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gavisuntiedboot · 7 months ago

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Centimeters

Gavi x physiotherapist! Reader

A/N: no one asked for this but lord have mercy the photos from today had me heavy breathing

“Gavi, remember to behave yourself.”

“But I haven’t even-“

Ansu put a finger to his lips, eradicating whatever the end of that sentence was going to be.

“We’re about to go in for medical exams and the doctor is your girlfriend. Now I know you’re still pumped full of all your raging teenage hormones-“

“Ansu!”

“-but please, hermano. There cameras literally everywhere. So I’m begging you: behave.”

Gavi crossed his arms over his bare chest, pouting slightly at being scolded in front of the other boys. It was no secret that he was madly in love with his physiotherapist/girlfriend, but it never deterred the boys from teasing him incessantly. His injury over the last year had made things tough. She was at training more than he was, coming home with stories about practice drills and player banter that made his chest pang. He shook the thoughts from his head as he was called in to have his measurements taken.

Gavi shuffled into the room, white socks gliding against the floor. He fiddled with the bandage on his arm from the blood draw. He wished for a second that he could be childish, pull he is girl away from all her responsibilities and have a hand to hold while someone stabbed him with a needle. But he knew that now, close to graduating from her program and becoming lead physio, his girl was running the entire operation. So he was happy to just stand there, wide eyed and slack jawed watching his perfect girlfriend concentrate on something flashed across a computer screen.

Eventually, she felt a searing gaze burn holes into the dip of her back, and turned around to see her shirtless boyfriend biting his lip and smiling like an idiot. She suppressed her own grin, grabbing his file and her clipboard.

“Mr. Gavira - ready to be examined?”

There was a playfulness in her voice that, when mixed with her raised eyebrow and overwhelming stare, made Pablo blush.

“Of course, doctora. And please, take your time. Absolutely no need to rush.”

There was a light giggle bouncing around the room before she sat Pablo down, blood pressure cuff tight on his arm. Her fingers grazed his bicep, lingering longer than would be appropriate for any other player.

“Those scrubs look great on you, doctora.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t pick them out for me this morning, Pablo. Uncross your feet so that I can get a proper reading of your blood pressure.”

He spread his legs in the chair, shorts riding up his muscular thighs. He sat back in the chair, getting lost in watching his favorite person in the world fiddle with a blood pressure cuff.

“Any other players give you complements on the scrubs?”

“No Pablo - there is no one on this team suicidal enough to flirt with me or pay me a compliment while you’re here. Poor Lamine was scared to take off his shirt. He kept looking around expecting you to walk in.”

You tapped him on the arm, instructing him to stand for his height and weight measurement. He stood on the mark, and as she adjusted the piece above his head, he couldn’t help himself from wrapping an arm around her waist. He pulled her into himself, planting a quick kiss to her temple before she should pull away.

“Gavi!”

“What?”

“We’re at work!”

“Come on - no one is going to scold me. I’m poor Gavi with the bad knee.” He finished his sentence with a pout, big puppy dog eyes making him look younger than his already mere 19 years.

“Yes yes, poor little Gavi and his busted knee. I, however, am not an asset to club or country. Hansi will scold me in three languages if we get caught making out in here.

“Wait,” he turned his head swiftly, arms back around her waist. “Making out is an option?? Why didn’t you tell me.” His laughter disguised the sound of her lightly smacking his chest. She grabbed her clipboard again, and placed the metal piece gently on his head.

“173 cm. Tsk tsk Pablo - still as small as last year.”

He smiled at his girl, amusement painting his every feature.

“I don’t remember size ever being an issue for you, doctora. I’m still taller than you.”

“By like 10 cm. That’s not a lot.”

She took down his weight, and then grabbed the tape measure to start assessing specific areas of his body.

“Of course you would say 10 cm is not a lot. Since you’re used to 15 cm daily.” He earned another smack to the chest.

“Pablo!”

“Or maybe it’s 20? Maybe we should find out since you already have the measuring tape ready.” He suggested while his fingers played with the waistband of his shorts. She grabbed his wrist in fear, terrified of what Gavi was willing to do in a close room.

He laughed loudly, bringing both hands to cup his girl’s face. He felt the warmth of her cheeks on his palms, and her flustered state gave him a squeezing feeling in his chest. He brought his forehead to hers, waiting until she met his eyes.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to whip it out here in the medical room. No matter how much you may want it.”

She laughed gladly, fears subsiding and chest feeling lighter after Gavi’s light touch. She grabbed the measuring tape and began. She started with his neck, saying her measurements out loud before jotting them down on the form.

“Chest is 94 cm. Bigger than last year.”

Her fingers traced downwards, leaving heat on Gavi’s skin as they got to his hips.

“Hips are 81.5. Same as last year.”

Next, she traced across his collar bone and down his arm, tapping to silently tell him to flex his bicep.

“Biceps are- holy.”

“That’s not a number, preciosa.”

“Biceps are 43 cm. Ehem, bigger than last year. By a lot.”

The doctor tried to stabilize her slight tremble as she wrote down the measurements. She tried to calm herself, but something about Gavi’s new, fuller physique was making professionalism almost impossible. Gavi, the little shit, flexed his biceps again, pleased with the reaction he could evoke.

“Lift up your shorts, Gavi.”

“Don’t you mean pull down?”

“Are you okay, Pablo? You’re hornier than usual today. Do I need to get a spray bottle?”

“Surgeon called me today and cleared me for more vigorous activities. Want to help me follow the doctor’s orders?”

She got on her knees, wrapping the tape measure around his thigh.

“Thighs are 61 cm. Smaller than last year. You’ll need to work on that.”

“I had my ACL repaired.”

“Pshh excuses excuses.”

She finished her measurements, taking other important vitals and making sure to ask him all the medical clearance questions.

“What time are you finished today, Pablo?”

“2 pm. They don’t want us out for too long in the heat. How many guys are left?”

“About 6. I’ll probably be done before you, so I can go home and make lunch.”

He grabbed her by the waist, pulling her into him.

“No no, wait for me. We’ll leave together and go get food. You’ve had a hard day, let me treat you.”

“Every day is a hard day at work.”

He kept one arm around your shoulders as you walked him to the door.

“Then I’ll treat you every day. See you later, princesa.”

He hugged you into his side, and scampered off to the practice field. Neither Gavi nor his lady noticed the social media intern in the hall, who was quick to snap a picture of your embrace. The image of Gavi hugging his physiotherapist into his side and smiling from ear to ear set the internet into a flurry of comments.

New post from fcbarcelona: strong bonds between our players and medical staff 🫶

~~~

Hey do you think this is a cute dynamic? Wish you could read more about gavi x physiotherapist? Well you’re in luck! I have a ten part series of their love story in my master list!

Guys I love him so much. Anyways, like, comment, reblog, and check out the fundraiser in my pinned!! Love yall <3

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m0chisenpai · 4 months ago

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Hi, could you do a Louis x Fem!reader x Armand? Like something where they are both obsessed with her and maybe she a little oblivious even tho they give her what ever she wants. I love your others too by the way.🫶🏼

desires of the heart

˚｡⋆ louis de pointe du lac x black!fem!reader x armand

in which she has two immortals wrapped around her little finger

Author note: this sounds similarish to a loumand fic I got previously so I’m gonna build onto that one

Time in the penthouse seems to move slower. The days and nights felt blurred from adjusting your schedule to the ‘vampires’ Daniel interviews. And with each passing day, more and more do the vampires find themselves falling deeper into your heart. It is your own fault for falling for a pair of supernatural fanatics, though now they have proved their inhumane nature.

You had their own dead ones in the palm of your hand yet you remained so oblivious to it.

You find yourself spending your time less in your room and more in their company as they begin to reach the end. Daniel mentions during one of your dinners together that he finds them to be stalling. Louis speaks slower, finds himself struggling to remember certain parts.

It irritates him, but as you sit across him barely touching your own meal Daniel ends his rushing.

“Those books, are the older ones right?” You watch Armand hover above in the collection looking for more pictures of Claudia for your personal “research”. In your spare time you’ve begun compiling information from her journals and diaries, looking for pictures to put a face to the voice of the woman trapped in a child’s body.

“Yes, some of these are beyond your time,” he looks down at you slowly allowing himself to settle in front of you. You push your frames back up the bridge of your nose so you can properly look at the elder vampire.

“Can I see them?”

Louis watches amused from his seat as Armand holds you close to show you the books. Slowly he glides back up with you in his arms following your direction till you pick a small stack to sit with Louis and look through.

These are older photographs from his years in New Orleans. Family pictures, pictures from his childhood.

"Aw what happened to the fro? That's the cutest baby afro I have seen!" you pout as Louis pulls a family picture out. And he rolls his eyes as you pull your phone to take a picture.

"Times were different," Louis rolls his eyes and you scoff at his vague response. You page through the album carefully with gloved hands as you look at the dearly cared aged photos.

"Is that him?" your eyes settle on a duo picture, him and his brother side by side. Louis can only nod, his lips pressed in a line as you stare. In the picture his brother stands behind him, hand on his shoulder. He remembers that day fondly. They bickered on what to wear and settle on a pair of their old father's suits. "He was handsome. Definitely a sweetheart, I can tell by how he's looking at you here in this one."

When you look up at you him, you smile "I see you take after him." Before Louis can respond one of the workers has entered. Interrupting your bubble of peace. "Mr.Molloy has requested you in his room ma'am."

Armand's face immediately ices over into a glare, his response fiery. "Tell Mr.Molloy if he wishes for his help to return he can come and get them himself. She is not a dog."

"It's alright, the old fart does this all the time in the office." You go to stand stretching your arms overhead and quickly rubbing your forearms for friction. You're cold, Louis observes the goosebumps across your freckled shoulders from the slouch neck sweater you wear.

When you are are out of ear shot Louis speaks to the worker.

"Have the shoppers come in tomorrow morning for Mr.Molloy's intern. The girl needs proper clothing. My companion will be there to assist further."

Much to Daniel's distaste. you are like a child in a candy shop pointing to sweaters from Ralph Lauren's upcoming fall collection. But he hides his distaste giving you a smile when you happily show him the sweater that was 'giving Rory Gilmore but I wear it better.' Armand sits watching as you soar through racks and picking your items of choice.

You hesitate when a woman approaches holding a cases of lenses, "we offer these in prescription of course."

"Oh no these are fine."

"Pick one." Armand finally speaks up. When you look at him he is now sitting up, but the way he sits with his legs crossed, an arm draped across the back while the other rests atop his knee. His eyes a show of dominance, as if daring you to say no to him.

You settle on a thick marbled brown pair. But he stands to move in front of you, picking up a few for you to try. You try on several till you are pushing his hands away.

"The jade green ones as well as the golden wired ones for her," you grumble watching as he picks up the two for the woman to box. "We will have your prescription sent as soon as possible."

"Thank you but, this a bit much for a few days stay."

"We have no issue providing you your comforts whilst you work on the novel."

"Ok but-"

He raises a brow that silences any opposition. When you offer no more pushback, Armand places his hand on the small of your back, guiding you to the women who begin to drape you in abayas and scarves for your hair.

Daniel can only huff and look back to his laptop.

'CLEARLY three idiots in love with one another. Female is too incompetent to discern vampires obsession, affections.' He underlines idiots smirking to himself as he scribbles more notes about the three of you down.

You're nearing the end of the interviews. You can tell cause they spend any bit of time of the days glued to your side. You don't bring it up, you accidentally mentioned it in passing to Louis and his entire demeanor once so warm and gentle became...rigid.

He didn’t speak to you that night, but Armand was there to placate your worries.

Louis sits beside you on the couch now. Watching you listen and take notes. One earbud while your hand stops and moves to write at the most random of moments.

He’s eerily still with the only movement behind his eyes watching and hearing every single thing.

These days he's more brazen in his affections. Sitting closer, allowing his hand to linger when he passes your chai, playing with the baby curls at the nape of your neck. But there is something even more intimate as he sits beside you, watching you.

"Gonna keep staring me down like a creep?"

His lips perk up, "sorry cher. Just memorizing your face."

Your fingers stop typing, your train of thought halts for a second till they both return at the steady pace you had going. You’ll give him that one, your heart did feel fuzzy. But you’ll be damned to cry.

"Can a vampire love?"

Louis shifts a bit in his seat tilting his head upward, you wonder if he is avoiding your gaze or truly in thought. "I believe we feel immensely. Everything feels...deeper. Almost too much if I am quite honest. I think that’s why so many of us choose the sleep. These feelings are magnified."

Now it’s your turn to look up. "But if your entire being is dead, what is it that allows you to feel again? Your heart no longer works, your brain must not function, or maybe it does. But you are dead. How can the dead feel?"

Ah, that mind of yours. Louis loved it deeply. His eyes flicker to his joined palms till they return on you.

"I've heard stories, seen elder vampires that lived many lifetimes take their life because of the loneliness. At times, I myself felt it. It’s the silence, but as I said before you feel it double, he’ll even triple than the loneliness you may feel at times. Had our feelings died with us, then I do not think they would put an end to themselves."

You nod, pausing for a moment again. To feel that much it’s scary. It must be even scarier to love. Falling in love now, heartbreak even feels like it takes over your whole body. But to feel that even more, how can anyone survive through that?

"I feel it too," you pause for a moment, "it's the worst." When Louis doesn’t respond, you blank your lack of sleep or the stress of work that leaves you open and vulnerable. “I don’t think I could survive it. Loving at least. It hurts and it’s always taking. Leaving you high and dry in the end. I don’t….i couldn’t handle that again.”

Though Louis respects your boundaries, he feels the buzz in your bones. He hears the tremor in your voice, sees the mist of tears sitting in your eyes. A desire sitting on your lips. “What do you need?” It comes out as a whisper, yet it feels so loud.

And your response is just as quiet, “can you…can you just hold me. Please, Louis.”

The laptop shut and atop the table, and he is holding you close. Your eyes slowly fall shut as you wrap your arms back around him. He pulls you atop him and you squeeze him back hiding your face in the nook of his shoulder.

He must be shushing you or speaking but you can’t hear it, all you can do is soak this in.

You feel complete again, so whole.

#Loumand x reader #louis x reader #louis de pointe du lac x reader #armand x reader #Louis x reader x Armand #iwtv x reader #Iwtv #journalist!reader

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merakiui · 10 months ago

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the birds and the bees.

yandere!riddle rosehearts x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, nsfw, slight dub-con, implied stalking, age gap (riddle is 19 and reader is 29) note - you're hired to teach riddle about the birds and the bees. you need the money. he needs to get laid.

The Rosehearts’s Residence looks about how you expected it to after driving past houses of similar size and grandeur. Unlike you, they’re definitely not strapped for cash. It’s an impressive structure with its elegant wrought iron gates and expertly trimmed hedges. You’re immediately overcome with bitter jealousy when you step through the entrance, passing rose bushes in full bloom. If only your apartment could look and feel as nice as this place. You almost wonder if you should keep Mrs. Rosehearts’s contact in case she ever needs a gardener or a window washer…

But then that risks your cover, and the last thing you want is to get tangled up in trouble with the upper middle class.

Gathering your courage, you smooth invisible wrinkles in your pencil skirt, steady your balance in your Mary Janes—both at socially acceptable lengths and heights—and bring your fist down against the door. Seconds after the third knock, it opens to reveal a woman who looks as prim and proper as the landscape of her home. She takes a long moment, drinking in your formal features, and then smiles approvingly.

“Ah, (Name), you’re early.”

You soften your face into something polite and demure. “Better early than late.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

She steps aside, gesturing for you to come in. You meander into the foyer and are instantly reminded of those exquisite house tours on MagiTube. There’s a fine layer of modest Victorian wealth to the decor. Flowery wallpaper, a lofty ceiling, an aureate chandelier, a vase filled with fresh tulips of all colors… Oh, how you wish you could live here!

“Your home is beautiful,” you comment as you straighten your bow headband.

“Why, thank you.” Her eyes light up once more. “I’ve always admired this neighborhood. Everything is so well-kept. Speaking of which, where did you say you’re from?”

“Oh, I’m actually getting ready to move back to school at the end of the summer,” you explain, narrowly dodging her question. No way I’m telling her I live in a not-so-affluent neighborhood… She’ll totally kick me out. “I’m staying with my parents in the meantime and working a few jobs to support myself.”

“And what was it you’re studying again?”

You paste a hollow smile on, sensing her distrust. I already told you this when we met at the clinic. Do I really seem so suspicious?

“I’m studying to be an ob-gyn.”

“A wonderful profession,” she praises, nodding to herself. “Very wonderful indeed. And how old are you? I merely ask to confirm. There are so many miscreants nowadays. You can never be too sure.”

“I understand completely, Mrs. Rosehearts. I’m—” you almost falter, your real age on the tip of your tongue— “twenty-two. What about your son? You told me he’s also looking to get into the medical field?”

“Not looking. He will pursue medicine,” she corrects sternly. “Just like his mother.”

You swallow your disgust and try not to let it show so openly. Yikes… Talk about controlling.

Mrs. Rosehearts waves you onwards down the hall. “My Riddle will be leaving for his first year of college at the end of August. Though I’m certain he’s more than prepared, it never hurts to review.”

“Absolutely. So you’d like me to give him the talk?”

“Not just that. I’d like you to teach him well enough so that copulation and any other libidinous ideas are the last things on his mind. Stamp them out if you must. He’s to focus on his studies and make good decisions just as I raised him.”

Shouldn’t he already be familiar with this? Besides, he’s not a kid. Of course he’s going to think about sex. Most of us do when we’re horny.

But you can’t say that outright, so you settle for something vastly different.

“It’s important to stay on the right path and be responsible.”

Mrs. Rosehearts nods her agreement. Your stomach twists in discomfort.

On second thought, I don’t want to be upper middle class if these are the people I have to deal with. Is this guy going to have any chance to be social? To live his life? To make and learn from stupid mistakes? I bet he can’t wait to get out of here and go off to school.

“I apologize if this is rude in any way, but I just want to ensure I’ll be paid accordingly.”

“Of course. Good work must always be recognized and rewarded.” She stops at a door. “I cannot thank you enough for lending my Riddle your time. Teach him well.”

“I’ll do just that. You can count on it.”

Pleased with the level of maturity you’ve displayed, she raps her knuckles against the door and calls out, “Riddle, the tutor’s here.”

“Very well, Mother. I’ve just finished today’s readings, so you can send them in,” comes a muffled reply.

Today’s readings? you think, perplexed. Your gaze slides from the door to Mrs. Rosehearts. Does she have this guy doing summer school? That must suck! What a shitty way to spend your summer, cooped up inside filling out workbooks and stuff.

“I’ll be out running errands in the meantime. I trust you’ll be all right by yourself?”

“Perfectly all right,” you assure her, to which she hums and strides past you. You catch her perfume as she departs, and it reminds you of the types of scents worn by saggy, old ladies who have nothing better to do than sit around and complain about the state of the world and the way their children turned out.

In other words, a scent you associate with misery.

You wait until she’s out of sight before opening the door and stepping inside the study. There’s a mahogany desk in the center, and thick textbooks are piled high on either side. Beyond that, beside a big bay window with cream-colored curtains drawn to let in the sun, two large bookcases are packed with an array of tomes. At the front of the room, a blackboard has been built into a wooden frame. Chalk lines the ledge, situated within reach of an eraser. And sitting at the desk, his eyes glued to an open book, is a young man. A pair of round frames sit on the bridge of his nose, slipping ever so slightly down the slope of it when he peers at the page. He pushes them up when he finally lifts his head to greet you.

“Hey.” You wave awkwardly, easing the door shut.

He seems taken aback by your appearance. “Oh, yes. Right. Hello…”

Silence soon fills the space. You wonder if you should just save yourself this nonsensical waste of time and retreat.

“Sooo.” You fold your arms behind your back, rocking on your heels. “Your mother’s probably told you why I’m here.”

“I’m aware.” He shuts his book and stands from his seat. “My name is Riddle Rosehearts. A pleasure to meet you.”

You blink at his outstretched arm. “(Name). Likewise.” You grab his hand and shake firmly.

So stiff…

“So where’re we starting? The basics? You want the whole ‘when a man and a woman love each other very much’ version or—”

Riddle scoffs and yanks his arm back. “I’m not a fool. I’ll have you know I’m well aware of sexual reproduction and what it entails.”

“You can call it sex. No one’s forcing you to be all biological,” you tease. His body goes rigid, and his face reddens in what you assume is flustered annoyance. “Anyways, since you’re not as brainless as Mother Dearest wants me to assume, I’ll just get into it.”

Riddle stares at you, his arms folding over his chest. He looks like he wants to argue, but instead he huffs and lowers into his chair.

Wordlessly, you undo the buttons on your blazer and shrug out of it. Your blouse goes next, untucked from your skirt and shucked. Riddle’s eyes are so wide they nearly pop out of his skull when he spies the white, lacy false collar that just barely covers your breasts. You’re about to step out of your pencil skirt next when Riddle clears his throat.

“W-What’re you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“No?”

“I’m teaching you the birds and the bees.”

“N-Not in that outfit! S-Surely not…” He averts his eyes, crimson crawling up to his ears. “You’re practically nude!”

“That’s the point of lingerie, silly.” Your skirt pools around your ankles to reveal the rest of your frilly ensemble. A black-and-white cupless bra and crotchless panties set, both with plenty of ruffles, held together with a pair of garters. Still wearing matching stockings and your precious Mary Janes, you bend down to gather your discarded clothes. They’re set aside on a nearby chair. “You can look.”

“A-Absolutely not!” he hisses, squeezing his eyes shut. “Y-You… You’re not decent. It’s rude to stare.”

“Come on. You got past anatomy diagrams just fine.”

Riddle opens and closes his mouth, speechless like a beached fish. Eventually, he manages to gather his coherency. “You’re a tutor, aren’t you? Where’s your dignity?”

“Nonexistent. I lied.” His head snaps over to view you, and he seems so scandalized by your admission that it’s almost comedic. “No way I’m studying to be an ob-gyn. I’m not even in school.”

“What?! But you—”

“It’s fine. I looked the part, didn’t I?” you joke, waving your hand about dismissively. “C’mon, mama’s boy. You’re going off to college. It’s nothing like those stuffy anatomy courses.”

Riddle tries and fails to look at anywhere that isn’t you, his eyes lingering on your chest to the space between your legs to the thigh garter and then to the ceiling. He’s so red you think he might explode.

“You’ve been with a girl before, yeah?”

With lips pursed in a tight line, he shakes his head.

“Sounds about right.”

“And you’re so experienced?”

You flash him a cheeky grin. “Don’t worry about it, mama’s boy.”

“I’m not a mama’s boy!”

“No? So you just let your mother treat you like a little baby at your grown age? You let her pick out sex tutors for you?”

“I—” He stops himself from speaking to mull over your questions. “If it’s what she deems necessary…”

“Because our biggest fear is sexually awkward you knocking up some girl at school, right?”

“I… I would never! Safe sex is—”

“Very important when you’re not trying to conceive. Good boy. See? You know your stuff.”

Riddle’s eyes narrow into vicious slits. You brush his scorching vitriol off and turn towards the board. Procuring a piece of chalk, you scrawl words on it: Birds and Bees 101. Wholly unamused, Riddle folds his arms across his chest.

“Your mother told me you’re gonna study medicine, so you’re probably familiar with everything already. And I’m sure you know all about the baby-making process on a biological level.” You whirl to face him, your tits bouncing with the peppy motion. Riddle swallows thickly. “But just to make sure… Let’s review.”

“R-Review? You don’t mean—”

“What’s this?” Your hands close around your tits. Riddle’s enchanted with the way you squeeze them—the way they depress under your fingers.

“Um… Ahem. Well… T-The breasts. They’re a type of glandular organ located on a woman’s chest, and they’re made up of lots of tissue and fat. There’s the mammary gland—that’s what produces milk. Oh, and then there are the areolas right around the nipples. Those are—”

“You can call them what they are.”

Riddle blinks, shaken from his studious spiel. “W-What?”

“You know the word, mama’s boy.”

He flusters. “Yes, I’m aware. But…”

“No harm in saying it.” You run your fingers over your nipples and giggle sweetly like a schoolgirl. “Go on…”

He inhales a deep breath. “They’re tits,” he mumbles, desultory. “Y-Your tits.”

You clap, beaming brightly. “Well done! Moving swiftly on…” You run your hands down the expanse of your stomach, stopping just beneath your navel. “What’s here?”

“Your womb. O-Otherwise known as the uterus. It’s where a baby grows over the course of nine months.”

“Mhm. Good job.”

He pushes his glasses up his nose, clearing his throat. “There’s more to your reproductive system than the uterus. Lots of parts. Important parts.”

“Right. But I don’t need to quiz you on it. You obviously know your stuff.”

Again, your fingers inch lower until they’re prodding at your folds. Riddle’s breath audibly hitches.

“And this?”

“Your vagina. It’s where—”

“What’s the other word?”

Riddle avoids your stare. “It sounds so vulgar…”

“So what?”

“S-So there ought to be a term that’s more…flattering.”

“Like what?” You approach him and, with the grace of a swan, lift your leg onto the desk to give him a better view of yourself. Shamelessly, you dip your fingers inside to spread yourself. “A guy called it the honeypot once. That pretty enough for you?”

Riddle squeaks and flinches back in his chair, his face now even redder than it was before. “T-That’s fine…”

“Really? I’d have thought the implication in that one is much dirtier than calling it a pussy.”

It takes him a moment to connect the dots, but once he does he gasps. “Ah. Then…”

You press inwards with your fingers, exaggerating a pornographic sigh. “Yeah?”

“Can I… M-May I call it your flower?”

“Sure.” His shoulders slacken with a flicker of relief. Your next words shatter that and his pride in one fell swoop. “That one’s not as special as you think, mama’s boy. I’ve heard it all—every type of flower you can think of.”

“Even a rose?”

“Especially a rose.” His lips twist into a disappointed moue. You chuckle and add, “You can call it a rose if you want. I don’t mind.”

Riddle meets your eyes then, searching them for the joke. When one doesn’t present itself, he relaxes. “All right. It’s a very pretty rose. Soft…”

“Aww. Thanks for saying so. It’s softer inside, y’know. See?” Spreading yourself wider, you angle your hips to bless him with the full view. “My fingers slide right in. Wanna guess why?”

“B-Because the vagina naturally—” He stops himself, his brows knitting together in contemplation. When he speaks next, it’s with a determined sort of conviction. “When you’re aroused, your rose produces a natural lubricant during sexual excitement.”

“Mhm. We call that ‘feeling good and getting wet,’ Dr. Rosehearts.”

“Yes. Y-Yes, I know that.” He eyes your pussy, a ravenous glimmer in his intelligent blue-greys. “And the wetness—it’s supposed to make it feel better. To make insertion easier, I mean.”

“Right again.” You ease your fingers out but not before thrusting them deeper just so he can hear the sinful sounds. They shimmer with your essence, enticing in a forbidden way. “What about the other parts? How about this spot here?” You brush against the hood of your clit, circling it slowly.

Riddle watches, hopelessly spellbound. “The clitoris.”

“I’m impressed. Most guys don’t know about it.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“But it’s your most sensitive erogenous zone! Just how uninformed does one have to be to neglect such a crucial part to your sexual anatomy?”

“Woefully uninformed, I’m afraid,” you mutter with a pout. Your fingertips drag your hood up to reveal that pretty, perky nub. “I think it’s dumb your mother wants me to talk you out of sex. You’re going to college. You’re an adult. You’re free to do whatever you want.”

“I…” Riddle frowns at that last line. “I have no interest in it. Besides, it’ll only hinder my studies. If I really need it, I’ll just masturbate. That’s healthy every now and then, and it doesn’t break any rules.”

“Really? No interest at all?” You shoot him a knowing look and run your tongue along your bottom lip. “Because your dick’s telling a different story.”

Riddle sputters, embarrassed, and squeezes his thighs together. His hands fly to cover his lap. “That’s because you’re—” He gazes at the floor. “Because you’re so pretty…”

Temporarily thrown off course, you gape at him. “What?”

“You’re beautiful.”

Gathering the remnants of your mask, you piece it together and laugh. “Not the first time I’ve heard someone describe it like that.”

“Not just your pussy.” Your gaze snaps to his. He smiles, impish. “I’m sure you know what I mean, Teacher.”

You exhale a short laugh. “Someone’s suddenly confident.”

Riddle rises from his seat. His fingers close around your wrist, gently pulling it away from your clit. He moves around the desk to stand in front of you and then, before you can comprehend his intentions, he’s pushing you down onto the desk. You yelp at the sudden change in position, your eyes blown wide when he presses his clothed hard-on against your bare pussy.

“You’re doing a poor job at dissuading me from wanting sex.”

“I wasn’t trying to.”

“Not in that outfit.” He grabs at the meat of your thighs and parts them. “If Mother knew you lied to her…”

You shake your head at him. “Please don’t tell her. I… I’m being serious. I need this money.”

“Desperately?”

Your lip curls into the beginning of a sneer. You hate feeling powerless more than anything, but the fiery glaze in his eyes is just as troubling. “I’m not going to beg.”

“I haven’t asked for that yet.”

You roll your eyes. “Not funny. I agreed to teach you about sex. We’re not actually doing it.”

“A shame.”

“You’ll find a nice girl at school. Don’t lose hope, mama’s boy. Lots of girls like the smart types who’ll give ’em a lecture on biology and stuff.”

“I think you misunderstand. I don’t want other girls.”

“Okay?”

“My mother’s paying for a tutor and I desire you, so unless you want to leave here as a lying cheat…” He hums, seeming awfully haughty to hold the only thing that tethers you to him above your head. “You need the money, right?”

“Yes. Sure, of course I do. But—” You shift on the desk, silently horrified when he rocks against you. “We can’t. Your mother—”

“Weren’t you the one saying I should live my life? That I have the freedom to do as I please?”

“That doesn’t mean—come on; listen to yourself. You can’t honestly think I’d fuck you.”

“No? And yet you came wearing this outfit, parading around the study with your pussy and tits out.” He glances past you at the window. “And you didn’t even bother to close the curtains… How brazen.”

Your attempt to jerk away from him is made in vain. He pins you down onto the desk, one hand squeezing your breast, while the other works to fish himself from his trousers. Now hard and leaking, his cock rests against your stomach. It’s not a terrible size. If anything, it’s perfect. Just right for your tastes.

“W-Wait! It’s not safe. You can’t—” You inhale sharply, bucking up towards his hand when he presses his thumb against your clit. Biting your lip, you fix him with a glower. “If you pay me… If you promise not to tell your mother—”

Riddle leans in close. “No one needs to know. No one but us.”

Your eyes flit about the room. With a withering sigh, you submit to his touch. “You’d better pull out in time.”

Riddle rolls his hips once and his cock drags along your folds. You hiss through your teeth at this new friction, a sinful delight more dizzying than any type of alcohol consumed in excess. “Do you want to be a mother?”

“What I want has nothing to do with you. I’m just—ooh—t-trying to survive. You wouldn’t know what that’s like, so don’t poke fun.”

Riddle hums, kneading your breast and rubbing you to the edge all at once. It’s so very obviously his first time, his zealous nature trumping any sort of experienced technique. It still does the trick, though, sending little bolts of pleasure up your spine.

“My mother wouldn’t just choose anyone. Her standards are very high.” His eyes flick to your face, drinking in your expression as it shifts with restrained bliss. “Somehow you’ve earned her approval.”

“Lying’ll do that.”

“Maybe.” His fingers replicate the motions you did earlier, though with a singular objective in mind. He’s so focused on succeeding in this endeavor that it makes him look so stiff. Under any other circumstances, you’d find it cute. “Mother always knows what’s best for me. Obviously you’ve met her criteria if she’s hired you.”

“Spoken like a true mama’s boy.” Seeing as this is now your unavoidable fate, you reach up to touch his shoulders. He jolts, his initial glare softening. You tamp down another giggle and massage up and along his arms. “Relax a little. Don’t rush so much.”

Or do. Let’s get this over with before your mother catches us.

Riddle traces two fingers along your labia. He’s quiet as he takes all of you in, and when he sinks three fingers into your gooey heat his breath catches in his throat. “Are you… D-Do you feel good?”

You reach for his unoccupied hand and guide it to your clit. Riddle understands the suggestion well enough, for he massages you slowly. Sucking in another breath, you nod at him.

“Not bad. You’re getting there.”

His neglected cock throbs at the praise, and so you wrap your fingers around it to give it the same amount of attention he’s currently giving you. Riddle grits his teeth at the contact.

“You can move your fingers. Don’t just focus on my clit.”

“Ah. Right. Of course,” he babbles dumbly, so swept up in everything that you are, so very eager to please.

You’re like a work of art pinned to his desk, a delicacy more forbidden than anything from the bakery. Sugary-sweet, adorned in skimpy ruche, you’re a temptation laid bare. Delicately, as if you might shatter, he curls his fingers to press up against your insides. Riddle watches you arch up towards him, your hand working his cock maddeningly slow and steady. It feels good—better than anything he could have ever imagined.

His eyes trail from your lips to your tits to your pussy stretched around his fingers. “Do you have any plans for this summer?”

The sudden question catches you off guard. You were expecting something related to sex, not whatever this new shred of curiosity is. Still, that doesn’t stop you from dragging him closer to the edge of ecstasy with every tug of your fist.

“Why?”

“I… I’d like to get to know you.”

“Me?”

“Of course. You’re more than a body to me.”

“How charming. I just—” You frown, unable to follow where he’s going with this. “Why?”

“Isn’t that obvious?” Even though he says it like it’s a fact, he looks shy. “I want to know you.”

“Uh… Yeah… Okay.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“Not that… It’s just hard to imagine you having any girl friends.”

Riddle rolls his eyes and grinds his thumb into your clit. You bite back a whine as his fingers pump in and out of you. “Is that space open or closed?”

“You know which one.”

“You could be the one to close it.”

You meet his eyes then. For a short minute, the two of you hold each other’s stare. And then, breaking free from his hypnotic hold, you squeeze his length gently. He shudders, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks.

“And what about you? You excited for your first year?”

“Mm, yeah,” he murmurs, rutting into your hand. His fingers spread you open, scissoring gently.

“Just make sure to take time for yourself. Have fun. Live.”

“What did you do?”

“What do you mean?”

“When you were at school—how’d you manage?”

“I never went.” He opens his mouth to interject, but you beat him to it. “Couldn’t afford it.”

“Oh…”

“It’s fine! I’ve got plenty of experience in other things. I don’t need school for that.”

Riddle doesn’t believe your feigned optimism for a second. “If you could’ve gone, what would you have studied?”

You release his cock from your hold and reach up to pull his glasses from his face. Gingerly, minding the fragile frames, you set them aside. You lift your index to your lips, effortlessly coy. “It’s a secret.”

Before he can protest, you tap the hand at your cunt next. Riddle’s fingers, wet and shiny, slide out with a slick squelch. “I think you can do it.”

“What?”

“Go to school and study what you want. I believe in you.”

A wooden laugh tumbles from your lips. “Thanks for the encouragement, mama’s boy.”

“I have a name, you know.”

You smile easily. “You want me to call you something else? How does ‘good boy’ sound?”

Even though he tries not to let it show, his cock betrays his reticence with a small twitch. He’s an open book. Not wanting to give you the satisfaction, he lines himself up instead. Your fingers slip down to spread yourself for him.

“S-Slowly…” you whisper, stumbling over your breath as the head of his cock presses inside. Shallow at first before more inches fill you.

Riddle heaves a shaky gasp, his eyes wide with amazement. “I… I’m inside you…”

“How’s it feel?” “Warm. Soft. Snug. R-Really good.” He bows his head and digs his fingers into your hips. You think he has a dozen more adjectives on the tip of his tongue, each one just as fluffy as the last. “D-Do you feel good? It doesn’t hurt?”

“I’m fine.” You wind your legs around his waist to pull him closer. Your hands come to rest upon his shoulders once more. “Move your hips.”

Riddle does just that. His pace is awkward and inexperienced, every motion unsteady and jerky, as he searches for the right rhythm. He falls into it surprisingly fast, and it isn’t long until he’s smoothly rutting into you. You grab at his shirt, your breath coming in reedy huffs.

“Good. You—haa—good. You’re doing good.” Praise pours from your lips like a waterfall, plentiful and refreshing. It invigorates him, fills him with a confidence that wasn’t there before.

The soft slap of skin on skin fills the room. You keep your voice in check, lest you lose yourself and alert Mrs. Rosehearts. Riddle seems to be doing the same, even though it’s obvious he’s struggling much more than you are. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth to suppress his groans.

“You can touch me,” you whisper, petting his cheek. He blinks at you, his face aflame with a bright blush.

Nervously, he reaches for you and then pauses. Contemplation passes over his features. “What feels better? I want you to—no. I will make sure you cum. I’ve studied it, actually. I know how long it takes.”

“Look at you, doing your research like a diligent student. You want extra credit?”

Riddle chuckles and pinches your clit between two fingers. The rest of your teasing tapers off into a lewd squeal. “What was that about extra credit?”

“You’re awfully bold for your first time.”

“I’m not clueless.” His hips press inwards, plastering you to the desk, and his cock brushes that special spot within—the spot that has you seeing stars, your every nerve tingling with pleasure. You choke around a delighted gasp. Riddle, feeling victorious, places his hand against your stomach, as if searching to feel his cock thrust up inside you. “Will I see you again after this?”

“If your mother wants me to come back and give you another pointless lecture on celibacy and safe sex, sure.”

“No, not that. Outside of this.”

“Don’t you have friends you’d rather hang out with?”

“I…do.”

“So spend time with them.”

Riddle doesn’t dignify that with a retort. With the way his eyes gloss over, you wonder just how many of these friends are within physical distance. The conversation stalls out into silence.

“You’ll make lots of friends at school. So many you’ll probably forget all about me.”

Riddle yanks your hips to meet his, driving himself deeper into your pussy.

“A-And you’ll find a nice girl to love if you’re looking for that kinda thing.”

“I am,” he confesses, breathless. “I want to get married and—mmh—start a family one day… I want to study law—become a lawyer… Mother thinks medicine suits me, but I can’t agree. Law is fascinating. It’s a perfect fit for me. Far better than medicine.”

You drag your thumb over your mouth, wetting it with your lipgloss, and then press it to his lips. The indirect kiss sends a tidal wave of arousal over him, darkening the tips of his ears in striking vermillion. You offer him a gentle smile while he recovers from that devastating flirt.

“I’ll make sure to hire you as my lawyer if I ever get into legal trouble.”

“You’d better not!” He laughs and shakes his head in amused disbelief. “But if you do, I’ll be there for you. Always.”

“Thanks, Riddle.”

Maybe I judged him too harshly. He’s not so bad.

In that stuffy study, just as the late afternoon gives way to red-orange streaked across a purple-pink sky, Riddle fucks you against that desk in all manner of rhythms. It’s when he finally picks up speed that you realize he’s nearing his end. You mirror his enjoyment, strung along by titillating touches and whispered words drenched in sweetness. You’ve lost track of how many times you’ve reached rapture alongside him, your pussy now brimming with cum. There’s so much it leaks out of your slick hole when he draws away, only to burrow his cock deeper to stuff it back inside.

The room reeks of sweat and sex. You think, if not your disheveled appearance, the smell will definitely tell Mrs. Rosehearts all she needs to know.

“I love you,” Riddle murmurs, and you’re about to ask him what he means—maybe he’s caught up in the moment and doesn’t realize what he’s saying—but then he lifts your legs up to fold you into a mating press. Coherent thoughts are knocked out of your head when he spills over, filling you up for the nth time that day. You shiver beneath him, eyes rolled back into your skull and tongue lolling out. You feel so stupid, fucked submissive by some inexperienced, upper middle class mama’s boy. Which isn’t even an insult with real heat to it, but in your hazy mind it’s all you can think of to describe him.

He grinds against you in the aftermath, panting from the exhilaration and adrenaline.

“We need to…open the window,” you mutter, your heart thumping wildly in your chest.

Riddle admires your fucked-out expression in his sex-drunk daze. He slides out just as he feels himself going flaccid. Cum drips onto the desk below. Briefly, you struggle to recall whether or not you took your birth control today.

Something to consider later. Definitely not right now when you’re still clinging to the vestiges of your orgasm.

— — —

Mrs. Rosehearts knocks on the door, opening it to find Riddle sitting at his desk, jotting notes and occasionally pushing his glasses up. You’re standing at the blackboard, writing a list of the consequences of unplanned pregnancies. The room smells pleasantly of roses.

“Pardon my intrusion.”

You gaze at her and smile, wearing the clothes you arrived in. Nothing’s amiss. It’s perfect—thankfully. “Welcome back, Mrs. Rosehearts. We’re just about finished here.”

“Is that right? I assume all went well?”

“Very well. Your son’s a fast learner. Extremely talented.”

“I would expect nothing less.” She withdraws an envelope and hands it to you. “Thank you again for explaining it in realistic terms. Of course I doubt that my Riddle will act senselessly while he’s away, but as his mother I’m prone to worrying. Boys his age are so easily influenced.”

“O-Of course! That’s a very valid concern.” You force a chuckle.

If only she knew.

“Your pay is in that envelope. Should I ever require your assistance again, I’ll be sure to call.”

“Right… Thank you.” You hold it close to your chest. “I’m happy to help.”

You follow her out the door. She pauses to address Riddle. “Do continue reviewing your notes. We’ll convene for dinner in thirty minutes.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Mrs. Rosehearts walks you to the gate. “I wish you luck in your studies. If I don’t see you again at the clinic, have a pleasant summer.”

“Thank you. You as well.” You smile, fidgeting slightly. A bead of sweat tracks a path down your leg from between cum-spattered thighs.

Finally! With this I can pay my rent and still have enough for a treat from the bakery.

It’s worth it, or so you continue to tell yourself.

— — —

From the window, Riddle watches you make the walk to your car. He lifts his phone to fit you in the camera and snaps a secret photo. He continues to watch you until you’ve driven off and turned the corner, disappearing from his sight.

A tiny smile tugs at his lips.

Within his phone, put under a password lock, a special photo album exists. It’s filled with pictures taken from your social media—all of them. Every. Single. One. He’s resourceful when he wants to be. He can play the parody of a tech genius when he sets his sights on something.

And you’re just perfect.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere riddle rosehearts #yandere riddle x reader #yandere riddle #yandere riddle rosehearts x reader #n/sfw #tw: age gap #tw: dubcon #tw: pregnancy mention

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onyourowndaisymae · 1 year ago

Text

"is... is that my sweater?"

satan notes the lethargic way you look up from your book, watching heavy eyelids lead a slow blink. whatever dusty tome lies in your hands has clearly lured you halfway to dreamland-- and from the looks of it, your cozy attire and the crackle of the nearby fireplace didn't seem to help much, either.

"huh?"

"are you wearing my sweater?" he asks, softer this time.

you let your head fall down to your own chest. you stare at the familiar green sweater on your body for a few moments before lifting your head.

"huh?" you repeat, too tired to comprehend the question for a long moment. then, "... oh. yeah."

a warm chuckle rumbles in his chest as he comes closer. satan had been looking for his sweater all day-- left only in a black undershirt, because it was more about the principle of finding it than needing it-- but he had been wholly unaware he'd left it in your room earlier that day. he couldn't bring himself to regret it, though. you look quite cozy cuddled up on the library sofa like that, swaddled in a blanket and his scent, lost in some book like a vision from an old painting. how he wishes he'd been a little quieter entering the library-- maybe he could have snapped a photo of you like this for himself.

as your lover, satan knows he should probably escort you to bed for a proper rest. but a selfish part of him wants to bask in this scene longer, to let the storm that rages in him find solace at this little slice of heaven. it's odd for a demon to crave peace like this. you've domesticated him in that way-- like a feral cat off the street finding comfort in a stranger's apartment, you've lulled him into a sense of contentness he didn't think he'd find in this lifetime.

oh, what a wonder you are.

"do you mind a little company?"

you nod, sleepily, yawning through what was intended to be a verbal response, but satan's at your side before you make yourself try again. his hand finds your shoulder and coaxes you to sit up. with a little adjusting, he slides into the space behind you and urges you to lean back into his chest. his legs stay on either side of you-- it's warm, comforting, doing nothing to help you stay awake. but it doesn't seem like satan minds your drowsiness.

his eyes fall to the nearly discarded book in your hands. emerald eyes scan over the words. they're familiar, causing a curious itch in his brain that lingers for a few seconds before his epiphany.

"is this... that book i read last week?"

"mhmm. i wanted--" another yawn, "-- to understand what you were talking about, but... i got sleepy."

he understands now. his sweater on your warm body, the library couch, the low fire nearby-- you're indulging in a small taste of his world.

what did he do to deserve someone as wonderful as you?

"i can read it to you, if you'd like," he murmurs, low and quiet. if you wanted the full experience, he'd give it to you-- complete with a nap in his arms. it's selfish, though. he really just wants an excuse to admire you up close, to lose himself in thought about how much he truly, deeply adores you. sometimes the sensation is so overwhelming that it shows on his face in flushed cheeks and soft eyes-- and that is a little too embarrassing to be caught with by anyone, but especially by you.

when you snuggle into his chest, he begins to read from the top of the page where you left off. it doesn't take long for your breathing to even out, your body to grow still and heavy in his grasp. he slides the bookmark between old pages where you originally left off. satan predicts you'll forget most everything he read to you by the time you wake up.

his mind wanders to the soundtrack of your peaceful breathing. he's grateful for lazy days like this. being able to bask in your presence is a gift. to know that you yourself were creating a similar experience by hiding away in one of his favorite reading spots, well... he's lucky you're asleep, as the flush on his cheeks only grows hotter at the thought.

maybe he'll let you borrow his things more often.

#sleepy :3 #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me nightbringer #obey me nb #obey me satan #obey me x reader #obey me satan x reader #obey me drabble #obey me imagines #obey me fluff #obey me x mc #otome

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with-my-calamitous-love · 17 days ago

Text

deep blue but you painted me golden ✧.

touya t. x f! reader, for his birthday 🤍

he’s crazy, but he’s the one you want. angst/smut content under divider

inspired by dwoht

he's not showing up.

he's not showing up, and you're the idiot for thinking he would.

he's probably out smoking, wreaking havoc on the city, watching the blue hue of his flames eat away at whatever he pleases. he probably doesn't know what day it is, and probably doesn't care. and he's probably burning up, over-exerting his quirk, biting his lip from the pain, reckless.

and he's probably never had a present, or a slice of birthday cake. he's probably never had a proper hug, a proper kiss, or even a proper wish.

...until now. if he were to show up.

so you leave the wrapped box on the counter, along with the small cake, delicate frosting growing stale. if he does show up, he'll see it. just the thought of him growing up alone, not a soul to love or protect him, breaks your tender heart. it makes you wonder if he would even like this, or if he's conditioned himself not to give in to any sort of comfort. after what he's been through, who could blame him?

you could probably blame him for religiously sneaking up on you instead of using the door like any normal person would: "whats all this, doll?"

after jumping and shrieking- the thing that always makes him laugh, you turn around. there he is, slipping his jacket off, eyeing at the little assortment you set up.

"its for you." you explain, though it sounds more like a question. his eyes, trying to figure out the occasion, tells you all you need to know: he really doesn't know what day it is.

"for me?"

"its january 18th."

"and that is?"

admittedly, his confusion is adorable.

"if i wished you a happy birthday, would that help?"

"what do you think, smartass?" he shows a shit-eating grin, and you roll your eyes. he walks to you, hugging you tight, arms around your waist just as they belong. you laugh into his shoulder, whispering a happy birthday.

you're probably the first person to tell him that in years.

"whats in the box?" he pulls away, picking up the wrapped cardboard. he could make a shitty joke about how bad you are at wrapping, but he lets it slide for now, a little too surprised by the sheer fact that you remembered.

you give the permission to open it. he isn't sure what he was expecting, but a new, sleek black jacket and boots in his size isn't it.

"..for me?"

"no, i'm showing you them." he laughs at your response, looking over what you've got for him. he's careful with the material, noting the smooth but sturdy material that won't burn easily. you did your research, and it shows.

"i know you said you don't care about it, or that you don't celebrate, but... i wanted to do it for you." truthfully, it's so much more than just wanting to give him new clothes- it's wanting to show him he has at least one person who cares enough to remember his birthday.

and looking at the jacket and boots, he knows that person is you.

"besides, you needed the upgrade." you add, and his lips ghost a smile, blue eyes looking back over at you.

"thanks, doll." he says, and its one of the most sincere things that have left his lips. you got him these because you worry if he's warm enough, or if his feet over hurt from walking around the world, in search of vengeance. you got them for him because you worry. because you love him.

his hands are tied, torn between loving you in secret and wanting everyone to know that despite what he's been through, what he's become, someone still loves him. that for the years his love and humanity had been frozen, he's met the one thing that could break through the ice. he loves you in spite of the entire world.

he knows he's running out of time, that this could very well be his last birthday with you, if not his last birthday alive. the time he has is fleeting, and if instead of fire he could make time stop, he'd freeze it here.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.*

most of the time, touya just isn't an eater. he uses it mostly to tease you, to get you to beg the way he likes it, acting like a dick and pulling his mouth away right before you cum. tonight, however, is an exception.

but just because he's eating you out doesn't mean he isn't an asshole- he grabs your waist and drags you to the end of the bed, spreading your legs apart without offering you even a moment to breathe. if he could burn your clothes to ashes and buy (or steal) you some new ones, he would- but he knows that would piss you off, and right now, he wants that pretty mouth of yours for more than just arguing.

it doesn't take long before he's lapping at your pussy, tongue ring swirling around your folds, lips sucking at your clit. your hands fly to his hair, grasping at the snowy strands while he works his mouth on you.

he looks up at you, mouth not leaving you for a moment. the way you gasp his name, eyes teary and cheeks pink just from eating you out, makes him dream of when he finally can get you wrapped around his cock.

his tongue continues to dart out, licking and sucking, making sure no part of you is left untouched. he licks a long stripe up your pussy before wrapping his lips around your clit, sucking, getting you just distracted enough to slip his fingers in.

"like that, babygirl?" he chuckles, the breath of his voice blowing against your skin. you nod vigorously, mind too melted from the pleasure to form any real sentences.

"i'll take take that as a yes. too dumb to talk, huh?" he kisses your clit again, pushing his fingers in and out of you in a rhythmic pace. his arms thankfully pin your thighs down to the mattress, feeling as you squirm and writhe, greedily trying to get more from him.

but he forces you to cum from just his mouth and fingers, happily swallowing everything you give him. but being with touya for so long has taught you that this is only the beginning.

he sits up, taking your thigh over his shoulder and preparing to keep you up all night, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

"thanks for remembering my birthday, baby. this is my favorite part."

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fcxrcin · 1 year ago

Text

As Sukuna's body began to transform further with every attack hit, the air only thickened, the animals around the area began to flee and any remaining creatures hid away in their respectful homes. They knew not for what was to come next. if anyone was smart enough they would have stayed away from the proximity if they knew what was right for them.

With the amount of flames that shoot up from the grounds and around them, smoke begins to blur their surroundings. Hansol doesn't slow though. With every move that Sukuna dodges by a hair, another flurry of attacks will follow right after.

Step, side step, right hook, a jab, a roundhouse kick, and flames to go with every attack, she uses her momentum and strength.

Despite how quick she moves and how much force she applies to every attack, she isn't blind to the scent or sight of what is happening in front of her.

Drumbeat.

She steps back when a pillar of fire is dodged by Sukuna. He had staggered back and away from the blue flames. Behind the smoke of the flames, she notices the larger form, and a breath is exhaled from parted lips.

"Sukuna..."

the ritual, it was complete.

@aforerime

ㅤThe sky, darkening and dusty-hued in the day's remaining spectra, accentuated the trees' shadowy outlines and the way their bare branches swayed silently in an approaching storm's wind. Plumes of blue firelight scattered the darkness in bursts of otherworldly incandescence, but Sukuna did not need the help of illumination to see the wrinkles of the branches, the color of the trunks, the tangles of roots -- in his current state, he could perceive everything he knew to imply, from the direction of the wind to the historical chronology which beget this very ritual.

He waltzed to the drumbeat, and so too did Hansol's attacks match the tempo. Although he continued to dodge her fire and fists, his afterimage, fundamentally too slow to avoid anything, bore the damage, and as his images synced, his flesh charred, flame-dried wounds cracked open, and his space in time contorted on itself. Drumbeat and drumbeat, he seared and staggered, but his ritual dance continued within the pillars of foxfire. Bright with pain and inspiration, the mass he wore distorted, stretching and tightening around his blooming soul as the fire marred his features unrecognizable, rending his body an object, an implication of something living.

Anything he knew to imply, he could perceive.

Hansol struck a blow across his face, snapping his head to the side and smearing his vision. Caught in a microsecond of insight, his fire-blinded eyes peered beyond the pulsating wall of light around him, the blue-hot spectrum breaking open into distinguishable strata, quantifiable as time. He experienced each stratum at once, from his namesake's prehistoric beginnings as a local kami to the destruction of the modern day Shibuya, and with a drumbeat, the limits of the strata cracked apart again, revealing to him a reality he knew to be true but he had not yet experienced himself--the nationwide culling, the opportunity he had awaited, the clearing of his skies, the resurrection of his blood. In a second indistinguishable from the next but larger than any century, he assimilated the knowledge with the familiarity of reciting his mother tongue--an aspect of his Self indistinguishable from his Self.

He staggered out of the pillar of fire, skin aflame on his blurred image, and disappeared into the dark clearing.

Drumbeat.

The trees stilled, the ghost-lights of the lingering local spirits faded in retreat, and the unintelligible chants of the shamans quieted. In the otherwise consummate dark around him, embers winked where they smoldered on his skin, muted illumination wisping up on their trails of smoke -- and that blue light seemed to pulsate and expand until they exhaled their life, from the implied space around their imprints emerging a figure larger than was there before, an artifact of Hida's history.

The incarnation of Ryomen-sukuna's soul.

↠ @fcxrcin

#bimeval #FINALLY #I WISH I COULD GIVE A MORE PROPER RESPONSE

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fanaticsnail · 10 months ago

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Pretty Red Ribbon

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 2,700+

Synopsis: After your birthday was ruined last year at the hands of a certain pink-feather-donning, glasses-wearing gentleman who you love to hate, your fellow warlord, Sir Crocodile, gives you a little gift you did not expect to darken your doorstep.

Themes: Doflamingo x f!reader, birthday, enemies to lovers, nsfw themes, suggestive content, not explicit - but mdni just in case, warlord!reader, platonic crocodile x reader, dom!reader x sub!doflamingo, gendered terms used

Notes: I had been wanting to write for Doflamingo for a while, and the art by @wesaier gave me the final shove that I needed to get it done. (Their Rosinante also has me in a chokehold. I adore their work. Also, happy birthday!) First time writing a proper fic-length for Doffy before his series.

Tag List: @sordidmusings @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @carrotsunshine @vespidphoenix @mfreedomstuff

The soft growl of the den-den-mushi atop your kitchen bench began rattling and humming in an awakened dance. The steam from the scorching water in the kettle whistled in unison to the rumbling call, the rattle of teacups on trays causing your attention to pull in a variety of directions in your large kitchen.

“I’ll get it, Miss,” your employee called from the corner of the room, his body carrying his vast height towards the den-den in three lengthy strides. He picked up the transponder end of the snail, elevating the mouth and earpiece to his face. Thanking him with a smile, you returned to continue readying yourself a cup of your desired tea.

“You really shouldn’t be making this for yourself, Miss,” your lady’s maid addressed you over your shoulder, “You employ us to take care of you and your needs. You should let us do our jobs and spoil you, especially on a day like today-.”

“-And that will be the last I hear about anything regarding ‘today’, Dinah,” you scolded her with a playful wink, “It’s just another day, and I would like to have it remain as such,” you moved the loose-leaf strainer in your teapot, collecting the remnants of the scorched leaves and discarded them, “Besides, I always love being in the kitchen with you all after another stupid meeting at the world-government headquarters. They always seem to gather any excuse to call us all in: exercising their rights as masters and holders of the tight leash. Absolute bastards, the lot of them.”

“And we adore you down here, Miss,” Dinah lulled her head on your shoulder and laced her hands around your midsection, “We love the gossip about the other warlords, and we always enjoy hearing about your day. You take such good care of all of us, but I think we all just wish you’d let us celebrate your birthday-.”

“-Absolutely not, Dinah,” you giggled at the younger woman embracing you, unlacing her hands from your waist and collecting your teacup and saucer from the tray you had prepared, “Last time I attempted to celebrate this day, I was held up for a multitude of times because that stupid Donquixote continued to ask stupid questions that had the meeting at the marine base go overtime. Missed reservations, didn’t make it to check in time at the homestead - and didn’t even get to enjoy that bottle of wine I ordered for myself. I swore that would be the last time I attempted to celebrate, and that’s that.”

“Just because your last birthday was ruined last year doesn’t mean you should swear them all off, Miss,” your handmaid smiled at you, “We’d adore making you feel special if you’d let us. Today is free of Donquixote Doflamingo, after all.” You growled at just the mention of his name, feeling your disdain elevating in your throat as a sour bile.

“I despise that tall pelican man. I loathe him, hate him even,” you confessed, prompting Dinah to huff a small laugh in response. You groaned out more frustrated admissions to your lady’s maid, “I would have him drawn and quartered, hung and splayed, whipped and chained. I could wring his neck and spit in his face if I knew the sick bastard wouldn’t like it.”

“I’m sure he would appreciate any scrap of your attention,” Dinah teased you with a sly tone, her eyes twinkling with mischief, “He seems to vie for your head to turn, by any means necessary.”

“He vexes me, torments me,” you continued, much to your handmaid's delight, “He needs to be knocked down a couple of pegs. Be made to crawl on all fours and beg like a dog-.”

“-Apologies for the interruption, Miss. I’m sorry to disturb your polite conversation,” the larger man holding the den-den-mushi to his ear held out the earpiece and transceiver to you, “Sir Crocodile is on the other end of the call. Says he has something for you.” You groaned out an exasperated breath before taking the shell into your hand.

“Thank you, Arturo. I’m sorry you had to hear that. I got a little fiery for a moment there,” you nodded to the man, who straightened his back before taking your saucer from your hands. He smiled down at you, moving to his place next to Dinah, anchoring his hips and leaning back against the sink with a smirk.

“What’s the call about?” Dinah whispered in a hushed rush to Arturo beside her.

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” Arturo hushed back his own scratchy whisper, attempting to hold back his laughter. You shot them both a sharp look, your smirk still drawn up on your pursed lips.

You raised the end to your ear and huffed out a sigh, calling into the piece, “Sir Crocodile? To what do I owe the pleasure of your voice gracing me today?” A rumble of silence purred through the receiver against your ear, a lengthy puff of smoke coursing through the grimace of the crocodilian man.

“I heard it was somebody’s birthday,” the rattle of his drawl taunted you through the crackled speaker. You shot your employees a dark look, prompting them to immediately spin on their heels and return to their duties. You groaned as you turned to face away from them, still holding the shell to your ear.

“Not a cause for celebration, Sir,” you purse your lips, examining your fingernails and cuticles, “But I appreciate your call regardless.” Your tone depicted your smile, truth spilling from your lips as you truly meant every word.

Sir Crocodile was your closest and oldest ally of all the warlords presented to you. You enjoyed sitting by him, both basking in the aura of one another. You held each other in the highest regard, you could even call each other ‘friend’ without it stretching too far out of the ordinary. What solidified your bond the most with one another was your complete and utter dislike for Donquixote Doflamingo.

“The appreciation is reciprocated, Highness,” Crocodile’s smirk purred through the receiver, “Which is why I decided to send you a little gift. Should be darkening your doorstep right about now.”

“Sir Crocodile, while I appreciate the sentiment,” you acknowledge his gesture with a kind and even tone, shaking your head as you take your den-den to the front door of your manor, “The only thing I really want is that feather-wearing asshole: stripped down, bound and gagged, on his lanky knees and looking up with his eyes all watery and pleading,” you reached the door, opening it and shrieking in shock as your eyes met with the gift presented before you.

His body was bound in a thick length of red ribbon, chest bare and hands bound behind his back in seastone cuffs. Pointed glasses lay askew on his face with his lips gagged by a ball strapped to his face. Drool gathered at the base of his chin, his glassy eyes looking up at your face with bewilderment. His bare chest was strangled beneath the red ribbon, his pants hanging limply over his hips as the top button and zipper exposed his slender adonis belt.

Lips falling slack, you almost dropped the shell from your ear as shock wrote itself over your features. Donquixote Doflamingo was bound, gagged and on his knees on your front doorstep: entirely at your mercy.

“I thought topping it with a pretty red bow would be too on the nose,” Sir Crocodile called over the mushi, “But he is apprehensively allowing himself to be on the receiving end of your retribution, given his disruption of your last birthday celebration.”

No words gathered in your mind, all thoughts racing as the wealthy Donquixote continued to hold his gaze against your own. His lips trembled around the gag, his brow triangulating in an upward peak as he darted his eyes between yours to gauge your intent.

He had no idea what possessed him to accept this little adventure, and he did not remember agreeing to be cuffed, gagged and without his entourage. As he witnessed the wicked streak spark within your eyes, he truly had no idea what you were going to do with him like this. Without a whisper of admission to it, he truly did everything in his power to gain your attention and hold it for as long as he could. He’d go through great lengths to be subject to your steely gaze.

Ruining your birthday last year was when he felt he truly went too far. You kept your private life quiet for the most part, only a select few were privy to the knowledge of your innermost thoughts. When he was made aware by Sir Crocodile how far he managed to spoil the occasion, he was given a choice by the cigar-smoking gentleman: “Your left hand, or to be subject to her mercy?”

He thought he made the appropriate choice.

Evidently, he did not know the extent Sir Crocodile was going to take his punishment.

“Do you like your gift, Highness?” the voice cracked through the receiver after several moments pause, “Or would you like to return it? Got one in a similar shade and style?” You giggled into the mouthpiece, prompting Sir Crocodile to chuckle his own sinister laughter.

“I think I’ll keep it,” you purred, holding your eyes half-hooded as you reached your index finger down to swipe the collected drool from his chin. Doflamingo whimpered as you hooked your finger beneath his jaw, prompting him to fall forward and lean into your touch, “How long do I have it for?” you hovered your face above his, uttering a final question, “And in what condition should I intend to keep it in?”

“Your prerogative, Highness,” Sir Crocodile confessed, drawing up a large breath of smoke in his mouth and exhaling, “Use him, abuse him, torment him, torture him: he is yours to play with for the next fourty-eight hours. Happy birthday, Dear.” At the final utterance, Sir Crocodile clicked the end of the receiver off: leaving your snail to crackle its muffled voice shut.

You hummed in deep thought, gazing down your nose at the tall man who, even on his knees, is nearly at eye height. Moving his face in your hands, you clicked your tongue as one would when examining an object intended for purchase. He whimpered further when your hands began exploring his torso as you circled his body. Your fingertips felt like lightning on his skin, igniting his expectations and triggering his wanton intrigue.

“If I remove the gag and seastone cuffs,” you whisper into his ear, trailing your fingertips down his spine, “Will you behave yourself, pelican?” He nodded frantically, lulling his head back on his shoulders to bring himself closer to you. You hummed in thought, hooking your fingers over the material tugging the gag over his lips.

“Feel better?” you asked him, maneuvering around his body to face him once again, “Less restricted and more of your repulsive self?”

Taking a moment to roll his tongue in his mouth to regain the sensation, he felt himself relax into your touch as you loosened the cuffs. He moaned as your hands caressed his wrists to reignite the blood flow swelling down into his fingertips.

“Always so kind,” Doflamingo commented with his signature smirk rising to his lips, “Do you ever grow tired of being so good all the time?” His eyes searched yours, still unsure of how you were going to respond to him on his knees.

“Would you prefer if I were cruel to you?” you arched your brow up and lowered your tone, “Abused you for my own sick entertainment?”

“You could choke me, flog me, spit in my face - better yet, in my mouth,” Doflamingo listed, his pupils blown with lust beneath his pink glasses, “You could step on me, rake me over nails and hot coals, and all I would say is: ‘thank you for a scrap of your attention’. It is your day, after all.”

“Obsessive and excessive, Donquixote,” you scolded him, tugging at the red ribbon constricting his chest to have him rise to his feet and follow you into your manor, “Why must you always provoke me?”

“Because I want you,” he whispered after you, a small whine in his voice as he followed closely behind you. His heavy feet trotted like a prized pony after you, allowing you to lead his body throughout the halls to your manor, “I want you so badly. I want all of your attention, all of your focus. I want to be at the very center of your universe, by any means necessary.”

Making eye contact with Arturo and Dinah, both of which shot you quizzical looks as Doflamingo pranced behind you attached to a line of red ribbon. You shot them both a look to forbid them from uttering a single phrase in questioning you, prompting them to hold up their hands in defense.

“Should I bring you your tea, Miss?” Arturo called after you as you exited the frame of the door to the kitchen, “Perhaps a couple of glasses of wine?”

“Perhaps later, Arturo. I’ll send for you if I need you,” you mentioned over your shoulder.

As you looked behind you, there was a foreign expression painted over Donquixote Doflamingo’s face. His cheeks were tinted with a pink dust, his eyes glassy and eyelids half-closed and gazing at you through thick, blonde eyelashes. His signature smirk was replaced by a dumbstruck, goofy smile and his giddiness adamant in each of his pepped steps.

Scoffing and rolling your eyes at him, you lead him into the master suite of your manor and force him to kneel in the center of the room. You took a seat on your plush armchair and gaze at him disinterestedly. He was all but vibrating in anticipation for your next movement.

“Anything to say for yourself, Donquixote?” you purse your lips crossing your legs by hooking your right knee over your left and rocking your foot at him. He crawled forward on his knees, hypnotized beneath your cold stare. Eyes meeting with yours, his lips fell agape in a perfect circle as your foot met with his chest to halt his movement.

Looking down at your heeled shoe, he bowed low enough to brush his forehead in a deep nuzzle against your shin, rocking his head to the side and attempting to become the very picture of innocence. You leant forwards, removing his glasses from his face and glaring into his expressive eyes with a wicked glint.

“Go on, pet,” you spat down at him, “Unless you have nothing intelligible to offer me in conversation.” He pressed his lips against your shin, grazing his mouth up your legs and inadvertently slotting himself between your knees.

“Happy Birthday,” he uttered against your skin, pressing a lengthy kiss against your right knee and integrating his entangled self between your legs further, “And I apologize for ruining the one prior.” Peppering kisses over your knee and up your thigh, his tongue flicked out over your flesh and swirled against you.

Patience wearing thin, you redraw your right foot back over his chest and nudge him backwards to look into his eyes. Your lips curled into a snarl, eyes narrow and accusatory as you gnash your teeth at the tall blonde on his knees in front of you.

“If you want my forgiveness, Donquixote Doflamingo,” you whisper in a warning tone, danger written over your features enough to cause the large man to shudder beneath your wicked stare, “Beg for it.”

Forty-Eight hours was more than enough time for Doflamingo to become a begging, pleading, whimpering mess beneath your skilled and expert hands. His mind fell blank, his body not experiencing the amount of sensory overload and sensory deprivation with a partner in encounters prior.

He was always the one in control, him only ever taking and taking to provide himself the pinnacle of pleasurable experiences. To be the one out of control, to simply have to take what he was given with his mind vacant of all thoughts aside from being subject to your desires.

The only things he continued to manage to befall from his lips were three phrases: “I’m sorry,” “thank you,” and “forgive me.” Just how you wanted him: complacent, dumbstruck, and all wrapped up in a pretty red ribbon.

#one piece #x reader #donquixote doflamingo #doflamingo #one piece doflamingo #doflamingo x reader #doflamingo x f!reader #doflamingo suggestive content #sir crocodile #warlord!reader #op doffy #doffy #doffy x reader

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writa-anon · 10 months ago

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Francis Mosses (The Milkman) Headcanons ~!

a / n ~ havent written fanfic in a while and ive been a little obsessed with tnmn recently so i decided to write my little hcs for milkman! relatively wholesome and more just me giving him lore :3

GREW UP AS A MIDDLE CHILD, which is why he's so reserved and quiet. Doesn't really like the spotlight on him and lives his quaint life by himself satisfied.

TOOK PIANO LESSONS WHEN HE WAS YOUNGER. Still has that skill but typically doesn't like to flaunt. Has a humble old piano in his apartment he plays but very softly to not disturb his neighbors.

HE WORKS ANOTHER JOB AT NIGHT, WHICH IS WHY HE’S ALWAYS SO TIRED. His milkman job is a part-time job, hence why he rarely shows up during doorman afternoon shift. I'd like to think he works double to either help support his parents, child support for Anastasha, or saving up to buy a house of his own.

BIG SOFTIE FOR SMALL CREATURES. When he does his milkman runs around the block, he definitely pets the local strays and feeds them spare crackers he may have packed for lunch. He wishes he could keep one but doesn’t really have the time and plus the apartment complex doesn’t allow pets because of doppel precautions!

HES A BIT OF A MESS. but if he's not sleeping throughout the day, he definitely makes an effort in cleaning his place up and making a proper meal for himself. On overwhelming workdays though, his clothes are scattered everywhere and it's quick and easy meals for dinner.

HES A DISTANT FATHER. there's no way he ISN’T in contact with Nacha. They live in the same complex for crying out loud! He knows he's the father of Anastasha, however, was too scared to take on the responsibility of fatherhood, esp since this was in his early 20s. However, he does keep in contact with Nacha about updates and they are still on speaking terms.

BARELY SOCIALIZES WITH NEIGHBORS. He isn't necessarily buddy-buddy with any of his neighbors, however there is some acquaintance with Angus and Izaack (mainly because of their extroverted personalities, they must be known by everyone in the complex!).

SUPER SHY to physical affection or any type of affection for that matter. I feel like it would take a good while for him to do any sort of first moves. He would do a little secret admiring from afar just to warm up to it. Nothing too intense. Maybe leaving a rose or a nice compliment on the front desk while no one is looking. Definitely had to be hyped up by Isaack to go through with it. (I’m currently writing a fic about it!)

~~~~~~~

short but detailed. these are just my little thoughts :)

#thats not my neighbour milkman #tnmn #thats not my neighbor #tnmn milkman #francis mosses #milkman x reader #francis mosses x reader #francis mosses x you #milkman #wholesome

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luc1-anna · 9 months ago

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"Promise not to put my face in it?" You asked as you plumped up the pillows making sure they were just right for you. "Promise" a cheeky smile coming onto his face as he got the camera app on his phone. Both naked as he stood up and you sat on the bed, slick folds causing the towel underneath you to become wet, just the sight of his cock standing straight up was doing so much for you.

"Go on then" giving him consent to record you, only if your voice and face wasn't in it, incase the unthinkable happened, plus you two were only friends with benefits, having no proper ties other than college classmates and hookup buddies.

Positioning the camera as it leaned against your metal water bottle, only showing the middle of your room, grabbing your legs and dragging you so that you rested on the pillows, legs propped up, dripping hole on full display for him. The only thing that showed in the camera was your legs and his hands as they held them down by your feet.

"You ready?" He asked, pouring the last contents of the lube onto his 3 fingers. Nodding in response. "I need words darling" gosh, anything he said could cause you to cum, Especially the way he called you darling.

"Yes then" responding as you shuffled around, trying to brace yourself for the 3 fingers he was about to fuck you with, but you wished that it was his dick he would fuck you with. A smile coming onto his face as he stretched out the lube on his fingers before slowly climbing onto the bed, your eyes kept on focusing on the way his dick moved. "Ready?" "Yeah.." bracing yourself as his fingers got closer to your aching hole. Glancing at the camera to start recording.

His fingers teasing the entrance of your slicked pussy, biting your lip as you felt his slowly enter you, it was easy access for you as you were soaking wet along with the help of the lube. "Shit.." laboured breathing started as you felt him, walls trying to close as he pushed further inside.

A smirk coming on his face. "You like that?" He teased you, nodding in response, gripping the pillows you rested on. Quicking his pace as he held your knee the steady himself, pumping in and out of your slick hole, your juices coating his hands with each thrust. He wished you would squirt right now, that was probably one of his main goals in life.

Completely forgetting that he was recording despite it only being a few minutes, letting out a lewd moan, resting your head back onto the headboard.

After a few more minutes, he retook his fingers from your dripping hole, the way your juices clung to his fingers, leaving a little trail along the bed, sticking them in his mouth to get the best taste of you. Smiling as he saw you trying to catch your breath, his tongue swirling around his fingers, showing you what he could do to that perfect pussy of yours.

Dragging your ankles as he made you lay down on the bed, bringing you close to his body as he sat on his knees. "You sure you're ready?" Grabbing the phone and pushing your lower half up onto his thighs, slapping his already soaked hand on your cunt, resulting in a moan from you, holding your hand over your mouth. Grabbing his cock and rubbing his swollen tip along your folds, he didn't even waste time as he pushed it in, gummy walls gripping his tip as he pushed it further in, his thickness catching every crevice and detail inside.

Throwing his phone beside your head as he grabbed your hips, he waited weeks for this feeling to come back, no hand or sex toy could solve his desire for you. Tracing every curve of your hips as he gripped them harder, he didn't dare to start off slow when it came to you.

Moaning out his name as you felt him glide inside of you. "You look so pretty babe" he called you all sorts of petnames despite not being in a serious relationship, though you did contemplate if he did like you properly with the way he acted around you. "Shu-" another sequence of moans escaping. "Shut up" you didn't dare try to kick or hit him as you knew he'd enjoy it.

"Yeah yeah" smirking at you as he saw you retaliating to his comment. Balls hitting your skin, the way the room filled with the sound of it, along with your moans. You'd surely be bruised after an evening like this. Fingers gracing your skin as they made their way down to your clit, gently teasing it with a few rubs. Fortunately he would try and stuff his fingers in there too, since his cock was already stretching you out to the max. Lips leeching off his cock, forcing him to stay inside.

Fingers swirling around your lower lips, the way they purposely stayed along your clit, making sure to dig in. Moaning each time he did that, you just wanted to squirm away but his hand still on your hip stopped you. "P-Please" you cried out, the way his fingers touched your most sensitive spot and to add to the pleasure he had his full cock inside of you, stretching you out with each thrust, at this rate he was practically up in your cervix. Leaning over and grabbing a pillow, you'd wake up the whole floor if you kept it up at this rate. Holding a pillow against your mouth, wishing you could scream out his name and let the whole apartment know how good he made you feel.

Seeing the pillow cover your face, only made him wanted to fuck you harder, receding how dick from your hole, leaving trails of his precum as he got off the bed. Much to your dismay as you asked, "Why'd you stop?" You wanted him inside you for a lifetime, even if you didn't move, just cockwarming him was enough for you. No response. But the feeling of your ankles being dragged to the end of the bed gave you some hope.

He was so strong that it was scary that he could just flip you over onto your stomach, his hands repositioning your lower body, ass up, face down. Pushing your torso further down till it was touching the mattress. Picking the phone up as he lined himself back up, the surreal feeling of his tip touching your lips once again as he tried it find your hole brought you back to reality, stuffing the pillow in your face, as you felt his tip entering, followed by the rest of his thickness. You could feel him getting further down, the way he could probably reach your g spot in this position.

His calloused hand gripping your ass, making sure that he was steady before moving. Positioning the camera so that it could get the best angle of you. "Tell me if it's too much" nodding in response as you felt him, he didn't start off slow like you would've hoped, getting straight to the main point as he pounded into you, the bed already creeking under the pressure.

The way he grabbed your waist, to hold you still incase it was too much for you. "Shit" harsh breaths already starting up again. He had completely forgotten about the camera as he threw it right near your head, trying to record some of your muffled moans. Both hands groping your hips as he pushed further into you. The feeling of his balls swiftly emptying into your womb, he didn't even mean to but he was so worked up that he forgot the feeling of it.

Moans filling up the room as, You could feel the warm liquid pour into you. "Sorry?" He wasn't even sure if he should be apologising because of the way you reacted.

#hawks smut #geto smut #toji smut #dabi smut #gojo smut #tengen smut #shiu kong smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #mha smut #my hero academia smut #jjk x reader smut #demon slayer smut #𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚

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livelaughloveloak · 2 years ago

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🌷 H.E.R

pairing :: neteyam x human! reader

summary :: Neteyam headcanons if he was dating a human reader 😋 he's a cutie patootie (James Cameron pls bring him back)

author's note :: I literally pulled this out of my ass

the type of guy to cup his hand under your chin when he feeds you something

PRINCESS TREATMENT ONLY!!

draws circles on your back when you do your lab work

brings you a fresh bouquet of flowers every week

"Aw Neteyam you didn't have to." You held the flowers in your hands as Neteyam smiled at you. "Pretty flowers for my pretty lady."

gives you random trinkets from when he was out hunting because it reminded him of you

since he's way taller he could reach your stomach while sitting down. You would be standing up with him sitting beside you, head leaning on your hip and an arm wrapped around your thigh

KING OF NICKNAMES 🤑🤑 example: my girl, mate, ma y/n, yawntutsyip, yawne

a shy guy but not afraid to show you off or to stick up for you

begs his dad to have his own camera so he can take pictures of you

has you sit on his lap while you two go for a ride on his ikran

does your hair for you. don't worry if he doesn't know a certain style you want he'll figure it out. (He begs norm or his dad for help)

this man ADORES spoiling you. If you mention something don't be surprised when Neteyam comes in your room with it in his arms

over all gentle person. he could never yell at you

"me and my gf don't argue she tells me to shut up and I do" type of guy

always plans a date at least every once a week for you guys. he loves quality time especially when he's busy with Olo'eyktan training

doesn't care about his mom's hatred towards humans, he loves you for you and her opinion won't change it

PIGGYBACK RIDES. we all know that man is tall so he's always carrying you around so you're not behind

the type of guy to sneak in your room at night so he could see you

he's very good at expressing his feelings with words

"Y/N" Neteyam whispered as you snuggled up in his chest. You hummed in response. "Mhm?"

"I love you."

he swore that he'd have a proper marriage ceremony with you one day. since you're unable to preform tsaheylu he'd go with marrying you like how "earth" people do

if you like doing your make-up he'd ask you to do his. his eyelashes were extra long after putting mascara on

he adores seeing you and Tuk bond. he wishes to have a family with you in the future when you're ready

your go to person when you're sad

"shh my love it's ok, cry it out." Neteyam rubbed his hand on your back as he felt your hot tears fall on his chest. You hiccuped and wrapped your arms around him. "talk to me once you're ready my love, I'm always here for you."

#atwow #avatar #avatar imagine #imagine #neteyam sully #neteyam #neteyam x human reader #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x reader #neteyam x you #neteyam imagine #avatar the way of water

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delirious-donna · 10 months ago

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The Oral Lesson

an: the amount of time I spend thinking about these two men and how badly they might share a lover would probably see me on some kind of watch list… it’s more than time I put pen to paper, so to speak. This could be a series, maybe? Perhaps..? Depends on engagement (and I don’t mean likes alone!)

premise: It was meant to be a forbidden fantasy, one that would never become reality, but when you open your eyes to find the Hokage’s loyal guard dog on his knees before you, you know things have changed. However, it would be some time before you realise the enormity of this moment…

pairing: Hokage Kakashi x female reader x ANBU Obito

warnings: canon divergent (Obito always lives in my fics), NSFW throughout, without spoiling everything - its reader receiving oral, power play between the men, reader is married to Kakashi, reader is assumed curvy, touch starved is not the potential name of the series for no reason

There were no two ways about it, this had to be a dream.

The pinnacle of wet dreams that you would reminisce about for months, perhaps years, to come. Except the hand curled lightly around the column of your throat was all too realistic to be fantasy. Too familiar with roughened callouses covering the fingertips and edging the broad palm.

Kakashi Hatake—your husband.

His unique scent of oak-smoked wood chips, and that subtly sweet hint that you had never been able to give a name, filled your nose. At times, you would swear his scent reminded you of the scorched earth after a lightning strike, and it was true right now.

Your eyes flickered open, audibly gasping to see an ANBU shinobi sitting on his haunches before you. The mask was one you were all too familiar with, the painted whorls of the Hokage’s personal guard and you were privileged to know his true name… Obito Uchiha.

This couldn’t be happening. The teasing from moments ago felt like a lifetime passed and you squirmed atop Kakashi’s lap but were unable to escape. Do you really wish to? A small voice in your head said that you should, that what was being suggested was wrong but how badly you had desired this very outcome blew away those prim and proper reservations.

“Her pulse shot through the roof when you looked at her, Obito. I told you that she wanted this…”

You gasped to hear your husband speak about you like this, though the words were not untrue. The hollows of the eye holes shifted from deep midnight pits to blazing crimson orbs that seared your skin with tantalising warm fire without so much as touching you. His breathing was becoming laboured as he sat there, hands laying flat on his thighs in a position of submission.

Obito was only this composed and subservient for one man—your man—and it aroused you to see that there was a strain in his posture to maintain his stance. The threads of his compliance frayed beneath the weight of his desire.

“Kashi,” you breathed, voice barely more than a whisper though your gaze never left Obito’s. Your tongue felt thick and heavy in your mouth, the thin cotton of your dress smothering despite being lightweight and flimsy on your body. The heat of Kakashi’s body beneath you certainly didn’t help matters, nor did the intense fiery blaze you were captivated by.

He hummed in response. “Hm? Something to say, sweetheart? Weren’t you just finishing telling me that you’d let him put his hands and mouth on you if I agreed?”

With an embarrassed moan, you tried to hide your face in the crook of his neck. Mortified beyond belief that Kakashi would so openly admit the hushed words of your most forbidden fantasies, ones you never thought would come to fruition.

“Don’t be shy, my love. Obito feels the same way, although I guess you didn’t know that,” Kakashi drawled with such measured control that you were reminded exactly how he reached this position of power. Not many could act so calmly in high-pressure situations, but Kakashi excelled where others failed. Simply another reason to love him as much as you did.

Obito hadn’t said a word up to this point, not even the smallest sound escaped his mouth and you marvelled at his self-control. The metal arm guards that normally covered his forearms were nowhere to be seen, the same for the grey flak jacket you were accustomed to.

Now, he knelt on the floor in only the standard ANBU dark pants, a black sleeveless compression shirt that covered up to his throat and equally black gloves that ended halfway up his biceps.

You were endlessly fascinated by those biceps.

The way they bulged when his hands curled into fists only to flatten back into some semblance of submission seconds later. Your breathing became harsh watching the action be repeated in an endless loop. Without realising, you pushed yourself upright on Kakashi’s lap, your fingers curling into his forearm each time Obito made his own fists until you made indents with the edges of his nails.

Behind you, Kakashi smiled. “You’ve been rather quiet, Obito… don’t you have anything to say to my wife?”

“I… don’t know if that would be wise, Lord Sixth,” Obito muttered after a long drawn-out moment of silence. His voice was deeper than Kakashi, rougher around the edges and you could hear the forced formality enough to know it grated down his spine to speak this way.

The three of you had shared many casual moments, it was a given since the two men were friends and rivals from years gone past. Heavens, you had cooked for this man. Shared stories of their youth over bottles of wine. Patched rips in his uniform.

Kakashi clicked his tongue. “Lose the airs and graces, you’re not here as my guard. Speak freely and tell my wife how much you covet her.”

You gasped, turning your head to meet charcoal eyes filled with humour, but while you stared, you could make out a darkness that spoke of something else. A power play? It should make you feel vulnerable… used, yet it was quite the opposite.

To be desired by two powerful men, one the Hokage and the other the current highest-ranking ANBU captain in Konoha. Your beloved husband and his best friend, though both would try to deny such a claim. You were damp between your thighs, arousal pooling into the seat of your underwear and it warmed your cheeks until you were certain it was obvious.

“It’s true. I’ve wanted a taste of what you have for some time now. Not that I would have ever done anything about it!” He asserted, eyes never leaving your face whilst he spoke to the man at your back. “But if she is willing and you… are willing to share—”

“Under my supervision and guidance only. Take off the mask, let our pretty girl see you without the guise of an animal,” Kakashi interjected whilst pressing a kiss to your neck.

The animal mask fell to the side, skittering across the floor and out of sight. It left only the man. The scars on his face from years gone by did nothing to detract from how handsome he was. His lips were pleasingly plump, nose nice and straight and those eyes—those beautiful expressive eyes—were easy to fall into and lose yourself entirely. Even without the Sharingan activated, you were drawn to those dark, all-seeing eyes.

“May he touch you, sweetheart? Shall I teach him how to please you? Let us see if he can make you mewl as I can,” he hummed, nipping at your ear and drawing his hands higher to paw lightly at your breasts.

A nod was all you could manage, followed by yet another gasp of alarm when Obito leaned close and kissed the outside of your knee. He’d moved so swiftly that following the movement was impossible.

His touch was delicate, careful as if he worried you’d break if he were to show his true colours. With his assistance, you spread your legs until they bracketed the outside of Kakashi’s beneath you. The man in question gripped at your dress and bunched it higher until your underwear came into view.

Obito appeared transfixed and a vein popped in his temple from tightly he held his jaw. The muscles of his biceps bulged against the snug hold of his long gloves and when he raised a hand to touch your pubic mound through the cotton fabric, you sighed breathily and shifted your hips.

“Is she wet?”

His crimson eyes shot up to yours, searching for permission to reply, and you smiled kindly, a wave of affection forming in your chest. “Y-yes. Right here…” Obito stroked his gloved fingertip over the small damp patch.

“I’m not surprised, she’s been squirming ever since you came in. Perhaps, I should have arranged this sooner,” Kakashi mused quietly whilst leaning back in his chair so your butt was in the air. “Take them off her, please.”

“Kashi, I can…” You tried to free your arms to help shimmy out of the troublesome underwear but a bite to your collarbone silenced you. The sting of sharp canines elicited a slow pant from your throat, your sight growing hazy and before you knew it, a cool breeze played across your bare pussy.

The chill wind didn’t last, it was replaced by warm lips on the inside of your thigh, thick black hair obscuring your view and you clung to Kakashi at the shiver that rippled down your spine. His breathing was steady in your ear, the feel of a smile on your skin whilst Obito pressed kisses, which started gentle, to your plush flesh until they were messy and open-mouthed.

“You can be a little rough with her, she likes it… don’t you, my precious girl?”

Despite his continued presence and hold on your throat and breasts, you jerked in alarm when Kakashi spoke. The implication of the statement had you clenching around air and you heard Obito’s muffled groan when he too noticed.

“Mhm. Please. I’ll tell you if I don’t like something,” you managed after licking your parched lips.

Obito wasted no time in nudging his nose along your labia, smelling you until he couldn’t stand it any longer, and parted your folds with two thick fingers. You could feel all the blood in your body zero in on your core, skin becoming puffy in anticipation. Scintillating wet warmth sent a hiss through your clenched teeth, the path of his tongue along the full length of your slit arching your spine and forcing your heaving breasts further into your husband’s grasp.

The man on his knees glanced up at you through his eyelashes, careful to judge your every movement and noise for possible signs of distress but he found none. The strong muscle created wave-like patterns over your achingly empty hole and passed it to just below your pert clit. It was a sensation you were unaccustomed to, but it scratched an itch you didn’t even know you had.

Your eyes flickered shut, bottom lip caught between your teeth. You were ready to absorb every stroke and touch, every wet-sounding kiss and the melody of three people breathing in tandem, but Kakashi had other ideas. How he even knew your eyes had fallen closed, you weren’t sure, but he withdrew his hand from your chest to click his fingers. It was a soft click, enough to cause your eyes to spring wide and you tilted your head back to meet his hooded gaze.

“You really should watch whilst our guest eats you out, dear, it’s only polite. How is he doing? Make sure he knows what you want.”

His voice was a whole octave lower and you could feel the rigid length of his erection pressed firmly into your lower back. He was turned on by the act he was witnessing and that only served to stoke your fires higher.

As if to prove a point before you could speak, Obito licked across the surface of your clit for the first time. It was barely a kitten lick but it was more than ample to short-circuit your brain. Your brows knitted together, mouth falling into a deep oval of enthralment at being teased like this. In response, your hips undulated only to be trapped in two gloved palms.

“So good… I-I want more,” you admitted with your shuttered stare being met with a blazing inferno that looked more than ready to blow.

Kakashi licked over a fresh mark he’d not long finished sucking into your neck, the act of possession was not lost on anyone in the room and he chuckled softly. “Mhm, give the lady what she wants, Obito. I want to hear how she sounds coming apart by your hand and mouth.”

Obito sat back for a moment, his lips swelling steadily from his actions and skin coated in a thin sheen of your slick. Strands of his black hair stuck to his forehead and you reached forward to brush them back, warmed when he nuzzled into the heart of your palm. You missed the heat of his mouth on you, squirming around to find a position that would alleviate the ache growing rapidly in the pit of your belly.

“Lo—Kakashi, I want to fuck her with my fingers. Is that… uh, is that okay?”

The furious flush that washed over his cheeks was downright adorable, as was how he refused to meet your eye while your husband pretended to ponder. You knew he’d allow it, it was something you had discussed before this even beginning, back when you were certain it would remain a fantasy.

“Who do you wish to fuck with your fingers?” Kakashi prompted, the smile evident in his words and you whined in protest. It earned you a pinch to your nipple, enough to silence you.

Obito cleared his throat, swallowing down his pride in search of what he wanted above all else. “Your wife. I want to fuck your wife with my fingers. Please.” The nicety was forced, his nostrils flaring as if ready for a verbal argument but none came.

“My wife, that’s right. Do as you please, just make her cum nice and loud.”

This side of Kakashi rarely came out—the cool demeanour which spoke of calculating control. It made you weak at the knees, heart in your throat whenever he set those predatory eyes on you and you could well understand Obito’s reaction to the pulse of dominant power. He too was used to being an alpha presence given his line of work, and especially since he chose to become the Hokage’s personal guard. A decision he would never have made for anyone other than Kakashi.

The power play ignited the room with dense tension that felt like swimming through honey, and to realise that you were the object of affection, the reason this was even happening in the first place… you didn’t feel worthy.

However, you had no time to process these thoughts as the man on the floor took his permission with a sharp nod of his head and lunged for you. The poor little mouse was trapped by the jaws of a lion, but this feline was far from going to harm you. Instead, he was gentle despite how eagerly he moved.

His tongue bathed your tender pearl in his spit, lapping it incessantly until he changed directions and suckled you between his lips. You cried out, only to be blindsided by the intrusion of two thick fingers. Whilst you had focused on the mouth set to wring you dry of your bliss, you hadn’t noticed the dance of his fingers which collected your nectar to coat his gloves.

The warm leather rubbed soft friction into your velvet walls, stretching you just right. It felt wonderful, but you couldn’t help but wonder if it would feel more so without the gloves in the way. A small voice in the back of your head boldly decided that you would request his bare hands the next time.

Next time… Would there even be a next time to speak of? You didn’t know, but you could hope.

Kakashi’s breath fanned your wildly beating pulse, smearing open-mouthed kisses in between words of encouragement. His voice was your guide when you couldn’t keep your eyes open. When you did finally find the resolve to pry them apart, you found your hand tangled at the roots of Obito’s midnight black hair.

He was working you closer and closer to the point of no return, wet slurps mingled with your moans of more and the steady rhythm of his fingers fucking into you. His wrist rotated suddenly, fingertips brushing that deep area of sensitive tissue that your own fingers could never reach.

“Oh. Fuck… right there. Obito, don’t stop.”

Both men jolted at your keening declarations; Obito glanced up with his chin shiny with the gloss of your making, cheeks flushed from where your thighs had crushed around his head, and Kakashi groaned deep in his throat.

His slender fingers lowered the neck of your dress and repeated the action with the cups of your bra. He licked his thumb and finger and rolled your nipple between, drawing it out taut until you whimpered and struggled. “Ah ah, don’t thrash. Look down and see how well my guard dog is eating you out, beloved.”

You tightened instinctively, squeezing around Obito’s fingers, who doubled down on the pace he stroked you to. His nose ground at the hood of your clit, tongue swiping left and right then up and down. He was losing his restraint, pushing into you only to be met by the force of you rutting your cunt into him. A growl rumbled in his chest at being called a guard dog, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop.

Gods, you wanted to be full. To cum around more than just fingers and feel how they would react to you orgasming on their cock. Did you want your husband or Obito or… both? The thought alone tripped your orgasm into effect. You were barely aware of Obito pulling his wet fingers from your cunt to press his tongue into your fluttering hole instead, intent on catching every drop of your nectar and swallowing it greedily.

Kakashi cooed soft words in your ear, coaxing you through your high and stroking over your hair whilst you sobbed from the overwhelming and continued stimulation from the plush muscle digging into you in search of your slick. Those wet gloved hands gripped into the meat of your thighs, keeping you open and forcing you to endure what he wanted to give.

“Obito, enough. Let our little flower catch her breath.” You heard the command distantly, twitching and still seeking out grounding from your high.

Dazedly, you blinked and moaned anew at the expression written across Obito’s face. His cheeks were ruddy, lips swollen with blood and the lower half of his face streaked with a mixture of your arousal and his spit. His chest heaved with the struggle of retreating, every muscle in his body tense and straining and how badly you wanted to reach out and comfort him.

“Kashi, sweetheart, let me go to him?” You asked softly, turning so your words were in his ear, your lips on his neck. He regarded you with a look of unconditional love, eyes softened with affection and a smile decorating his lips which was a far cry from the cool power play of earlier.

He kissed you on the forehead, fixing your dress to cover your exposed breasts and lowering the hem. A lone finger traced the curve of your jaw, moving to brush over your lips and you caught him by surprise by pressing them to his and savouring the warmth of his mouth.

Kakashi was familiar with being touch-starved, as were you. It was something that helped to bind you together in those early days and you both recognised that Obito was also touch-starved and in need of a demonstration of how welcoming love and affection could be. He nodded, his nose nudging along yours and embracing you with delicate care.

“Show him how amazing it can feel. I trust you, both of you.” Kakashi added those final words loud enough for Obito to hear. His eyebrows pinched in confusion, but he had no time to assess the meaning when you slid from your husband’s lap only to be caught by Obito.

You wound your arms around his neck and settled your head right there in the crook. Twisting your fingers into the hairs at his nape, you pressed kisses to his shoulder until he finally placed his hands on your waist. His touch was unsure, body rigid with nerves and you could understand.

“Thank you, Obito… you made me feel more alive than I thought possible. Let me hold you, it’s okay.”

His chin dipped until his cheek rested on your shoulder and some of the tension drained from his body. It had meant to be a fantasy scenario of being shared but it would be so much more than that in time and you would discover this in the months to come.

For now, you calmed your racing heart and gave the man held in your arms a piece of you that was worth more than any orgasm. All under the watchful and loving eye of your husband, the master strategist…

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