, feeling him twitch on each pass. He’s a mess above you - you’re not sure if it’s from shame or pleasure or both, but he hasn’t made a single attempt to push you away from it and it’s only goading you further.  

You’re being relentless - for no real reason other than you want to, want to see how far he can be pushed this way. You collect your spit on your tongue before pushing into tight hole with a little effort. Zayne lets out a sound like the air has been punched right out of his lungs, his cock twitching endlessly. When you sink in with your tongue in his ass as far as you can, you use one of your hands to wrap around his shaft.  

Zayne hisses, a broken huff forced out of him immediately.  

“P-please, just—mm,”  

It’d be easy to make him cum like this, you think. You tease him with it, hand rubbing over the tip - thumb underneath the head and over the slit. He twitches hard in your grasp, and you know a little more would be enough.  

So you stop, pull your hands away completely and watch with amusement as he chases friction, air, anything and finds none. Hips stuttering as he seeks relief you refuse him so openly - but still trying his best not to appear impatient.  

It’s an open secret that all Zayne has to do to get what he wants is ask. Throw away his pride for a split second, just long enough to whimper out a simple turn of phrase and it’s his. Whatever he wants. If he can’t yet, then he’s still not where you want him.  

Zayne shudders when you pull away from him completely. Hand and mouth at once, a muffled sound of displeasure at the sudden loss of friction. 

“Felt good, baby? Seemed like it,”  

Zayne looks at you briefly from over his shoulder. You shiver at his expression, so troubled. So frustrated. You smile at him unhelpfully. 

“Did you have something to say?” You ask, goading. Zayne pauses.  

“…No,”  

“You sure?”  

You can hear it in his voice. “I’m certain,” 

You shrug, wordlessly opening the bottle of lube you’ve brought with you and pouring it into your fingers. Pressing yourself to his spine, you fold over him and slide your land lower. Your fingers rub a slow circle against his rim, amused as Zayne breathes shallowly.  

“Hm. Guess you’re not relaxed enough then,” You murmur, voice hot against the shell of his ear “Deep breath, sweetheart,”  

He lets out a soft affirmative. It’s muffled where he presses his face into the mattress, buried into his arms. It’s easier then normal to slip your first fingers in since he’s already relaxed - though the fit isn’t much less tight. Down to the knuckle in one smooth motion, Zayne groans. You pull back slightly, kissing at the expose nape of his neck as his shirt rests haphazard.  

When you’re sure a second one will fit, you add in a second more slowly. His shoulders are trembling. Breathing heavy, thighs tensed from the sensation. You let out a thoughtful hum and scissor your two fingers until it doesn’t feel like there’s any resistance.  

You pause, waiting a beat before pushing yourself deeper and curling your fingers up. It’s helpful you’ve done this enough time to have it memorized. Your fingers press up against his prostate with ease, knowing his body better then your own.  

It’s easy to tell when you’ve found it. Zayne moans. It’s loud and unabashed, the kind of sound you know is completely involuntary - no longer able to hold it in. You use your free hand to continue stretching him open - the other one reaching from his face. Your hand slips in the small space, carefully pulling him up by the chin. His expression is flushed, mildly startled - but not strong enough to escape from your grip.  

“No more hiding,” You tell him, sharper than before. His eyes go lidded, nodding in an absent way. His brows twitch as you rub against his prostate relentlessly. Shuddering, nearly at the tipping point of his coherence. His hands are clawing into the mattress underneath him as he does. You can see how bad he wants it, but his teeth are still firmly in his lip. “You’re still being stubborn about it, huh? Even though it feels good,”  

“I d-didn’t say it didn’t feel good,”  

“You’re shaking,” You point out plainly “You still won’t tell me what what you want? Hm?”  

Still nothing. You take a deep breath, considering your options before slowly adding another finger. Zayne gasps quietly, sweat forming at the base of his neck from the tension. With your middle, pointer, and ring finger pushed inside of him down to the knuckle, you find his prostate a second time. Without mercy, you thrust and curl and push up against it - pulling away from him to get a view of him bent over.  

Zayne’s cock is twitching, silky strings of pre-cum pooling at the floor underneath him. So red it almost looks painful, balls tight. His cock looks heavy and strained - needy. You use your other hand to tease his length, never once getting close enough to give him any relief.  

It takes you wrapping your hand just barely around the head to evoke a whine out of him.  

You stop again. Zayne chokes, hips stuttering at the lack of friction. He pushes back against you, chasing the pleasure but you’re gone before he can. You tsk as you watch him strain himself, but you still give him a minute to breathe.  

The room goes quiet, silent as you let him cool off before Zayne finally breaks the tension himself.  

“Please,” He begs, sounding almost helpless.  

You put your hand on his waist. “Please what, baby?”  

Zayne sighs, exasperated - then hiccups. His voice sounds so different - so out of it. “Please, my love—it’s too much, please,”  

“Is that so?”  

He turns his face towards you more, eyes asking for mercy. “Please.”  

You won’t budge on it, though.  

“Please what?”  

A beat followed by a shaky breath, voice small. Almost fragile.  

“Please let me cum,”  

Without hesitation, you wrap your fist around Zayne’s cock and fall back into a smooth pace fucking him open. You feel him crumple immediately under the weight of the pleasure, his body wracking with shivers. His moans growing louder, less coherent.  

“Good boy,” You praise, increasing the pressure as high up as you can as Zayne cries out. You feel him finally give into the touch completely, desperate and breathy as you pump his cock and fuck him open on your fingers. Your mind is occupied suddenly by the sight of him. Bent over at the waist and shaking, pushing himself into the mattress with his body clasped tight. Like he’s at an altar - vulnerable and waiting. “I won’t stop this time so let it out,”  

His weight collapses, body slumped as you watch the orgasm he’s been chasing wash over him in a single go. His whole body wracks, thrashing as the sensations overwhelm him - swearing under his breath as you touch him through his high until he’s begging you let him off and give him a breather. Thick, hot ropes of cum cover your fingers as Zayne comes down.    

You use whatever left to stroke the silicone cock between your legs, rather then letting it go to waste. Once your hand is free of the mess, you lean forward and kiss the small of Zayne’s back as he re-collects himself.  

“You did good for me, sweetheart. It wasn’t all that hard to say right? But maybe it’d be better if we kept practicing,”  

“Please have mercy on me,”  

You grin. “No can do. One more time, yeah? Tell me what you want and it’s yours,”  

Zayne lets out a sigh, long and resigned. He looks at you from over his shoulders with a furrowed brow before speaking. “…Please put it in,”  

You pause before breaking out into laughter. He groans from embarrassment. 

“Sorry, sorry - I’m not making fun of you. Promise. It was better this time, so good work. Just relax, alright? For me,”   

Zayne nods. Gives in, ultimately - pushing back up on his elbows as you line the tip of your cock against him, sliding it up and against fluttering hole before pushing in with a silent promise to clean him up after this. Zayne tenses only briefly as you push the tip in, watching with heavy eyes as he takes it.  

“You’re stretching for me so nice,” You hum, both hands on his ass and pulling as you watch the pink rim open up around the narrowest part. Opening slowly as you slide your hips, his body reacting instantly.  

As much as it takes to get him to relax, this works every time.  

The tension melts out of his body like candle wax over low flame, hot and heady. “It’s not all in yet but you’re feeling it already. Maybe this was what you wanted, wearing this for me,” You murmur.  

“Aah, aah,”  

You slide yourself in, rocking your hips in measured beats until Zayne adjusts. All the way until you’ve bottomed out completely, cock swallowed all the way down to the base. Glancing where you’re sheathed inside of Zayne, you admire the view carefully. Holding still to let him adjust to the intrusion - you slide your hand underneath the billowy fabric of his shirt. It’s displaced - the nape of his neck and line of his back exposed. Blush-toned with a thin sheen of sweat rolling down the muscles while he hides himself away.  

You had plans to be kinder to him but they go out of the window fast.  

You place a hand on the back of his neck to keep him pinned down while the other one holds his hip. Your words come without ceremony.  

“Tell me when you cum, but you don’t have to ask,” You say. Not particularly nice. “So we’re even,”  

Before Zayne can manage a single coherent reply, you press down on him firm and pull your cock all the way before pushing it back in. It’s one swift gesture, not punishing - but quick enough to leave him off-center and clawing at the bedsheets at the sudden motion. 

A thrill crawls up your spine at the sight of him. The sound of him. The touch, the way he trembles under your grasp. Your stomach turns on itself from the sheer elation of watching him fall apart for you without anywhere to run to. Perfectly pliant and made to take whatever pleasure you can give him. You build a pace up slowly as the flames of arousal lick at your core, grinding yourself into textured end of your strap each time. Once you find the right pace, you find it hard to focus on anything other then fucking him.  

So you don’t bother on thinking about anything else, keeping your grip firm. Consistent and deep, eager as the room fills with the sound of skin hitting skin. Zayne’s moans come out stronger now, pushed out and spilling from his lips like a broken record. You hear him swear under his breath every now and again, when it gets to be too much. A litany of cries that sound sweeter than the chorus of a songbird - you find there’s nothing you want more then to fuck him completely out of his mind while you try and memorize the melody.  

Zayne doesn’t last long at this rate, and it’d be unfair for you to expect him too. But it surprises you just how quickly it all comes down. It doesn’t feel like you’ve been fucking him all that long, especially since he only came a little while ago.  

But you can tell - from the tremble of his hips and the sudden grip on the sheets that he’s close. 

“My love I’m going to—“ 

“Cum for me baby. That’s all you need to do,”  

And so he does, without any hesitation. Nothing comes out for it, but he does cum - and you see it in how he trembles and seizes. All the muscles in his body going taut like a bowstring before he breaks into something finer, like threads of fabric falling apart. He cums hard but nothing comes out, and he lays there in the aftermath.  

You wait a while, but you stay. Sheathed inside of him, kissing a line up his back, at his shoulder.  

“Aren’t you glad we skipped dinner?”  

Zayne laughs tiredly. “Yes, I suppose I am. I would like a break though,”  

“Oh?”  

He sounds embarrassed but firm. “A reward, maybe. I-If it’s alright.”  

You have the inkling that reward just means him laying between your legs. He’s worked hard enough to have it.“Mm. If you want. But I’m not finished with you yet, so it’ll be a little short-lived.”  

“That’s fine. More then fine,”  

You laugh at him. “Right. Then yes. You can have whatever you want,”  

♡ a/n ; some notes about zayne here!! i know a lot of people write him as a rather obedient sub but in my honest opinion - i think zayne has a hard time seriously relinquishing control. it's such a center-piece of his life that giving it up and really letting someone have that sort of influence on him makes him a little shy - even though he is imo notoriously forward.

so i think he can be a touch stubborn / a little bratty when he's being sincere about being submissive. rather then just playing along with you if that makes sense!!

anyhow thanks for reading!!! rbs and tags always appreciated

[osamucide]

NSFW—MDNI

thinking about boyfriend!Akutagawa who loves horror movies.

thinking about boyfriend!Akutagawa who doesn’t get a lot of time away from work—but when he does, of course he wants to be with you. there’s so little to this bleak existence that interests him outside of work. and of course, when you both settle in for your monthly movie night and it’s his turn to pick, he’s going to choose some terrible, fucked up, stomach-turning film.

thinking about boyfriend!Akutagawa who, with regard to your tolerance for scary movies, still likes to push your limits with them. he’s found that there’s hardly anything he can’t endure with little more than a furrowed brow, and it makes him feel so needed and loved when you cling onto him, clutch his hand, or bury your face into him after a particularly startling jump scare.

thinking about boyfriend!Akutagawa who gets unreasonably turned on during anything gory, anything shocking, anything poetic or allegorical involving flesh and blood and guts. he loves it if you yelp and squirm and maybe unintentionally grind against his hard-on when you’re wrapped around him and trying to hide from the terror.

thinking about boyfriend!Akutagawa who loves it even more if you’re just as into it as he is—if you ghost your fingers along his waist as one half of the stupid couple trying to bang in the haunted house during the exposition ends up disemboweled, disfigured, decapitated, or otherwise mutilated. he’ll fight off his wicked grin and tease you back—bite you softly, fondle your chest, finger you too gently—until it gets really good.

thinking about boyfriend!Akutagawa who has you on your back or on your knees or in his lap by the denouement; of course he wants to know what happens (whether you do or not is up to you—bury your face in his shoulder or gag on his cock to distract yourself if you have to) but he’s so close to cumming that it’s difficult to stay focused on anything other than ruining you, and even if you want to know too and he’s fucking you too good for you to pay attention either, well, how is it his fault that watching messed up movies with his pretty partner gets him atrociously horny? ⊹

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

Peeping on your neighbor DILF!Getou Suguru [prev]

[cw: voyeurism & implied daddy kink(?) idk tbh you decide]

Irises speckled with shimmering sapphires, deep as amethyst, swirling in pools of lilac. A fringe of onyx, long tendrils dipping over a horizon of golden bronze.

“Hey, so I was wondering…”

A taut abdomen rippling with each breath—muscles carved sharp, the dip of his waist a lighter beige contrasted by a dark trail of hair leading down his navel. Broad, firm pecs teasing a softness despite the solid planes beneath.

“When are ya gonna confess to peeping on the guy?”

Deltoids flexing, obliques framing a trim waist. Triceps bulging, a testament to strenuous lifting, cardio, or something far more sinful.

“Gotta drop the bomb at some point, hm?”

Lustrous black hair cascading elegantly along a sculpted back, adorned with a splattering of moles. The glint of black titanium gauges, a thin silver chain, and the gleam of a barbell piercing at his chest catching the dim light.

“Hey, don’t just leave me hanging.”

Sometimes, the precise linework of seaweed-green ink peeks from beneath tight boxer briefs—a twisting dragon wrapping around thick quads. Quads that curve into a plump, cushioned—

“Hey!”

“Huh—what?” You blink, reality snapping back into focus. “Sorry, were you saying something?”

“Yes! Where’d you go just now? Don’t tell me you were daydreaming again.”

“No…”

Yu hums in faux consideration before pressing the back of his hand to your forehead. “I’ve never seen a case this severe before in my entire career. You’re showing all the symptoms of OGD.”

You shoot him a confused look. His expression turns grave, lips pulling tight. “Obsessive Getou Disorder. And I’m afraid… it might be incurable.”

You laugh nervously, already grasping for a distraction. But Yu anticipates your escape route like a seasoned chess player, moving faster than you can react.

He snaps his fingers, three sharp cracks in quick succession. Twisting his wrist, he waves his hands dramatically as if casting a spell. “Compelling you back to reality. Return to our realm.”

Yu’s big brown eyes blink up at you expectantly, ever sparkling with mischief. His brow quirks, and you can’t resist ruffling his crop of messy hair.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m listening.” You pat the cushion beside you, inviting him to sit. Yu, ever the enthusiastic puppy, eagerly flops down.

Every time you finish a shift together, he chases you out of work like an excitable dog, hyping up elaborate plans—outfits, venues, guest lists—only for the night to inevitably end curled up in your apartment, eating pizza, watching movies, and gossiping. Not that you mind. It’s an outlet for your… fixation.

You grab the remote, scrolling aimlessly through endless shows and movies. Beside you, crinkling sounds announce Yu unearthing the snacks from earlier. The sweet scent of cinnamon wafts into the air.

“You up for anything in particular? Feels like we’ve watched pretty much everything at this point.”

“Mmfh, y’know wha’? We’re no’ fish again. Les’ do somethin’ bold.” Yu’s words are nearly swallowed by the honey bun he’s chewing, muffled and garbled between bites.

“Come again? And this time, without the sugar-coated mumbling.”

Yu dramatically swallows, throat protruding as he gulps too fast. Wiping the crumbs from the corners of his mouth, he tries again. “Let’s be bold tonight. Instead of stuffing our faces, we should both text our y’know…” He trails off, making exaggerated kissy noises.

Your stomach flips. “Okay…”

Yu lights up, snatching both your phones from the coffee table. Before he can act, you raise a hand. “Hold up.”

You retrieve two plastic shot glasses, a pitcher of juice, and a bottle of tequila. “Some liquid courage might be helpful, yes?”

Yu pouts but is already pouring generous shots, the tequila teetering at the brim. You know he’s just as nervous as you are.

“Three, two, one—bottoms up!”

Your throat burns, the juice barely easing the sting. Staring blankly at the open text thread with Getou, you hesitate.

“How’s this?” Yu tilts his phone for you to see.

Haibara Yu: Hey, Ken! Hope I’m not bothering you. I remember you were baking bread today, and I’m free—need a hand?

“Perfect. A casual excuse to see him while being forward. Now send.”

Yu wavers, his finger hovering over the button. A split-second of doubt, then—

“Can’t! You do it, quick!” He shoves the phone at you like it’s a ticking time bomb.

Laughing, you press send. Yu gulps down another shot in retaliation.

“What do you have typed out? Don’t make me suffer alone—”

Three loud dings cut him off. Yu’s phone vibrates. You both freeze.

“No way,” Yu whispers.

You flip his phone over and huddle together, shoulder to shoulder, to read the messages:

Nanami Kento:  Haha, nice to hear from you, Haibara. Perfect timing—I just started proofing the yeast. I’d love for you to join me, might help this go smoother. Would you like me to send my address?”

Your jaw drops. “Yu. This man is whipped for you. Barely a minute and he’s already inviting you over.”

Yu can’t contain his grin, quickly typing back:

Haibara Yu: I don’t know what proofing yeast means, but I’m sure you’ll teach me!

Yes, send it now—I’ll head over ASAP :))

You groan theatrically. “Great, now you’re abandoning me.”

Yu snatches your phone, eyes scanning your screen. “You haven’t even drafted a text yet?”

“No…”

His fingers fly across his screen, typing something out—until, suddenly, his expression shifts. The look of concentration melts away, replaced by a devilish glint in his eyes.

“Actually, you don’t have to.”

He tilts your phone toward you, revealing the reason for his sudden change in demeanor.

One new message.

Getou Suguru: Hello, neighbor! Just wondering if you’d like to come over and help me cook for the girls since you proved yourself capable in the kitchen (thank you again).

They’ve been asking about you—they’d love to see you.

Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest.

Yu grins wickedly, typing furiously.

You: I’d love to! I can be over in a few.

I’d love to see the girls, although I hope they’re not the only ones excited to see me…

You lunge for your phone, but Yu holds it out of reach, laughing.

“Just give it a second—just watch. One more sec—okay, here!”

Getou Suguru: Sounds good. And of course, I’m excited to see you as well, if not more.

Be sure to text me before you head over.

In a span of minutes, you and Yu go from lazily sprawled on the couch to full-blown panic mode, securing dates with the men you’d been fawning over for what feels like an eternity. The realization sends a surge of adrenaline through you, a buzz that has you both scrambling through the apartment—showering at record speed, yanking outfits from hangers, fixing your hair with practiced precision, and spritzing on just the right amount of fragrance.

The chaos leaves your bedroom and bathroom looking like a war zone. Clothes are tossed haphazardly across the bed and floor, makeup products lie toppled on the vanity, and an army of skincare bottles clutters the bathroom counter. But none of that matters—that’s tomorrow’s problem. Right now, the only thing on your mind is making sure you both look impeccable.

Before heading out, you give each other a final once-over. Yu has swapped his usual casual wear for sleek black straight-leg pants and a fitted white shirt, the fabric hugging his frame just enough to be noticeable. At your insistence, he’s kept it simple, and you know you made the right call. With his messy brown hair adding a carefree touch, the outfit is the perfect blend of boy-next-door charm and just the right edge, thanks to the black leather zip-up jacket left open.

“You’re giving bad-boy-next-door,” you tease, stepping back to admire your handiwork.

Yu, predictably, flushes a deep shade of red. You smirk, knowing full well that Nanami is going to have a field day with that reaction later. Kudos to you.

“We’re in this together,” Yu says, raising a determined thumbs-up.

You chuckle, sending your final message.

You: Heading over!

𓂃۶ৎ

Getou’s apartment door cracks open just as you lift your fist to knock. Your grin falters, lips curving downward in a sudden frown.

“What’s wrong? Something on my shirt? Or are you just disappointed to see me?”

Your heart lurches at the genuine confusion laced in his soft voice. His dark brows knit together, a small pout forming on his lips as he glances down at himself, smoothing out his black turtleneck and shifting his weight in his brown corduroy trousers.

You reach out instinctively, your hand brushing against his forearm, stilling his restless fingers as they pick at his sweater.

“Aw, no, Suguru. You look great,” you reassure him. “I just thought I’d get to see you in that cute frilly apron again.”

His brows shoot up in surprise before his violet eyes glimmer with amusement.

“Ah, so that’s what had you looking so forlorn.” He steps back, gesturing for you to come inside. “How about you say more about how great I look?”

“Don’t get cocky now.” You huff, perching yourself on a stool at the kitchen island.

Getou strolls over, leaning against the counter with his elbows propped up, his face resting in his palms. You glance around, noticing the eerie quiet that has settled over the apartment. It’s spotless—almost suspiciously so. Usually, there’s a telltale trail of toys left behind by his daughters, but today? Not a single one in sight.

“Where are the girls? Are they here?”

“Mhm,” he hums, retrieving a clean glass from the cupboard and filling it with water. He places it in front of you, setting it atop a coaster before wiping down the space in front of you with practiced precision. “Bribed them with new dolls so I could clean.”

You snort. “I don’t know what to call out more—your obsessive cleaning or your blatant bribery of your own children.”

He ducks into a drawer, rummaging for something. “I never claimed to be a good man.”

When he straightens, he turns around slowly, revealing the infamous pink frilly ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron draped around his neck. He blinks down at you, lashes fluttering flirtatiously.

“Tie me up?”

“Come here, dork.”

Getou feigns offense but turns obediently, sweeping his long hair over one shoulder. A few loose strands remain, and you gently trail your fingers along the nape of his neck, smoothing them over. His hair is softer than you expect, and when your fingers brush his skin, he shivers.

Your hands move to his waist, tying the apron strings into a neat bow. You pat his shoulder lightly.

“And don’t undersell yourself,” you murmur. “Somehow finding the time to keep an orderly home and spoiling your daughters? Sounds like a good man to me.”

He turns, his long hair cascading elegantly down one side of his face. He smiles at you, his almond-shaped eyes crinkling shut, and you silently thank the divine forces that allowed you to be so well acquainted with such a beautiful man.

“And now, you’re not only a good man,” you tease, “but the perfect housewife.”

His brow arches. “Oh, really?” A smirk tugs at his lips before he bends down, retrieving another pink frilly apron. He unfolds it, revealing the embroidered words: ‘The Kisser.’

“Oh—I—” You stumble over your words.

“Did I forget to mention? It came in a set.” He steps forward, slipping the apron over your head. “This one’s for you.”

Wordlessly, you turn so he can tie you up. The moment he finishes, he leans in, voice dropping to a hushed murmur.

“Now, one could argue that you are now my perfect housewife.”

“Mhm.” You wag your finger at him, beckoning him closer. “Come here, and I’ll tell you what I think about that.”

He leans in, hovering just above you, his face mere inches away. Up close, you can see the soft crinkles by his eyes, the slow curve of his lips.

“I think I quite like my new role, Suguru,” you whisper. “Let me fulfill my duty.”

Your fingers tangle into his hair, tugging him forward. You press a soft kiss to his lips, allowing him to deepen it. He licks over your bottom lip before biting at it, making you sigh into his mouth. Before you can pull away completely, he captures your hand, pressing a lingering kiss to your palm. The affectionate look in his eyes nearly brings you to your knees.

You clear your throat, trying to rein in the conversation.

“So, what’s on the menu tonight?”

“Chicken alfredo pasta,” he says, straightening your apron. “The girls love it, but I don’t make it often because it’s practically a heart attack on a plate.”

“So, a special night?”

“The special-est.”

You bring a large pot of salted water to a rolling boil as Getou collects the ingredients. He works efficiently, rinsing the chicken cutlets before slicing and seasoning them with practiced ease. You fall into an easy rhythm—while you heat the frying pan, he drizzles olive oil; you melt butter, he finely slices garlic; you pour in cream, he grates parmesan. The pasta cooks as the chicken sizzles, and the sauce thickens to a velvety consistency.

While the meal comes together, you wipe off the chopping board, ready to cut the parsley garnish. But the leafy pieces refuse to separate, sticking stubbornly to your blade. Frustration wells up, and you hunch over, applying more pressure in an attempt to force the pieces apart.

A warm weight presses against your shoulder, accompanied by the scent of coconut. Getou’s arms encircle yours, his rough palms resting over your hands.

“Looks like you need a little guidance,” he murmurs, his breath hot against the shell of your ear.

You scoff, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh yes, please, help me. I’m just a helpless damsel in distress.”

He chuckles, guiding your hand over the knife’s handle, steady and deliberate. With his touch, the blade moves effortlessly through the parsley, slicing with precision.

“Just like this,” he instructs, voice low and smooth. “A diagonal angle makes all the difference—now you try.”

You mimic his movements, finding the rhythm, the process suddenly easier. His hum of approval sends a shiver down your spine.

“Good girl,” he praises, his voice a little too indulgent, a little too intimate. “Just like that—keep going.”

Your composure wavers. Something shifts in the air—his proximity, his tone, the subtle dominance in his words. It leaves you feeling cornered, like prey beneath the gaze of an apex predator. His breath warms the side of your neck, his scent lingers sweet and intoxicating. Heat coils in your stomach.

There are… other things you wouldn’t mind him teaching you.

Before your thoughts can spiral further, his voice breaks through the moment.

“Look at that, pasta and chicken are done.”

By the time the girls peek in, drawn by the rich, creamy scent wafting through the apartment, you’ve mixed and plated the alfredo while Getou sets the table—placemats, utensils, drinks, napkins, everything in place.

“YAY, PASTA!”

Mimiko barrels into Getou’s leg, clinging enthusiastically.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, Daddy!”

Nanako isn’t far behind, latching onto his opposite leg. “Yay! We love you, Daddy!”

He ruffles their hair, cradling their faces with unmistakable affection. “Aw, my beautiful girls. I love you too—but I couldn’t have done this alone.” His gaze flicks to you, warm and teasing. “Go say thank you to my sous chef.”

The twins twist their heads toward you, beaming. Before you can brace yourself, they launch forward, nearly knocking you over.

“Thank you, Suit Check!”

Nanako’s golden ringlets brush your arms as you wrap them in a hug.

Getou clicks his tongue. “No, girls—sous chef,” he corrects, exaggerating the pronunciation. “It means she was my helper in the kitchen, and she was the best helper! The pasta is extra delicious because of her.”

Satisfied with the explanation, he lifts the girls into their seats. With the help of stacked cushions, they’re just high enough to reach their plates. The moment their forks touch the pasta, the room falls silent, save for the sounds of clinking silverware and exaggerated chewing.

Getou chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s good, huh? Seems like a fan favorite.”

“S’good, Daddy—so cheesy!” Nanako exclaims, her cheeks full, her chin streaked with sauce. She wipes her fingers on the table, completely unbothered.

“So messy, honey.” Getou sighs, grabbing a napkin to clean her up despite her weak attempts to squirm away.

You lift your fork, twirling a bite expertly to catch the dangling cheese. “Watch this,” you say, demonstrating. “Wrap the cheese around your fork like this, so you can enjoy every bite without getting scolded by your dad.”

The girls gasp like you’ve unveiled some grand magic trick. They attempt to copy you, their enthusiasm infectious.

Getou takes a sip of his white wine, smirking. “Preventing messes like that isn’t exactly helping you escape the housewife allegations.” His voice dips just enough to keep the words between the two of you.

You giggle, swirling your fork aimlessly around your plate, suddenly feeling like a giggly schoolgirl.

Then, an idea strikes. “Hey, if you need an outlet for those messy tendencies, my job is hosting a family event on Monday. Finger painting—they can go wild. I’m working it, so you should bring the girls. It’ll be fun.”

Getou raises a brow, turning to the twins. “What do you think, girls? Want to go? Do some painting?”

He coughs, muttering under his breath, “That’s not on our walls.”

You swat his arm playfully, but the girls don’t notice. They’re already buzzing with excitement.

“We wanna go!” “Yeah, we love to paint! Daddy never lets us!”

You grin, throwing up two thumbs. “See? I’ll let you paint all you want on Monday. I’ll sign you all up—it’ll be a blast!”

𓂃۶ৎ

You can’t help but wonder if Getou regrets agreeing to come to ‘Family Finger-painting’ as you watch Nanako, ever the ball of energy, streak cobalt blue finger paint across the front of his crisp button-up. The deep navy smudges stand out starkly against the fabric, flecks of red in her dark umber hair only adding to the chaotic artistry. Her small, paint-covered hands leave damning evidence all over his sleeves and the hem of what was, moments ago, a pristine Ralph Lauren Oxford.

You cringe, anticipating a reaction—a sigh, a flash of disappointment. But Getou only leans down, furrowing his brows, his sharp eyes honing in on the tiny perpetrator with exaggerated accusation.

“Nanako…”

His large hands wrap around her waist, and in one swift motion, he hoists her up, lifting her high above his head as if she were soaring like an eagle. “Such a messy one, aren’t you? Look what you did to Daddy! I’ve got you now, Nana.”

Nanako kicks her little feet, writhing in his grasp as peals of laughter burst from her lungs, the sound rich and warm like music.

“D-Daddy, stop! Let me go! Sorry, sorry!”

Finally, he relents, setting her back down with an affectionate pat to her head. His shirt, however, has taken even more damage—blue smears blending with the red, swirling into purple, with specks of pink now dotting his arms and pants like an abstract masterpiece.

“Daddy, me too! Wanna fly!” Mimiko tugs at his pant leg, her small hands leaving more marks in their wake.

Obliging, Getou lifts her with the same ease, holding her up until she nearly brushes the ceiling. You make your way over, watching them with quiet amusement.

“Careful with her head, Suguru.”

Getou lowers Mimiko to rest against his hip, turning to greet you with a smile. “Ah, thank you. I do tend to get carried away.” He gestures toward the three canvases spread across the floor, protected by layers of newspaper—a rare stroke of genius on Yu’s part. “How’s the progress?”

You kneel to inspect their work: a peacock, a flower, and three handprints.

“Let me guess—the peacock is Nanako’s, and the flower is Mimiko’s?”

Nanako beams, nodding vigorously as she tugs at your smock, eager for praise. The bird she painted is surprisingly elegant, its neck curved gracefully, head tucked bashfully. The feathers—done in sweeping strokes of yellow, blue, and green—are intricate for a child her age.

“Nanako, this is beautiful! You did such a great job.”

Her cheeks flush pink, her smile widening with pride. Mimiko, not to be outdone, smushes her face against her father’s side, peeking up at you. “Wuh ‘bout mie?”

You turn to her painting—green stems drawn with a careful forefinger, flowers crafted from colorful thumbprints. It’s simpler than Nanako’s, but no less charming.

“These flowers are so pretty! I love all the colors, Mimiko.”

“Danks.”

Getou chuckles, shooting you a knowing look—one that clearly says, I know you’re just being nice, but I appreciate it.

Then, he dips his fingers into the paint and smears a thick layer of violet onto your open palm.

“Why don’t you be the finishing touch to my piece?”

You glance at his canvas—sky blue with a large purple handprint on one side, two smaller ones beneath it, one lime green, the other bright pink.

He nods toward the empty space. “Go on. Left room for you.”

With a small smile, you press your palm against the canvas, feeling the sticky paint mold to the lines of your skin. A warmth settles in your stomach as the girls erupt into applause.

Getou hums, scratching his chin as he inspects the final product, his voice dipping into a teasing lilt. “Now it’s perfect. My idea to have you complete the piece was a true stroke of genius.”

You groan. “Not a dad joke, Suguru. How stereotypical.”

He pouts, scrunching his nose in exaggerated offense. Beside him, Mimiko mimics the expression perfectly, her chubby cheeks puffed out in what might be the most adorable sight you’ve ever seen.

Before you can comment on it, a frantic voice cuts through the room.

“Just a sec, you drama queens—I’ll be right back.”

You jog toward Yu, weaving between families painting peacefully. When you finally reach him, your stomach drops at the scene in front of you. A toppled canvas lies face-down, irreparably smeared. Paint has dripped from the palette, bleeding past the newspaper barrier onto the floor.

Shit.

A wail erupts, high and heartbroken. Yuji, eyes brimming with tears, sniffles as he clings to Nanami, whose face is twisted in regret.

You scoop Yuji into your arms, rubbing his back as he hiccups between sobs.

“Yu-Yu, honey, it’s okay. We’ll get another canvas. We can make something even cooler.”

His sniffles continue, tiny fists wiping at his tear-streaked face.

“See? Nanami’s not mad at you.” You nudge Nanami’s leg.

Nanami, who’s been furiously cleaning to prevent Yu from getting written up, straightens at once. With practiced ease, he runs a hand through Yuji’s pink curls before cupping his cheek.

“Oh, Yuji, of course I’m not mad. I just had to clean up. We can still paint whatever you want, okay?”

Yuji sniffs, lower lip trembling, but the tears finally slow. You grab a tissue, holding it up to his face.

“Blow.”

He obeys, filling the tissue. You clean him up and pat his head.

Nanami bows slightly. “Thank you.”

You wave him off. “No need for thanks, Yu won’t get in trouble tonight thanks to you.”

Yu joins Nanami, curling around his arm like a content cat, while the two men share a look—soft smiles, red-tipped ears, and a warmth that’s almost too much to witness.

You groan, turning back toward the Getous. As your gaze sweeps the room, Getou towers over the families, effortlessly catching your eye. He raises a bronzed hand, beckoning you back over.

And without hesitation, you go.

𓂃۶ৎ

Turns out, washing dried paint out of hair is harder than you’d expect. Not that it ever seemed easy, but it's a lot like trying to remove gum from thick locks—frustrating and nearly impossible without the right tools.

You hold Mimiko’s head steady over the sink, your fingers working diligently to scrape out stubborn streaks of red paint from her bangs. How she managed to get it there in the first place is beyond you. Speckles of color circle the drain as you slowly restore her hair to its natural brown.

“Suguru, please,” you mouth over to Getou, careful not to let Mimiko catch on to your frustration. He peeks around the side of the tub, where he has Nanako perched on the edge, her head tilted back as he rinses out her own mess. At least he seems to be making progress—her dirty blonde strands darken to caramel under the stream of water.

Your gaze flickers to Getou himself, and concern stirs in your chest. His loose black hair, usually immaculate, is now streaked with vibrant splashes of paint. He notices your stare and offers you a small, tight-lipped smile, but his furrowed brows betray his worry.

Reaching into the cabinet, he pulls out a jar of coconut oil and hands Nanako a wide-toothed comb. “Here, sweetheart, detangle your hair for me so I can help your sister.”

He joins you at the sink, twisting the cap off the oil. “This should help. If it moisturizes the hair, it’ll loosen the paint’s grip.”

You hum in agreement, stepping onto the twins’ footstool so you can hover over Getou’s head. He glances up at you, incredulous. “Pour some for me. Someone has to do yours, too.”

He flicks your forehead in response, a teasing gesture before tipping the bottle generously into your outstretched palm. Warming the oil between your hands, you begin raking your fingers through his dark locks, careful but thorough. The silver strands peppered throughout catch the light, gleaming softly under the bathroom bulb. The oil works wonders, and soon enough, the paint starts to dissolve.

“Mm, careful back there,” he murmurs, voice dipping into something almost indulgent. “Feels nice—I might just drift off.”

Smirking, you wind the ends of his hair around your fingers and give a light tug.

What you don’t expect is the breathy gasp that slips past his lips, followed by a low, gravelly, “Watch it.”

Does he like that? You file the information away for later—time and place, after all.

The faucet shuts off, and Getou lifts Mimiko upright, wrapping a fluffy towel around her shoulders and drying her hair. You do the same for Nanako before helping Getou finish up with them both. The twins announce their plans to change into clean clothes and scamper off, promising to dump their messy outfits straight into the washing machine.

Meanwhile, Getou scrubs his forearms with the remaining coconut oil as you towel off his hair to prevent it from dripping down his back. Out of everyone, he’s easily the most covered in paint—the sink now tinted a muddy brown from the mixture of colors.

“You know, we should get changed too,” he says, wringing out a section of his hair. “You can borrow something of mine if you’re okay with that. No pressure.”

“Honestly, I’d do anything to get out of these sticky clothes,” you sigh. “Something soft sounds like a dream right now.”

He grins, booping your nose. “Your wish is my command.”

A few minutes later, you pull on the clothes he’s left for you on the hamper—a large, oversized olive green graphic tee that’s so faded you can barely make out the text, ‘Girl Dad’ (which is sickeningly adorable), and a pair of simple black sweatpants with a drawstring. The fabric pools around your feet, the sleeves gaping at your elbows, but it’s comfortable. More importantly, it smells like him—rustic sandalwood and sweet coconut.

You step out of the bathroom just as Getou emerges from his bedroom, his gaze sweeping over you unabashedly. He looks thoroughly pleased, his own outfit a mirror of yours, except his shirt is a solid white. His hair is now twisted up and secured with a claw clip.

Without warning, he snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. His nose is cold as it nudges against your pulse point, pressing a light, lingering kiss there.

“Soft enough?” he murmurs, voice laced with amusement.

You hum in response, though it comes out more like a contented purr. Your arms loop around his waist, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. He lingers for a moment before pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead, then pulls back with a sigh.

“C’mon,” he says, lacing his fingers through yours. “The girls are waiting.”

In the living room, the twins are sprawled out on the couch, whispering conspiratorially over a small crate filled with hair accessories. As soon as they spot Getou, they light up.

“Daddy makeover! Daddy makeover!”

A faint flush spreads down Getou’s neck. “No, girls, d—what?”

“We want to do your hair too!”

“Pleeeeaaaseee.”

They bat their lashes, their tiny hands clutching at his shirt, and oh, they’re good. Getou looks at you for backup, but you only grin and join in on the pleading.

“Pleeeeaaaseee.”

He sighs, defeated, and slides onto the floor, his back against the couch. “Fine. But be gentle.”

The twins cheer, shoving the crate toward you so you can join in. Inside, you find butterfly clips, neon barrettes, pink bows, satin scrunchies, and rainbow elastics. The three of you claim your sections of his hair and get to work—messy buns, neat braids, tiny pigtails. By the end, his head looks like a walking arts-and-crafts project.

Getou's phone blares an absurdly loud, obnoxious ringtone, shattering the quiet hum of the evening. He fumbles with it, brow furrowing as he tries to navigate answering—his age is showing. Finally, after an unnecessary struggle, he swipes to accept, and the screen flickers to life.

Gojo’s face appears far too close to the camera, wide blue eyes blinking unnervingly. The glow of the screen illuminates the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the faint shadows beneath his eyes, casting his features in an eerie fog of azure.

“What the fuck am I looking at?”

Getou lets out a loud, pointed cough and lowers the volume, shooting Gojo a disapproving look. With a shift of his wrist, he adjusts the angle so the girls—and inevitably, you—come into frame.

“Hi, Satoru!!”

Gojo winks, flashing a toothy grin. “How’re my favorite goddaughters?”

“Good!!”

“That’s what I like to hear. Your incredibly, generous godfather is calling to persuade your stuffy dad to take you somewhere awesome! Put him back on the phone, okay?”

“Okay!!”

Getou scowls and holds up an obscured middle finger to the camera. Gojo only cackles.

“I see you’re being pampered like the princess that you are by those sweet girls and your… friend.”

“Yes,” Getou replies dryly. “What about it?

Gojo somehow flips himself upside down in the frame, his hand dangling as he snorts.

“Nothing, just making an observation. Anyway, I called to invite you on a trip this weekend. I booked an Airbnb in the city so the kids can see that new superhero movie premiere. The city screenings are being introduced by actual cast members. Megumi and Tsumiki will be inconsolable if their cousins can’t come. So… you in?”

Getou shrugs, arching a well-groomed brow. “How can I refuse? The only one who spoils their kids more than you is me.”

“I dunno, the jury’s still out on that. Why don’t we ask your friend this weekend? If she comes, she’ll be the perfect tiebreaker.”

Oh, he’s slick. You suppress a smile but lean forward over Getou’s shoulder, tapping his cheek.

“Suguru’s friend likes that idea very much. I’m in—and I’ll be sure to make an unbiased decision.”

Getou turns to you, his expression shifting, concern softening the sharp elegance of his features. There’s a slight crease between his brows, and for a brief moment, you want to smooth it away, to press a kiss over the corners of his lips that have dipped into a hesitant frown.

“Are you sure?” he asks, voice lower now, meant just for you. “Don’t feel pressured by this idiot.”

“Of course I’m sure. I wouldn’t have agreed if I wasn’t. I have no qualms about rejecting cocky men.”

Gojo snaps his fingers, amused. “Testy. I like it. Give me your number, and I’ll send you the details. I need to record everyone staying in the house for the homeowner.”

You recite it, then settle back into your spot. Your fingers thread through Getou’s dark hair absentmindedly, mirroring the girls’ movements as they weave an impressively tight Dutch braid along the side of his head.

Getou and Gojo continue chatting, their voices fading into the background as your phone lights up on the arm of the couch. You stretch forward to grab it, expecting a message from Yu with an update—he had also gone home with his beau.

But when you unlock the screen, an unfamiliar number stares back at you.

717-904-3856: Hey! It’s Gojo Satoru AKA your wingman, and I won’t rest until I successfully hook you up with my best friend. 

God knows he needs it.

𓂃۶ৎ

“This Airbnb is fu—uh, I mean, freaking huge. How’d Gojo afford this?!”

Getou chuckles under his breath as he steers the wheel, glancing in the rearview mirror before backing into the long driveway. The house looms in front of you—massive, especially for something in the heart of the city. Beige bricks stack into sleek, modern walls, and the tall, black roof contrasts against the setting sun. Floor-to-ceiling windows reveal a lofty foyer inside, warm light spilling onto the neatly trimmed bushes lining the entryway. The double doors arch into a perfect half-circle, framed by lush greenery rooted in pristine, manicured grass.

He shifts the car into park, turning off the engine with an effortless press of his fingers. “Ah, did I forget to mention? Gojo’s family owns an upscale hotel franchise. You might’ve heard of it—Living Limitless?”

Your jaw nearly hits the floor. “No way. Of course, I’ve heard of them. They were in the news last year after acquiring that media conglomerate for a ridiculous amount of money. They’re loaded!”

Getou hums in response, slipping off his seatbelt. The silver frames of his glasses catch the light as he glances at you, the soft twill of his black short-sleeve set draping over his frame. His hair is neatly tied into a bun, the stray strands framing his face in a way that makes him look devastatingly good. The delicate glint of his rings and bracelets only adds to the effect.

“Mm. Money doesn’t buy manners, though. His family isn’t exactly warm and welcoming, so he doesn’t see them often. But he still has access to his shares, which is why he can afford to act like a snob.”

You chuckle, pushing open the passenger door before reaching into the backseat to unbuckle Nanako from her booster seat. “I mean, he can’t be that bad. He does a lot for the girls, doesn’t he?”

“Welcome to my humble abode!”

Your head snaps up just in time to see Gojo—not walking—but rolling toward you down the cobblestone driveway on a hoverboard, tilted forward like he’s the main act in some grand performance.

You inhale sharply. “Spoke too soon.”

Getou sighs, dragging a hand down his face before taking both girls by the hands, guiding them toward Gojo. Unlike you, the twins are completely mesmerized by his dramatic entrance. You, however, can’t help but see a man in his thirties, draped in designer from head to toe—Gucci sunglasses, Gucci joggers, Gucci slides—riding a Segway like a rich kid who never outgrew his phase.

To his credit, Gojo is absurdly friendly. He sweeps all of you into a round of enthusiastic hugs, exchanging pleasantries before immediately launching into an animated info-dump about the upcoming movie. His voice brims with excitement—maybe even more so than the kids’.

“—and the actor that plays Cursebreaker? Absolute machine. Does all his own stunts. Megumi could tell you more, he follows him on TikTok. He and his sister have been asking about you two all day.”

Right on cue, a small head peeks out from the front door. Tsumiki beams brightly. “Hi Nana! Hi Mimi!”

From behind her, little Megumi appears—his tousled black hair falling over his forehead, his lips drawn into a scowl.

The interior of the house is even more elegant than the exterior—sleek and modern, a symphony of whites, grays, and blacks. The minimalist design is softened by the presence of large, leafy plants, and a high-end television camouflages as an expensive painting on the wall.

As soon as you step inside, the girls scatter, immediately engrossed in an impromptu game of tag, their laughter echoing through the open space. Getou settles himself into the plush white couch, casually grabbing a controller as Megumi boots up his Switch beside him. That leaves you with Gojo, who is carefully slipping into his Cursebreaker cosplay for later that evening.

“Zip this up for me?” he asks, turning his back to you.

The suit is absurdly tight, a second skin molded to every inch of his form. You struggle with the zipper, nearly yanking Gojo backward in the process. The sleek, black material stretches over his body, covering him from head to toe—built-in shoes and all. The design spirals with glowing icy blue accents that converge at his sternum, forming a swirling curse energy emblem.

Gojo’s usual vibrant eyes are further exaggerated by unnervingly bright blue contacts, the pupils swallowed entirely, leaving only a ghostly glow.

As you help spike his already gravity-defying hair, you can’t help but ask, “Where the hell did you even get this costume?”

Gojo smirks, fluffing a single strand just right. “Oh, you know… I just reached out to the actual designer from the movie, commissioned an exact replica. Had to expedite it, though.”

You stare at him, deadpan. “Oh. So you’re rich-rich.”

Gojo actually has the nerve to look a little bashful, kicking at the floor like a kid caught sneaking an extra dessert. “It’s not like that! I don’t splurge on just anything. I’ve been obsessed with this franchise since I was a kid.”

From the couch, Getou’s smooth voice interjects lazily, “Born to be a nerd, forced to be an heir. Tragic.”

Megumi, ever eager to roast Gojo, jumps in with a smirk. “NERD.”

What follows is a predictable bout of bickering, it lasts until Gojo’s phone vibrates, signaling that their Uber will be arriving in an hour. He claps his hands together and directs the kids to get into their costumes.

Then he turns to you and Getou with an expression that makes you wary. “So,” he drawls, rubbing his hands together like a cartoon villain, “fun fact—there are only five cinema tickets. Totally sold out. Couldn’t get extras.”

Getou frowns, about to protest, but Gojo cuts him off with a raised finger. “Ah, ah, ah. This actually works out perfectly, because let’s be honest—I’m the only one who actually cares about seeing this movie. So, instead of sitting through something you don’t care about, you two should have a night out. I even have recommendations.”

You glance at Getou with amusement. “So, Suguru, when’s the last time you went out socially?”

Silence. Getou’s lips press into a thin line.

Gojo beams in triumph. “Yay! You’ll do it! Get back out there, Grandma!” He whips out his phone and texts you both the name of a bar. It looks lively—plenty of drinks, an arcade, even a dance floor.

“Oh, and FYI,” he adds, “I already called an Uber for you. So, chop chop, go get ready.”

The sudden realization that you’re about to go on what is essentially a date with Getou sends you scrambling for an outfit. After giving your goodbyes to the twins, who latch onto you for hugs, you rush off to get ready.

A steaming shower melts away any tension as you exfoliate, shave, and lather yourself in fragrant lotion and body oil. When you step out, your reflection grins back at you, brimming with anticipation.

You settle on an all-black ensemble: knee-high boots, a mini skirt, and a textured, long-sleeved button-up, strategically fastened at your midriff to reveal just the right amount of skin. A small black bag completes the look. You’re banking on Getou wearing black—his wardrobe rarely deviates from it.

Descending the stairs, your hunch proves correct. Getou stands by the mirror near the front door, adjusting his watch and straightening his jewelry. He’s still in his earlier outfit but has thrown on a wool-lined button-up denim jacket and swapped his shoes for chunky-sole ankle boots. His glasses remain, framing his face as a few strands of hair escape his bun.

You creep up behind him, aligning yourself in the reflection. “Hey.”

His gaze lifts to meet yours in the mirror, and a faint flush rises to his cheeks. “Hey.”

You let out a low whistle. “Damn, you clean up well.”

He turns, draping an arm over your shoulders, pulling you in. Your palm finds his chest, and in the mirror’s reflection, you can’t deny—you two look good together.

“You make me look even better,” he murmurs, his arm snaking around your waist. “You look beautiful.”

A car horn honks outside, breaking the moment. Getou steps back, extending a hand, and you take it. He even opens the door for you, effortlessly slipping into the role of a gentleman.

During the ride, he chats idly, reminiscing about growing up on the outskirts of the city. He tells you about the sprawling fields that once existed before modernization, where he and the local kids played streetball. You tease him for having firsthand historical knowledge of the ‘90s, earning an eye roll in return.

At the bar, the crowd is thick, the air electric. Getou’s firm hand guides you through, settling at the small of your back. At the bar, he orders your drinks.

“So handsome…,” you say, swirling your glass before taking a sip, “what brings you out tonight?”

Getou smirks, playing along. “Finally got a night away from the kids. I’m a father, by the way.”

“Oh?” You eye him appreciatively, slow and deliberate. “You ever heard of the term DILF before?”

He chuckles, amusement glinting in his eyes as he downs half his drink. “Oh, how forward of you. Would you personally apply that term to me, or…?”

You grin, raising your glass. “Let’s save the pillow talk for later. Tell me more about yourself—steady job, good income, solid principles, family values?”

Getou swirls his drink lazily before topping it off with a fresh pour. The gleam of his silver watch catches the light. “I sit on the board of a local non-profit, invest in my 401K, indulge in questionable activities in moderation, and put family above all else.”

Your eyebrows lift, surprised by the thorough answer. He clinks his glass against yours, eyes flickering with curiosity. “And you?”

You down the rest of your drink, holding his gaze. Then, licking your lips, you lean in slightly.

“Oh, me?” You twirl a strand of hair around your finger. “I’m a daycare teacher and tutor, planning to start grad school after I get my promotion. I splurge irresponsibly with my best friend on weekends, but I’m generally kind-hearted. I want a family of my own someday.”

Getou hums appreciatively. “Sounds like you’re exactly what I’m looking for in a partner—smart, nurturing, ambitious, outgoing, and devoted.” He flags down the bartender, already ordering another round before turning back to you with a smirk. “I imagine we’ll get along well.”

Two drinks deep, and you’re debating your go-to orders—his, a neat Scotch, yours, a lemon drop martini.

Three drinks in, and you’re bickering about how absolutely repulsive the other’s choice is.

Four drinks in, and the embarrassing stories spill out like the liquor in your glasses. He’s telling you about the time he pranked Gojo so convincingly at a KFC that it led to an all-out meltdown, ultimately getting them banned from every location nationwide. You counter with a tale of your early days at work, when a particularly unruly kid kicked you in the crotch and bolted, leaving you to chase him around the parking lot in a frenzy.

Five drinks in, and you’re both breathless with laughter, wheezing about how absurd Gojo looked in that ridiculous costume—how he is probably chafing from its unnatural tightness.

Six drinks in, and you’re tugging Getou onto the dance floor, the bass rattling through the floorboards as you pull him close, fingers trailing down his torso before turning to grind back against him. His hands find your hips, strong and steady, guiding you in rhythm, his hot breath fanning across your ear.

Six drinks and two shots of D’Usse in, and you’re clawing at his jacket, trying to shrug it off his shoulders while he palms your ass through your skirt, drawing the ire of surrounding patrons.

“Say, we get outta here,” he murmurs, voice husky.

“Mmm, yeah, but where?”

He pulls back just enough to glance around, trying to shake the intoxicating pull of your scent. Then, his gaze lands on the neon sign above the exit.

“Oh, shit.” He chuckles, already tugging you toward the door. “This bar’s connected to a hotel… Limitless Hotel.”

The realization dawns sluggishly, but in sync. “Gojo.”

You both scoff, but Getou doesn’t dwell. He’s already handing his black card to the receptionist, sliding across a generous tip before guiding you to the elevator. The doors shut, and just as you sneak a hand beneath the hem of his shirt, fingertips grazing warm skin, he stills, regaining his composure. Instead of pulling you closer, he just looks down, offering you that saccharine smile—sweet, soft, disarming.

The most contact he allows is the gentle squeeze of your hand as he leads you down the hallway. The key card beeps, the door unlocks, and the moment you step inside, Getou turns to you, effortlessly lifting you by your thighs. You instinctively wrap your legs around his waist as he walks backward into the room, lips finding the damp skin of your neck. He licks, sucks, nips his way down to your collarbone, groaning like he’s savoring something divine.

He stumbles near the closet, and you tumble onto the mattress with a breathless yelp, your hair catching uncomfortably beneath you. You cling to his neck, trying to ease the tension, and he gazes down at you, his violet eyes suddenly sharp despite the haze of alcohol.

“You okay, baby?”

“Mhm.” You cradle his face, his cheeks flushed, lips tinged red, pupils blown wide. You sigh, brushing your thumb across his cheekbone. “S’pretty Sugu… kiss?”

Getou gets the message, dipping down to capture your lips in a slow, consuming kiss. His strong arms cage you in as his tongue teases yours, urging your mouth open further. You moan into it, gripping his shoulders as he presses closer, the heat between you mounting with every stolen breath.

Your shirt is barely clinging to your frame, skirt bunched high around your hips, and Getou takes full advantage, trailing kisses down your chest, tugging your bra aside to flick his tongue over a peaked nipple. The sensation sends sparks through your body, and he groans, biting gently as his eyes flick up to gauge your reaction.

You arch beneath him, desperate for more, hands fisting in his hair. The loose bun unravels, his dark strands cascading around you like a curtain, his scent enveloping you completely.

You whimper, shifting beneath him, seeking friction. “Su-gu-ru…”

He bites at your earlobe, his voice a breathy whisper, “Tell me what you need, baby. Talk to me.”

“Need you,” you gasp, hips canting up in frustration. “More—please.”

His weight presses against you, his clothed length dragging over your damp panties, and you keen at the friction.

“Like this?” he teases, grinding slow, deliberate.

You moan, rolling your hips to meet his. “Yes—yes, Sugu. Feels so good.”

The taste of alcohol lingers on your tongue, but it’s overshadowed by Getou, his kisses devouring, claiming. Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging, and he groans, shuddering against you.

His hands roam, tracing down your torso, teasing over your navel. Your fingers wander in turn, slipping beneath his shirt, nails dragging over the taut muscles of his back, feeling them ripple as he moves.

Your hands drift lower, mapping the firm planes of his chest until your fingers catch on the cold metal of his barbell piercings. You flick them, drawing a sharp inhale from him. And then you see it—the tattoo you’ve admired from afar, the coiled tail of a dragon peeking from the jut of his hip.

He chuckles, low and rough, nuzzling into your neck. “What do you want, baby? Tell me.”

You swallow hard, heart hammering. “Need you—now.”

His smirk is sinful. “Yeah? Here, you’ve been so good for me.”

He shoves his pants lower, and you shiver as his hands skim your thighs, pushing your skirt down and off entirely.

“Be a good girl,” he murmurs, kissing you slow, teasing. “Take me out of my boxers.”

Getou straightens up, towering over you like a Greek god—sculpted physique gleaming under the dim light, skin slick with perspiration and arousal. Your breath hitches as you curl your fingertips around the waistband of his black boxers, carefully pulling them down, revealing the end of his happy trail and the thick, pulsing length of his cock straining beneath the fabric.

You free him from the confines, wrapping your fingers around his girth. He twitches in your grasp, a sharp inhale hissing through his teeth.

“Just like that, baby,” Getou murmurs, leaning over to flick his tongue over a sensitive nipple. Your mewl is music to his ears.

He lets you stroke him a few times, a bead of precum glistening at his tip as you lick your lips. But before you can indulge further, he captures your wrist, his other hand slipping beneath the damp fabric of your panties, pressing a teasing stroke over your clit.

A violent jolt racks your body. Your hips twitch, desperate for more, but all you can manage is an incoherent plea, breathy and urgent.

Getou chuckles, the sound dark, almost cruel. “Shh, shh. I got you. Daddy’s got you.”

He slips a finger inside you, and the moan you release is downright filthy. The slick glide allows him to press a second digit in beside the first with ease, stretching you open with deliberate, lazy pumps. His knuckles brush against you, curling upward with intent, watching your every reaction.

Your eyes flutter back, mouth parted, and you think you might be drooling. Getou licks at your chin, smirking. “Hey. Eyes up here.”

You barely manage to meet his gaze, his irises eclipsed by lust-darkened pupils. He leans in, your panting breaths mingling, and you press your lips to his, tasting him, losing yourself in the heat of his mouth.

“Fuck, baby,” he growls, his voice like gravel and honey. “You just tightened up—mmh, you like it when I look at you?”

“Yes, Sugu,” you gasp, teetering on the edge of madness. “Please, I’m gonna die if you don’t fuck me soon.”

The words are only half-teasing; the ache inside you is unbearable, the need to be filled leaving your eyes pricking with unshed tears. Getou’s expression softens for only a moment before he kisses the corner of your eyes, his thumbs swiping tenderly over your cheekbones.

Then, without warning, he hikes your legs over his shoulders, dragging your panties aside. The swollen head of his cock nudges against your slick clit, the slight friction sending a white-hot surge through your nerves. He watches the way you shudder beneath him, reveling in your sensitivity.

“You want it?” he asks, lining himself up, teasing your entrance.

You whimper, wiggling your hips, desperate to catch him inside. The wetness pooling between your thighs makes it effortless, yet he stills his movements, smirking down at you.

“Go ahead, baby,” he urges, voice thick. “Fuck yourself on my cock.”

He pushes in just enough for his tip to breach your entrance, the stretch immediate, electric. You sink down onto him, trying to take more, but it’s too much—too thick, not deep enough. Your walls clench greedily, but you can’t fit him in entirely on your own.

You look up at Getou, his lip caught between his teeth, veins prominent along his throat and forearms. A single tear escapes the corner of your eye, sliding down your cheek as you whisper, broken and pleading:

“Fuck me.”

Getou exhales sharply, dragging your panties off, your slick stretching between the fabric and your core. He balls them up, stuffing them into his pocket. You open your mouth to question it, but before you can, he grabs your ankles, pulling you to the edge of the bed.

With one deliberate thrust, he buries himself to the hilt.

A choked cry escapes your lips, his name mangled on your tongue. He sets a ruthless pace, each stroke angled perfectly to find the spot inside you that has you keening.

Your head falls back, eyes glassy, body trembling as pleasure builds in your core. Getou watches you come undone beneath him, kissing and biting at your thighs as he keeps driving into you.

“Gripping me so tight, baby,” he groans, voice raw with need. “So fucking wet—do you want to cum for me?”

You nod frantically, words failing you.

Getou chuckles darkly. “Can’t understand you, sweetheart. Try again.”

You suck in a shaky breath, but he thrusts particularly deep, stealing it away before you can respond. Your body quivers violently, pleasure teetering on the edge of oblivion.

“Yes, Sugu—yes! Please, I need—”

“Better,” he huffs. He withdraws, just long enough to shift his position, slotting himself between your legs, guiding your hands behind his neck. You instinctively wrap yourself around him, pulling him deeper as he fills you completely.

The pressure is dizzying. His hand presses against your lower stomach, and you keen, feeling him so impossibly deep inside you.

“S-so big—fuck—so deep, Sugu, s’good.”

He kisses your cheek, resuming his brutal pace, the wet sounds of your coupling only adding to the sinful bliss. He reaches between you, circling your clit with practiced precision, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

You choke on a sob, pleasure consuming you. “Sugu—c-coming—”

His nose brushes against yours, his lips hovering just over your own as he coaxes you further. He licks along your cupid’s bow, voice a whispered command:

“Come for me.”

The dam bursts.

A violent wave of ecstasy crashes over you, leaving you gasping, body convulsing around him. Your walls flutter and squeeze, a gush of arousal soaking his cock, dripping down to his balls.

“Fuck, baby,” he grits out, fucking you through the aftershocks. “Just like that.”

He doesn’t stop, dragging out your pleasure until it’s unbearable. Another orgasm crashes over you before you even have time to recover, leaving you sobbing his name.

Getou groans, his body tensing. “Fuck—‘m close—”

You know what will push him over the edge.

“Come inside me,” you beg, voice wrecked. “Fill me up—Su-gu-ru.”

A broken moan falls from your lips as Getou thrusts deep, his release spilling into you, hot and thick. His pace stutters, but he doesn’t stop, fucking his cum into you, his hips rolling lazily as your walls pulse. The slick, creamy mess coats his base, dripping from your swollen cunt.

You tug him closer, pulling him into a messy, breathless kiss—your tongues sliding together, lips slotting against each other with desperate need. It’s intoxicating, dizzying, and you only pull away when the edges of your vision blur, the threat of passing out looming.

You blink up at him, mind hazy, body wrecked and thrumming with the aftershocks of your orgasm. Your voice comes out shaky, barely more than a whisper.

“Fuck.”

Getou chuckles, the sound low and breathless, his chest rising and falling against yours. A bead of sweat rolls down his neck, disappearing into the dip of his collarbone.

“Fuck is right,” he murmurs, voice tinged with amusement.

His gaze softens when you nuzzle against him, your cheek pressing against his damp skin. The fatigue creeps in—drunken, drowsy, and thoroughly ruined, your limbs feel too heavy to move.

His lips brush your temple. “You okay, baby? Didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You shake your head against him, a lazy smile tugging at your lips. “Nah, you’re perfect.”

He hums, fingers tracing absentminded circles against your back. Then, he shifts, trying to sit up—but the moment he moves, you tighten your arms around his neck, pulling him back down with a stubborn whine.

“Need to clean us up,” he says, voice gentle. “Won’t take long.”

You pout, clinging to him like a lifeline, your fingers wringing around his nape, refusing to let go.

He exhales, surrendering. “Alright, alright. Later?”

Your smile presses into the crook of his neck, the warmth of his touch soothing as his hand glides along your spine, up to scratch at your scalp in slow, languid motions.

“Later.”

𓂃۶ৎ

One thing you hate about your job is how it conditions your body to wake up at ungodly hours. In theory, it’s practical—what responsible adult wouldn’t want an early start to their day? But when you’re still reeling from a brutal hangover, desperately craving more sleep, and your body betrays you by jolting awake at the crack of dawn, it feels like pure, unadulterated torture.

You groan, rolling over in an attempt to force yourself back under, but sleep refuses to claim you again. After tossing and turning until frustration wins out, you surrender and drag yourself toward the kitchen, deciding a glass of water might help reset your system.

Hydration is key, after all, and judging by the desert-dry state of your throat, it’s safe to say you neglected it for the last forty-eight hours. Understandable, given how you’d spent the night before last.

The memory hits you out of nowhere—Getou Suguru, your devastatingly attractive neighbor, buried deep inside you, his face tight with concentration, his lips parted, breathless, still so effortlessly beautiful.

Your thighs squeeze together instinctively. It’s been happening often, these flashes of him in the most compromising positions. You just hope it isn’t obvious.

The cool air from the fridge is a relief against your overheated skin. For a fleeting moment, you consider drinking straight from the jug but decide to cling to the last shred of your dignity and pour it into a glass instead. Still groggy, you make your way to the couch, your sleep shorts riding up with every sluggish step, the strap of your bralette twisted uncomfortably.

Then—movement.

From the corner of your eye, just outside your window, something shifts. Old habits die hard, and before you can think better of it, you tiptoe closer, peeking through the curtain just enough to get a view. You expect to see the usual—Getou up early, like always. You recently learned that he wakes at the crack of dawn to make breakfast for the girls every day—a habit formed from years of going without, back when his family couldn’t afford the luxury of a morning meal.

You do see Getou.

He’s on his bed, legs stretched out, and he’s touching himself.

Your breath stutters in your throat.

His cock is flushed and straining in his hand, thick fingers wrapped around the length as he pumps himself at a lazy pace. You can almost hear the sounds he’s making—the quiet, low groans that would rumble deep in his chest, the sharp inhales as he works himself over. His lips move, forming words you can’t quite make out, but what catches your attention most is the fabric curled around his shaft, moving in time with every stroke.

You squint, trying to get a better look. Then your stomach drops.

Your panties.

Your used panties from the other night. The ones you’d worn throughout the evening, growing wetter and needier with every stolen glance at him, every lingering touch. The lacy pair with the pale pink bow at the center.

Now, they’re tangled along his cock, the waistband stretching with every movement, sticky with precum as he grinds himself against the delicate fabric.

You’re mesmerized. Completely, utterly entranced. You don’t even realize you’ve moved the curtain further, no longer just peeking but openly watching. And then—it happens.

Getou’s dark eyes lock onto yours.

Your stomach flips, but he doesn’t stop. If anything, he slows down, dragging it out, making a show of it. His hips thrust up to meet his tight grip, his jaw tightening as he bites back another moan. He doesn’t waver, doesn’t look away. He just keeps watching you watch him.

Then, still stroking himself, he picks up his phone, tapping the screen a few times before bringing it to his ear.

Your phone vibrates from where you left it on the couch.

A heavy silence stretches between you as you hesitate. Then, slowly, almost mechanically, you reach for it, pressing it to your ear.

The first thing you hear is his moan—gravelly, drawn out, punctuated by a sharp breath. 

Across the way, Getou smirks. He stands, his cock bobbing against his stomach, your panties still tangled around the tip. He lifts a single finger, curling it in a slow beckon.

You swallow hard, pulse hammering in your ears.

And then, his voice, deep and smooth, curling around the words like a promise.

“Come over, pretty girl.”

[My beloved taglist: @mentallyillcore @ourfinalisation @nanasukii28 @tokyolittledelulu @reveursetcrieurs @c0ckdrunkk @inthedarkshadows000 @exelyox @inoluvrr]

+ A/N: Experimenting with my writing style ! Ngl I had to pause multiple times while writing this because DILFtou is just too damn fine !! Also, realized I have daddy issues while writing this smh

[dearggntlereader]

I NEED more people to write for my boy Pietro maximoff!! He's just so- jkaksaklm

LOOK AT HIM!!!

[shouyuus]

18+, vi-shaped brainrot, mdni

consider college roommate!vi who is the star of the rugby team and just such a fucking jock about it, spends hours at the gym, has pre and post workout drinks and never closes her door when she's blasting rock music, leaves pink hair dye on the bathroom counter, stains the tub when she gets drunk and tries to redo her roots, calls you everything but your name -- sweetcheeks, dollface, cupcake, princess -- isn't shy about her hookups, doesn't even bother to apologize the mornings after another pretty cheerleader scampers out of her room, shrugs and winks when you come out of the bathroom with a tiny thong dangling off your finger that's clearly not either of yours.

college roommate!vi who does kickboxing on the weekends and teaches a kid's course at the local gym. the first time you go there to drop something of her's off as a favor, you can't help but stare at the way she laughs and chases the kids around, so gentle with her movements, so careful, guiding their punches, correcting their forms. and the kids love her -- it's so easy to see, the stars in their eyes, the color high in their cheeks, the way the girls cluster around her legs and the boys are constantly vying for her approval, how she tries her best to divide up her attention equally between all of them.

college roommate!vi who goes real quiet the first time you laugh in her presence, a real laugh, not one of those ha-ha ones you snipe at her when she's trying to get a rise out of you, or teasing you about spending all your time in the library, but one that shakes your shoulders and makes your whole face light up. who has to blink when you cock your head and ask if she's okay bc she was so busy staring at you, wondering about the weird thumping in her chest, the tightness in her throat.

college roommate!vi who's there for you when you're stressed about your dissertation, and she knew you were smart, but listening to you rant about it at 3am in the morning, she's starting to realize that... you're kind of a genius. to be so young and already doing a doctorate in mechanical engineering, and the things you're trying to do -- they could conceivably change the world one day. who freezes when you let your head drop onto her shoulder with a heavy sigh, telling her that you don't know what to do.

"you'll figure it out, cupcake. with a brain like yours? you always do."

college roommate!vi who realizes way too late that she's kinda got it bad for you, bc since when did she start getting used to the sight of you wearing one of her gym shirts in the mornings, making scrambled eggs, rolling your eyes when she yawns her way into the tiny kitchen, leaning an arm against the fridge as she looks you over before asking what's for breakfast. who's gotten so used to falling asleep to the soft clatter of your computer keys that when you leave to visit your family for a weekend, she tosses and turns and can't figure out why it's impossible for her to get to sleep, wanders into sliver of space you guys have crammed a couch and tv into to call a living room, slumping down there to stare at the ceiling, only to feel her fingers graze against something on the ground, who tugs out the thing from under the couch only to find herself staring at one of your bunched up socks with the goofy cartoon cats pattern, and she remembers (suddenly) finding you tearing your room apart the week before trying to look for it because it's your favorite pair of socks.

she finds herself chuckling, letting the sock fall again, but the tightness in her throat doesn't recede, and invisible fingers clench in her gut as she lets her eyes fall shut.

"well... fuck."

college roommate!vi who doesn't know how to act when you get back from your weekend away, when you throw yourself into her arms, your skin still smelling of the crisp fall air and something warm, and spicy -- it reminds her of the holiday market you dragged her to last year, the cinnamon and spiced apples, the hot, mulled wine, the way it burned all the way down when she took the first sip, the way it worked the most darling flush into your cheeks above your pink knit scarf.

"i've got a present for you!" you say, when you finally extricate yourself from her gasp, your arms still around her shoulders, her hands still settled around your waist.

"y-yeah? you didn't have to do that, sweetcheeks --"

"yeah, but i saw this in a store window and -- well i just... it reminded me of you," you say, pulling back to dig something out of your travel bag, and it takes everything in vi not to tug you back into her chest. so instead, she settles for knitting her arms across her front and coughing to hide the fact that her throat's just tightened over itself at your words. you? seeing something and thinking of her? gods, she was so far gone.

"here," you say, pulling a small black box out and offering it to her on the palm of your hand.

vi stares, before reaching out to take it, her eyes flickering up towards your face, only to catch you chewing on your bottom lip in a way that makes her mind frizzle out at the edges. she refocuses her attention on the box -- opening it, she finds a tiny little gemstone, set on a thin golden chain --

"oh..." she breathes, tugging out up to let the gem dangle from between her fingers.

"it -- it's an alexandrite stone," you say, your voice a bit reedy, but you push on as vi continues to stare, "it's uhm -- one of the rarest gemstones in nature, but the cool thing is it changes colors depending on what kind of light it's under --" you reach up to grasp her wrist, her lungs seizing at the contact as you tug her into the incandescent light of the kitchen. "see? it was light blue a second ago, right? and now it's --"

"violet," vi says, her voice soft and disbelieving.

you quickly let go of her wrist, pursing your lips and wrapping your arms around yourself, looking anywhere but at her face.

"yeah -- i just --" your shoulders shrug up as she stares at you, her sky-light eyes wide, "it... it reminded me of... you."

college roommate!vi who, ever since the "necklace incident" (as the rest of the rugby team likes to call it), hasn't really been the same. she's put on the necklace and not taken it off for even a second since the day you gave it to her, but now she doesn't really know how to act around you -- bc did you actually like her? i mean, the necklace is... a pretty big thing to just give someone, but what if you were just giving it to her as a friend? as a roommate? she agonizes over it to the point that the rest of the team are so, so sick of hearing about it, they lovingly tell her to just fuck her and get it over with already. but vi insists that she can't -- it's different with you.

college roommate!vi who's stunned speechless when she gets home to find you staring at your computer, your expression blank. and at first, she thinks something's horribly wrong, but then you're slamming into her, squealing about how you've done it -- your thesis defense went well, that you're a doctor now -- and she's picking you up, spinning you around, buoyed up by the effervescence of your happiness, pressing a kiss to your cheek --

"oh my god, congrats princess! i knew it! i always knew you could do it!"

"thanks -- god, i just -- i've wanted it for so long i... i don't know what to do with myself now that i've got it, y'know?" you say, still suspended in vi's arms, your feet lifted off the ground. it takes a moment before you both seem to realize the position you're in, and vi clears her throat as she lets you down, you looking away, pressing your palms to your cheeks to cool the heat gathering there.

after a brief pause though, vi chuckles, reaching out to slip a finger beneath your chin, tilting your face up towards her's.

"c'mon, put on one of those pretty dresses of yours. we're going out."

"out?"

"yeah. to celebrate."

you blink as vi pulls her hand away.

"but it's like... 4:30 on a tuesday."

vi cocks an eyebrow, a smirk twitching at her lips, "yes, and? c'mon cupcake --" her eyes catch yours and instead of looking away, she holds it this time, something flickering behind their powder-blue depths that makes your skin prickle with heat, "i'll show you a good time."

college roommate!vi who takes you to one of her favorite clubs, tugging you through the crowd, the jostling bodies, holding your hand in her's, trying really hard not to think too much about it (or the fucking insane little black and pink miniskirt you put on), telling herself that it's just to make sure she doesn't lose you in the crowd, grinning when someone knocks you into her chest, and she finds her arm wrapped around your waist, fingers scrunching the material of your skirt, your palms splayed on her chest.

she buys the both of you a round of shots, watching with a hitched breath as your tongue flickers out to lick the salt daubed on your wrist, the way your eyes squeeze shut when you take the shot and your lips wrap around the lime slice, tries to ignore the twist in her gut like a turning blade, the way her whole body flushes with heat, the dull ache caught between her legs when you wipe your lips, your eyes bright and a little blown out, your cheeks flushed with color as you giggle and lace your hands with hers again --

"come on! i wanna dance!"

college roommate!vi who is just drunk enough to let herself dance with you, to let herself lean in to the way you're twisting your body, fingers in your hair, your eyes closed, an indulgent smile on your lips, who let's herself imagine (just for a second), pulling you in to kiss you, how soft your lips might feel on hers, how silken your skin might be beneath her hands, who tries not to groan when you lean in closer, link your arms behind her neck, press your whole body against her's, who grips your hips just a little too tight, grinds you against her, sees the way you gasp, your eyelids fluttering as you eyes glaze out --

college roommate!vi who can't help how she groans at the sight, tugs you in by the back of your neck to mash her lips to yours, crushing you to her as she kisses you (finally, finally) and you let yourself he kissed -- your fingers tangle in her choppy pink hair, and she swears you make this sweet, mind-bending whimpering noise in the back of your throat that drives her up the wall and right over it --

but when she pulls back, she sees the look on your face -- shocked and little confused, but you're drunk, and she doesn't wanna do this with you -- at least, not like this.

college roommate!vi who pulls away, only to have you follow her all the way out the club, into this small dark alley, her shaking her head, feeling a strange, saltwater prickle at the back of her throat as she says --

"shit -- sorry. i didn't mean to -- i just -- you were just so -- and i -- fuck, i didn't --"

"vi -- vi -- no, violet, listen to me --"

it's her full name on your lips that makes her pause, makes her turn to find you walking towards her. your lipstick is smeared, your hair a waterfall mess around your shoulders as you corner her against the rough brick of the club's exterior. faintly, she can still feel the pulse of music reverberating from inside the club, but out here, the air is damp and cold and quiet.

"i -- i'm sorry i kissed you," she says, her voice cracking over the syllables. she bites her lips as you frown up at her, your eyes searching her's before you let out a soft sigh and a scoff.

"well. i'm sorry you feel that way. cause..." you take half a step back, your arms curling around yourself before you glance back at her with a hard, determined light to your eyes as you press back into her space, your cheeks bright with color.

"i was really kinda hoping you'd do it again."

vi's breath punches out of her chest; it takes a few seconds of sputtering before she gathers herself enough to speak.

"wait -- what? you..."

you crinkle your nose, rolling your eyes, "i -- i thought i was making it obvious -- i mean, with the whole necklace thing -- it doesn't take a genius to figure how i feel about --"

you squeak as she pins you against the opposite wall, her lips seeking yours out, her fingers rucking up the material of your top, making you hiccup as they tease under the wire-rim of your bra.

college roommate!vi who can barely control herself when you sink your fingers into her hair, tugging lightly as you gasp out a breath, her lips tracking fire along the side of your neck, intent on making you whimper again, just the way she likes, grazing her teeth along your collarbone even as you jerk at her hair --

"vi -- fuck -- vi, not here --" you swallow around the burgeoning desire, and when you glance down to find her looking up at you, her eyes so dark they're almost black, you fight back a groan, cup your palms around her cheeks and pull her up for a long kiss.

"let's --" you suck in a breath even as vi whines at the loss your lips, "let's go home --"

"holy fuck," vi swears, somehow managing to pull herself back just far enough to taste the misty night air. she stares at you, your chest heaving, a daisy-chain of hickeys blossoming along the long expanse of your neck, your makeup good and smeared, your hair a mess, your eyes bright and so full of love as they flicker over her face.

vi smiles, helpless to the loud, uncertain drumming of her heart as she says, "y-yeah -- let's get you home, princess."

college roommate!vi who barely waits for the elevator door to close in your building before she's got you shoved up against the wall, hoisting you up, her fingers seeking out the softness of your skin, tugging up your shirt, her other hand dipping into the waistband of your skirt, her mouth open and hungry as she kisses your neck, bites down at the junction of your shoulder just to hear you moan.

college roommate!vi who's way too good at undoing your bra with one hand the second you get back to your apartment (if you were more coherent, you might've thought it hot), the door slamming closed, the pair of you toppling onto the room, breathy laughs and panting whines as she hoists you into her arms and carries you to your bedroom, laying you down so gently, kissing up your stomach till you're whimpering, your own hands pulling your top off your body, leaving you in an undone-bra and a miniskirt, your cheeks flushed. you push yourself up onto your elbows, watching as vi peaks up at you from between your legs, shooting you a wink before she's tugging down your skirt and panties all in one, an eyebrow ticking up at the lil lacey thing you had on beneath the skirt all along.

"all this for me, pretty?"

you press your lips, eyes cutting away as she looks between the bra dangling off your shoulders and the panties caught round your ankles. her lashes flutter.

"oh, a matching set," she cocks her head, running her palms up your thighs, pinning them open again as you try to press them closed, feeling suddenly much too seen (bc you'd be straight up lying if you hadn't put it on in the vague hope that the night might evolve into something like this).

she clicks her tongue, shaking her head with a cocky, shit-eating grin that makes your heart skitter in your chest. her drops a light kiss to your inner thigh, savoring in the way you whine again.

"nope, keep 'em open princess."

college roommate!vi who takes her time with you, bc rly she's been waiting way too long for this, has imagined it one too many times, but nothing can compare to the way your hips jerk up against her mouth, the way your fingers tighten in her hair every time she licks up the seam of your cunt, the way your breath catches on her name over and over again, like you can't quite get the word out even though it's just a single syllable. she groans against you, too lost in the taste of you to care about what a mess she must look like, with her tongue fucking into your desperate hole, her nose nudging your clit, her fingers digging crescent moon marks into your hipbones.

she's sure that if this were an old-fashioned cartoon, there'd be big, balloon hearts popping out of her eyes. she can't get enough of you like this -- moaning her name, your legs on either side of her face, your skin littered with the remnants of her. she has the eye-rolling thought of you the next morning, of how all these marks will still be there to remind you of her every single time you see one of them.

college roommate!vi who doesn't expect you to flip over after she's literally eaten you out seven ways to sunday, to tug her in for a soft kiss (though she really does like pressing your own taste back into your mouth with her tongue), before your fingers are inching down the length of her body to tease at her hips, trailing circles down the lines of her abs, toying with the thin line of hair that leads into her black boxer briefs.

"what are you --"

you shoot her a look that has her mouth going dry.

"what? didn't think i can give as good as i get?"

college roommate!vi who's literally going to lose her mind with the way you're fingers (at first sight so thin and delicate, but gods are they stronger than they look) are pressing into her, curling up with the kind of precision usually only associated with doctors, and then a voice in the back of her head reminds her -- oh, right, you are a doctor now. but logical thought dies after that, bc you've somehow worked your way between her legs and are looking up at her with those big dark eyes of yours, smiling sunshine bright before you drop a kitten-lick against her clit and she's twitching, keening as she cums all over your fingers.

"jesus fuckin' christ, doll -- is that what you're learning in those engineering classes?"

she's breathless, cheeks flushed, and honestly just a little embarrassed at how quickly she came, but she has to bite back another groan as she watches you lick your fingers clean, grinning sweetly up at her as if you didn't just get her off in record time.

"no, but i did do my dissertation on human-based robotics, which included a lot of late nights memorizing anatomical models so..."

vi pulls you in for a kiss, laughing against your lips.

"you're amazing, y'know that?"

college roommate!vi who can't really believe how much she's lucked out, sharing an apartment with her girlfriend, who literally cannot shut up about you, but the rugby team all agree that they'd rather have this than the months of endless pining. who brags about her genius gf to anyone who'll listen, and looks for you in the stands of all her practice matches when you can make it, who kisses you in front of everyone even when you make a show of trying to wiggle away bc she's sweaty (you don't really care).

who loves telling the story of how you guys met bc she still can't quite believe it herself, and the story always starts with --

"well, actually -- we started off as roommates."

[rottiens]

i believe the first time you let (virgin) kakashi play with your pussy, it comes accompanied in an unusual way of talking on his part. it's almost like he takes notes to himself, almost like he doesn't talk to you. the tired gaze is set between your sticky thighs, watching carefully how your folds stretch as he puts his finger in and pulls it out, you exhale. 

"oh, here?" he slowly bends it and pushes, you cry out. "too much?" 

he doesn't even look at you as you gaze at him in raw adoration. you don't even know what expression he has because he refused to take off his mask. 

"you're squeezing so tight." his eyebrows draw together for a second before returning to his usual expression. with the thumb of his free hand he squeezes and strokes the bundle of nerves. "so wet." kakashi pushes deep, faster this time and your legs tremble, you call out to him and he ignores you with a hoarse throaty purr. "here. i like that sound." 

wet clicks fill the office. kakashi fucks your pussy with one finger and then adds another with perspicacity, careful of every step he makes next. 

"I think it's gonna cum for me." your looks become one, unbreakable as he massages you like someone with experience and makes you wet his knuckles, juices dripping down his fingers and wetting his gloves. you scream his name clinging to that intangible, rushing to hold on to his thick white strands pulling him further into you. 

kakashi do it, he's guided by your fingers leading him further in; to take a glimpse of how you open up for him, how you tremble, how you squeeze. "does it always get so swollen?" he asks, and you know once again he's not talking to you. he leans in and the tip of his nose brushes the lovely sore nub back and forth almost as if he's teasing, then he takes a deep, shameless inhale, and you forget to breathe. "cute. you can cum now, I have to try again to see your reaction one more time."

[scintie]

a spark of black

Pairing: Gambit/Remy LeBeau x female reader. Summary: Ever since you appeared at the resistance hideout along with Wade and Logan, tension between you and a certain Cajun card slinger has been steadily growing. One fateful night you finally get the chance to relieve some of it. Tags: smut (male receiving), blowjob, mild dominant undertones. Notes: be gentle, this is the first piece of writing that I've uploaded in yeeeeears. :')

You watched Remy’s mouth move, his lips forming words that you just couldn’t decipher. He was obviously speaking to you, it was just the two of you sat in the main room of the hideout.

Earlier in the evening everyone had been gathered, sharing stories and drinks. The others had all turned in for the night an hour or so ago, leaving you and the Cajun to continue on without them. Wade had made his exit by saying something predictably crude about not being too loud while fucking each others brains out. Remy had waved him off while you did nothing but blush.

The past hour had been torture. Listening to Remy's smooth, deep voice talk about their recent escapades in the Void had driven you crazy with desire. You'd developed a stupid crush on him as soon as you'd arrived. Who wouldn't though right? With his tall, broad stature and handsome face, he'd be hard for anyone to resist. But as the days had passed things went from bad to worse and your stupid crush deepened into a genuine desire.

That's why the blood was thumping so loud in your ears that you couldn’t understand him.

“Wh-what? Sorry, I er, I didn’t quite catch that.” You stammered, feeling your cheeks grow hotter by the second. You dreaded to think how flustered you looked to him right now. Like a deer in the headlights of a truck. A big, sexy truck wearing a brown leather coat.

“Oh, tu es mignon,” Remy chuckled under his breath. He rose from his chair and stepped a little closer, as if the distance between the two of you was the issue. “Remy see da way you been lookin’ at him cher, when ya' think he no be noticin’, ah?”

You were speechless. You didn't know how to react to his bluntness. How were you supposed to react to that?

Remy smirked and closed the gap between you completely and leaned over you, placing his hands on the back of your chair, one either side of your head. He was so close, you could barely breathe.

"You wan' me? All a pretty lil' thing like you would hav' to do is ask, ma douce." He kept his voice low, not wanting to alert the others.

Your mind raced, thoughts bouncing around for what felt like an eternity before at last, you nodded your head. You didn't even realise you were doing it but you weren't about to argue against it either.

"Atta girl, une si bonne fille." Remy praised, standing up straight. His hands went to the fastenings of his pants, all the while maintaining eye contact with you. "Ya trust Remy, don'cha cher?" He asked, slowly pushing his pants and underwear down off of his hips.

Your gaze left his then, moving down his otherwise fully clothed body until you were greeted with the sight of his half hard cock slipping from it's confines. Your eyes went wide. He was certainly much bigger than anyone you'd ever been with before.

You realised Remy was still watching you, slowly stroking himself now, waiting for an answer. You didn't know where to look, it was hard to tear your eyes away from the sight of his cock swelling to it's full, impressive size.

Finally, you found your words, "Y-yeah, I trust you."

"Perfect." Remy smirked and took up his position right in front of you, his hands on the back of the chair again. You gulped, head swimming with anticipation. "Then open up dat pretty mouth for me."

You drew in a long breath before slowly parting your lips, wider and wider until he nodded his approval. Remy seemed to realise that he had forgotten something, taking your hands from your lap and guiding them to his bare thighs. "Da's for yer own peace of mind, don' wan' you thinkin' you gon' fall."

You braced your hands on his muscular legs and soon realised why as he pulled on the back of your chair, slowly tilting you forward. The movement causing your mouth to lower onto his cock. It was definitely a different experience to anything you were used to, he had almost complete control over your movement.

Remy moaned quietly, taking in the tantalisingly debauched sight of your luscious lips wrapped around him. He took in every detail and sensation, observing you as if you were creating a beautiful piece of artwork right in front of him.

You looked up at him with hooded eyes, slowly working your tongue around him with what little space you had left to use.

Remy moaned again, deeper this time before just as slowly tipping the chair back down, his cock sliding almost all of the way out of your mouth.

"Y'okay, cher?" He asked, his chest rising and falling quickly. You could tell he was holding himself back a little, but he needed to make sure you were still on board with this.

You nodded slowly, running your hands slowly up and down his thighs, squeezing the muscles lying taught beneath his smooth skin.

Remy nodded back and steadied his stance. He moved the chair forward and backward again in quicker succession this time, watching your face for any sign of discomfort. He relaxed when all he saw was lust and wanton desire on your features.

You kept your hands braced on his legs, giving yourself a firm and steady anchor point to rely on. You moaned around his dick as he moved you again, a little deeper this time but still manageable.

He gradually built up a good rhythm. Not fast enough to be overwhelming for you but definitely enough to have him moaning freely, loving the soft warmth of your mouth as he moved you back and forth.

"Dat hot lil' mouth feelin' so good on me, cher." He whispered huskily, just loud enough for you to hear. You still had to be quiet, you couldn't imagine how mortifying it would be if one of the others walked in on you two right now.

Remy's words of encouragement shot a tingle through your body that ended up right between your legs. You pressed your thighs together hard and whimpered, tears prickling your eyes as your arousal started to get the better of you.

Remy noticed the change in your demeanour and slowly lowered the chair completely back down to the floor, his cock slipping free from your mouth for the first time since he'd started. A mixture of saliva and precum followed after him, coating your lips and chin.

You loved how completely blissed out you were feeling, high on the endorphins and serotonin surging through your body. Without really thinking about it you slid from the chair and onto your knees between Remy's feet. You were going on instinct, being driven by the almighty lust that you felt for this man.

"Y'kay down dere, angel?" Remy enquired, cocking an eyebrow and sliding a reassuring hand onto your shoulder as he watched you with intrigue.

You nodded slowly, grazing your teeth over your bottom lip. "Uhuh, just wanna make you come that's all..." Your words came out so soft and breathy that it was his turn to barely hear you, but he soon got the idea when you reached up and started to stroke him back to full hardness.

He moaned just a little louder than he'd liked to, caught a little off guard by the sudden sensation of your soft hands. "Well cher, Remy ain't gon' be arguin' widdat." He chuckled when he'd regained composure, jutting his hips forward for you. As soon as he was rigid again you wasted no time in taking his cock back into your mouth. You set a relatively fast pace, bobbing your head quickly, taking as much as would while working him with your tongue. Your hands went to his hips, pulling him forward and back gently in time with your bobbing. "Merde..." He hissed, looking down at you as he snaked his hand into the hair at the back of your head. "Jus' like dat, belle. Remy be comin' in no time if you be doin' dat..."

Spurred on by his words you forced yourself to take him just a little deeper, feeling him throb against your tongue in response, followed by the salty taste of precum.

You moaned softly as Remy's fingers tightened in your hair, gripping the strands at the very root. His hips stuttered a little, a tell tale sign that he getting close.

One of your hands left his hip and made it's way between his legs to massage his balls, lifting them with your palm and rolling them in their sack slowly.

The sound that came out of the Cajun's mouth was like music to your ears. Along guttural moan peppered with some indistinguishable French curse words. Apparently he didn't seem to care if anyone heard anymore.

A couple more minutes went by of you greedily sucking him and playing with his balls before Remy suddenly pulled back, his cock popping from your mouth wetly.

He wrapped his hand around his dick as he quickly guided you to sit back in the discarded chair from earlier. You complied, scrabbling up onto the wooden seat.

Remy stood over you, straddling your legs a she began jerking himself off quickly. "M' gonna come all over dat pretty face, cher... ya' ready?"

You nodded, heat rushing to your cheeks in anticipation. His hand made it's way to the back of your head again, holding you in place as he chased his orgasm.

The visual of such a devastatingly gorgeous man masturbating over you was intoxicating, it made your head spin just watching him. An odd swell of pride hit you as you noticed your saliva still coating his cock as he stroked himself, sliding his length between the makeshift sheath of his palm and thick fingers.

"Beg me, cher. Beg Remy for his cum." He panted.

You could tell he was right there, right on the precipice, he just needed to hear you.

"Please Remy, fuck... please cum all over me..." You whined, your breathing almost as shallow as his by now.

That did the trick. Almost as soon as the last words left passed your lips Remy let out a long, loud moan as his cock started to twitch. He pulled you closer just as thick, white ropes of cum started to shoot from his slit.

You opened your mouth just in time as you felt some of the hot, salty fluid paint your tongue. The rest splashed across your face in haphazard directions, marking you as his. Remy's fist slowed and his breathing steadied as the pleasure subsided. It was at that moment that you locked eyes with him. It was then that he fully saw the mess he'd made of you. The sight of you covered in his seed seemed to stun him for a small moment before his trademark cockiness returned.

"Lookin' good dere, beautiful. Dat look really suit you, ah?" He quipped, winking as he turned to find a washcloth.

You took it from him with a shy smile, your hormone fuelled confidence ebbing away slightly in the aftermath. But you smiled to yourself as you wiped your face clean because you had a feeling that he was right. It did suit you.

[green-apple-camaro]

The lack of Billy Hargrove smut is criminal

How could you not wanna read about getting railed by him?!? Look at him!

[naariel]

Sacred moments in time.

Halsin, despite being the scholar he is, can't seem to pay attention to any of the words on the page. All focus is on the slender, steady hands braiding his hair. On the closeness.

Nobody's taken care of him, before.

It's nice.