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reignpage · 2 days ago

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Munchkins

The different ways the JJK men eat pussy

Gojo: like it’s a game

He thinks shit be funny when it’s really not. Fingers spreading your lips apart, he’ll coo at the quivering of your hole.

“Oh look, she’s talking to me,” he mutters to himself, grinning. “Hi, pretty baby. Whatcha trying to say? ‘You’re so handsome, Satoru?’ And, ‘You’re the best lover I’ve ever had?’”

When he continues his little conversation, you know he’s genuinely getting lost in his own delusions. A whimper of frustration leaves you. That grabs his attention and with a mock gasp of shock, he presses an apologetic kiss right on your clit, sucking as hard as he can to really get his point across.

“Awwwwww, baby. I’m sorry. Bet you were feeling left out, huh? Okay, okay. Time to get serious.”

And then a wide tongue is splaying flat against your entire pussy, spreading your wetness around as he motorboats your sloppy cunt, humming a breathy laugh at the juicy sounds that he elicits. “How’s -ha- this? Better? God, you taste so good. Been eating pineapples, haven’t you?”

“S-shut up, Toru,” you groan.

“Hey, don’t be mean,” he grumbles with no real heat.

The orgasm that washes over you is powerful and you can’t conjure a single word out even when he quizzes you like an idiot, rubbing in that he's made you feel so good, you're left silent and dumb. “What day is it? No, I don’t think it’s ‘oh fuckkkk.’ Let's try so something easier. Can you recite pi to the one hundredth digit, baby? No? Yeah, me neither. Aw, you look so pretty. I should take a picture, shouldn’t I? Okay, okay, hold that face. Gonna get a camera.”

Geto: like it’s a test

“Come on, pretty.” He pulls away from your cunt, lips glistening with your juices and you have to fight the urge to close your legs from sudden embarrassment. “You’re pulling my hair too hard. How am I supposed to give you all my attention if you’re pulling me away, hmm?”

Lying down on his stomach, he’s placed himself in the most comfortable position for him to do everything it takes to bring you pleasure. And just as he said, locks of his silky black hair pool through your fingers as you tug every time the tip of his tongue rolls your bundle of nerves with expert precision.

“Sorry, Sugu,” you find the clarity to whimper out.

His arm reaches out to grip a breast and the weight makes his eyes roll back. As if punishing you for distracting him, he pinches a nipple and shoves his tongue inside your pussy, feeling the gummy walls clench down. Your back arches. “’s okay, pretty girl. Just —mhm so well-behaved— focus on the pleasure, alright?”

"Oh, Suguru, I can't. S-so good, oh yes, right there."

A thumb finds its way onto your clit, rubbing in precise and controlled circles; he knows just how you like it. Your moans get louder and louder. “Close? Tell me what you need. Talk to me,” he pleads.

The smile that fills your blurry vision after a wonderful orgasm blinds you. His eyes explore your face, seeking every twitch and sigh like it fuels him, and maybe it does because his hard, leaking cock pushes in slowly, massaging every pleat inside your pulsing walls.

“Let me hear more of your beautiful moans. Fuck, I can’t get enough of you.”

Choso: like an addict

You’re kneeling in the living room, pulling fibres from the plush carpet. Shorts pulled down, you can do nothing to stop the man moaning behind you as he sucks your clit with no technique. His tongue is venturing all the way down and all the way up, chasing after the taste of you.

“Fuck! Choso, w-what is wrong with you?”

The day had started like normal. On your way to the kitchen, he murmured something about how good you smelt, and, without warning, tackled you onto the ground. This is so typical of him; he eats you out in the shower, against the front door, the window, in the car, in a park, and so on and so forth. And he does it all shamelessly.

“Sorry, I just -mhm- c-couldn’t help -ah so good- myself.”

It’s wet everywhere and not just from the waterfall of juices streaming out of your pulsing hole. Choso’s drooling —no, practically slobbering— all over your thighs, lapping up every drop. Despite all the times he’s tasted you, he can never get enough.

Most days you have to fight him off, throwing pillows at his face and swatting his wandering hands even when he pouts and asks, “But why?”

And when you cum, mind completely blank as you pant desperately, face firmly planted on the carpet as his hands hold your hips up, his mouth doesn’t stop.

“Ah, can I have one more?” He presses his cheek to your slit with a squelch and smooshes it, enjoying the heat against his clammy skin. “Please?”

You roll your eyes.

"No, don't crawl away. That's not nice. Oh, do you wanna do it on the kitchen counter? Okay!"

Toji: like a big meanie

“God, she’s talkative today, ain’t she?”

In his defence, you deserve this. He had just come home from a long day being a killer for hire and fell on the bed with just a grunt. You should have let him rest, you knew that, but in your defence, he’s sexy as hell.

Literally walking sex.

“Y’r soaking the bed like a slut, look at you. Didn’t you grow out of this habit, ma? What kinda example you trying to show to our kid?”

His fingers are pummelling inside your pussy, curling against your G-spot without mercy. The pressure he’s building inside rivals the vacuum of his mouth on your clit. “Just had to climb up and sit on my damn face, didn’t ya? Couldn’t keep it in your pants? What? I don’t give it to ya enough? No, ‘course not, cause this dirty pussy always needs to be stuffed full, doesn’t she?”

There’s no particular rhythm to your grinding, and your desperation makes the corner of his scarred lip tick up. When you look down, your eyes meet his and the wink he sends you drives you over the edge.

“That’s a new record ha. Must have been pent up, poor baby. Good thinking taking what you want when you need. Proud of ya, kid.”

Out of breath, you ask with a little shame, “You're not mad?”

SMACK!

Your asscheek is burning from the slap and you fall down on the bed with a ‘fuck you!’

“How long have ya known me, dumbass? I could be bleeding from a bullet in the chest and I’d still let you ride my dick.”

Nanami: like a man in love

“Sweetheart, are you sure I’m not distracting you?”

For whatever reason, your husband still feels guilty about his desire despite all the years you've been together. Watching you slave away at the stove was apparently a stimulating sight. In his own Kento way of saying ‘thank you,’ he had cuddled up behind you, pressing kisses on your neck with his hands wandering down your curves.

Moaning, you do your best to stir even when his face is shoved in between your thighs, suckling on your pussy from behind. “Ken, you silly man. Of course you’re —ngh!— d-distracting me but it’s a good —oh, Ken— distraction, d-don’t worry.”

“Really? Oh, that makes me so happy, darling, because I really couldn’t hold on any longer.” Even when he’s being absolutely filthy as he forces naughty squelches out of your sensitive pussy, he’s being so sweet — occasionally, he lays kisses on your clit, whispering praises like he’s spell-struck. “My lovely wife. My beautiful wife. My darling love.”

His warm breath and his even warmer words pushes you to the light and you’re spasming in his hands and on his mouth.

“That’s it, honey. Such a good girl. How did I get so lucky?”

Then, sweaty and elated, he stands to full height and smothers you in a kiss. Distantly, you hear the click of the stove before you’re carried away, bridal-style to your bedroom. Your giggles makes him smile and, when he lays you down gently on the bed, he takes you in with a sparkle in his eyes.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Let me show you my sincerity, sweetheart.”

Sukuna: like a liar

When you had wandered into the garden, you hadn’t expected that you’d get pulled to the side, off the path, and pushed against a tree. Before you can process anything, your lips are being devoured by his — sharp teeth, unforgiving lips, and a growl echoing in your mouth.

A big hand worms its way through your layers and tears off your flimsy panties with one yank. Just as the cool breeze meets your slit, a palm covers the entire area.

“Kuna, w-what are you doi—Ah, fuck!”

A long and wet tongue prods its way around, rolling your clit with reckless abandon. You hear both mouths, from his face and his hand, growl in satisfaction at the taste of you. “I could sense your growing need, woman. It was overwhelming. And as your king, I must fulfil my duty and grant you one moment of pleasure. Rejoice in my benevolence.”

That’s definitely not the case since you were thinking of nothing but what to cook for dinner but you know him; he hides his desires with what he knows best.

Deceit.

“I’ve barely done anything and look at you, writhing like a worm. How pathetic,” he snarls. Sukuna kisses your lips the way he eats your pussy: like he’s desperate and hungry — positively starved.

Your orgasm is practically forced out of you, taken like it was always his to begin with. Deep in the back of your mind, you hope no servants have wandered near, or hell, stepped foot in the garden at all because your moans and whimpers were unreserved.

“Your moans are grating on the ears. Try to do less squealing like a mouse when you take both of my cocks, woman.”

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peachesofteal · 2 days ago

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Raspberry Girl Previous + masterlist + AO3 Simon Riley/female reader CW: 18+ mdni, Reader POV.

His name is Simon.

He’s still stuck in your mind as Captain Riley, like it’s dug in there, claws unwilling to let go, and he says you don’t have to call him Simon if you don’t want to. Which is comforting, in its own strange way.

Comforting just like his presence, the one that’s been at the bakery almost every day. You’ve been trying to keep to yourself, agonizing over the moment when it all comes crashing down, when he figures out how weird you are, but it’s not that easy.

He doesn’t let you hide.

“What do you do when you’re not at work?” You resist the urge to wring your hands together, keeping your focus on the sidewalk, concentrating on the cracks, the leaves.

You’re on a walk. With him. He asked you earlier when he came by as you were closing up, before you moved on to the rest of your work.

“Take a break. Walk with me.”

You couldn’t say no, though it took longer than it should have to get your “yes�� out.

He didn’t rush you. He never does.

“Um,” You’re not much of a doer. You bake, you go home, you read, you watch the occasional tv show or movie, you work on recipes. You learned to embroider last year, and sometimes you add little flowers or such here and there to your work aprons but there’s nothing outside those things, no extracurriculars or exercise, no circle of friends to get a drink with on the weekends. Sometimes you hang out with Mara, who works the front at the bakery, but it’s rare. You’re not good with friendships usually. You keep to yourself, and that’s fine. Everything is easier that way.

You guess Captain Riley could be considered a hobby. All the minutes you’ve spent holding your breath and watching the front door, waiting for him to walk through and make his way to the counter, all the times you’ve caught yourself staring at his hands, thick wrists and palms the size of dinner plates. He could probably crush a skull between them, crush you. It’s unhealthy, the way you think of him. The way you daydream about a man who’s probably old enough to be your father. The way you close your eyes in the middle of the day when it’s busy and you’re overwhelmed and the sound of the dishwasher is grating on you, just to picture his face, hear him calling you baby, feel his-

He says your name. Oh right.

You shrug, trying to feign indifference, trying to brush it off. “I’m usually at home. Work takes it out of me.” That’s true. Work can be exhausting. Bending, scraping, kneading, lifting giant mixing bowls, pulling dough until you’re tired. Wrists, elbows, neck, all of them, ache. Price you pay for passion, you suppose. “I’m pretty boring.”

“No you’re not. Just a bit nervous, yeah?” Your stomach twists.

“I like to stick to the things I know, I guess.”

“Less scary?” The truth is full of shame and you wrap your arms around yourself, trying to raise a shield that doesn’t exist. A smoke and mirror act that wouldn’t fool anyone.

“Yeah, less scary.” He’s silent for a beat, and then turns to face you on the sidewalk, a finger under your chin, tipping your head back until your eyes are locked on his.

“It’s okay, y’know?” Embarrassment floods, fire burning in your cheeks, and he tsks, wiping one of the tears trying to trickle down your skin. “None o’ that.” You smile, but it’s hollow.

“Sorry.”

“None of that either,” he bites out, and your spine straightens like a string has been pulled from your tailbone up through your neck. “There’s nothin’ wrong with it.” With what? With you? He’s joking. You almost snort, but the seriousness in his gaze stops you short. Steals your breath.

You’ve made it around the block already, standing in the parking lot of the bakery, twilight purple and orange shining in the reflection of the big front window. Disappointment settles in your stomach like lead. He’s going to leave now, go back to wherever it is he goes, and you’ll be alone, elbows deep in cream and sugar, trying not to think about him for the hundredth, thousandth time.

Might as well rip the band-aid off. “Well, um. Thanks f-for, uh…” if you say thanks for the walk, will you sound dumb? Does that make it sound like you’re a dog or something he took for a stroll? “The walk.” Yep. Dumb.

“Goin’ back to work?”

“Mhm. I’ve got this catering order for early pick up tomorrow.”

“What’re you making?”

“Meringue. Lemon. Pies.” You cringe, but he places a hand on your shoulder. It’s warm, warm like a blanket, a soft fuzzy thing you can curl up with in front of a fire. “Meringue is really the thing about the pies. The rest of it doesn’t really matter, that’s why I- ah… why I put it first.” The two of you drift towards the back door, more so you in his wake, and when he closes it behind the two of you, it’s natural, you don’t even question it. Him.

“It’s science.” You place the bowl in front of where he’s sitting on a stool, and try not to look at the bulk of his thighs. He’s in some sort of uniform, but it’s more casual, less stiff. The fabric breathes and stretches across his body, his chest, his middle… the heaviness of his legs. The room is suddenly very hot, and you try to shake the distraction off. “All of baking is a science, actually. Cooking, you can salvage anything. Cooking is easy. Baking? Baking is chemistry.” You pull the cradle of eggs over, and roll one in your hand before cracking it, separating yolk from white. “Meringue is a perfect example. It only has four ingredients. How hard can it be?” You feel a little thrill roll through you, the kind of excitement you get when you’re just about to start turning a handful of ingredients into something, and the pressure builds up in your chest, muscles in your arms and neck going tight as you fight against an overzealous outburst. You tense so hard you shake for a second before you get a hold of yourself. “If the eggs aren’t the right temperature, if the bowl isn’t clean enough, if you add the sugar too fast, it all falls apart. The protein in the egg whites mix with the sugar and make the meringue stable, it's literally chemistry. That's the cool thing about it.” You look between him and the hand mixer, and everything dries up. You’re suddenly very aware you’ve been prattling on about how to make meringue like he cares, and you have to hold onto the edge of the butcher’s block to practically keep yourself up. The mortification is enormous and threatens to drown you in its viciousness, vile things playing on a loop inside your head as you grapple with what’s just happened. Stupid.

He’s standing before you can blink. “What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing, I- I just uh… I’m sorry.” Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

“For what?” You shake your head, but he doesn’t let it go, just comes around to the side and covers your hand with his. Warm again. Safe. “Tell me what’s wrong sweetheart.” The gentle coax in his voice turns stern, and you find yourself obeying before you can stop it.

“Meringue, it’s so… w-why would you care about meringue?”

“I don’t know anything about meringue,” he rubs two knuckles against the apple of your cheek, “you were teaching me.”

“Oh.”

“Y’know you go somewhere else when you talk about baking?”

“What? I do?” He nods.

“You’re free from the scary bits. You’re excited and… weightless. It’s precious,” he cups your face, touch slow and careful, “like you, precious little girl.” The air in the room has vanished, and your knees go weak, struggling to support you as your pulse races, butterflies swarming in the pit of your stomach.

“C-captain Riley- I-” He steps back, your heart free falls to the floor. He’s studying you like there’s a riddle to be solved, analytical and hungry, something razor sharp and rolling with darkness lurking behind it all. It’s so intense, too intense, but fleeting, and vanishes within a second. A light’s been snuffed out, leaving you in the cold and clueless.

“Will you teach me the rest?”

“Um, yes?” It doesn’t sound like the human language. More like a mouse’s squeak, and you glance around, trying to get your bearings as he leans against the table with his arms crossed.

It takes you a minute, or ten, to get back in the rhythm. You have to start over, which is fine, but you’re shivering a bit too much to handle the yolk separation, a different kind of anxiety rattling in your bones. It’s not until he palms the small of your back and tells you to take your time, that you settle and succeed.

By the time it’s over, you’ve made ten pies for your order and one extra.

“Do you want to try?” You hand him a fork.

“Course.” You’re on the edge of your seat as he takes his first bite, watching his jaw move, his throat bobbing with each swallow. Then he takes another, and another, and another until half the pie is almost gone. You try to smother your giggle, but the effort is paltry, and he smiles at you in return. “Somethin’ funny?” Your teeth press into your bottom lip so hard it stings.

“Nope, uh… do you like it?”

“It’s delicious sweetheart. You’re really good at this.” Tingles of pride flush through you from fingers to toes, and you bounce on the balls of your feet a little bit.

“I’ll send the rest home with you.” You slide the pie tin into a box and he shakes his head.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to!” You blurt, and then bite your tongue, looking down at peaks of meringue. “I w-want to, it’s my-” you snap ‘love language’ back before it manages to escape, horrified at yourself. “I like it, feeding you, um, feeding people.” You’re sweating. You can feel it starting to bead along your spine, the back of your neck, and you wonder if you’ll get hot enough to melt into the floor and disappear.

“If you’re sure,” he murmurs as he forks another piece of the pie free. “You didn’t have any though.”

“Oh,” it’s your factory setting response at this point. Oh. Can’t you think of anything else? “Th-that’s okay, I don’t always eat my own… stuff.”

“Why’s that?” You’ve turned fully towards him now, and he’s still so close, close enough to see the ribbons of caramel in his irises.

“It’s not for me, usually. I mean, I eat of course, and taste test, but I don’t do it for me. I do it as a job and for other people.”

“Hmm. That’s a shame,” the bite is still sitting there, waiting, and you’re just about to ask him if he’s going to eat it when he lifts it to your lips. “Open.”

It’s not a request. It’s an order, a directive, and your thighs squeeze into one another, riptide of confusing want, desire, dragging you out to sea.

Your lips part-

and then Captain Riley is feeding you. It’s a small bite, tart-sweet on your tongue. Lemon and sugar crusted clouds linger as you swallow, but nothing matters except for the man in front of you, pulling a fork from your mouth, his eyes never leaving yours-

“Good girl.” Heaven. Hell. Words disappear like you never learned a single vowel. Your body becomes a never ending live wire. You’re out of your element, you don’t even have an element, not truly. Your element is here, in kitchen of the bakery, alone with flour and sugar and piping bags. Your element isn’t… it’s not this. Not this man, this older man, this brutally handsome man who towers over you, this man with his perfectly imperfect nose and scar on his cheek, with big hands and a voice you could drown in. Not this man standing in front of you, telling you you’re a good girl, staring like he wants to consume you. “How’s that?”

“U-uh, um. It’s… it’s good.” You don’t recognize your voice. It’s high pitched and trembling, the waver it in matching the shaking of your limbs, your entire body.

“Do you want another?” Yes. No. You don’t know.

“I…” you’re flailing, but he instead of pushing you, instead of trying to fit a circle into a square, he merely thumbs your cheek, drags the calloused pad down to ghost across your bottom lip.

“It’s okay baby, take your time. Do you want another bite?” There’s a hummingbird in your chest, trilling a million miles a minute, and you nod automatically.

“Please.” You whisper, and he obliges. You don’t care to have another bite of pie, but you do want more of this. So much more of something you’re not sure you can have, something you definitely don’t understand. Some sort of dream that doesn’t happen for people like you.

Your phone vibrates. It lights up on the other side of the table and your stomach pitches, first out of panic, and then out of dread.

Spell broken. Fairytale over.

“That’s my bedtime. My bedtime reminder, I mean.” You just told him you have a bedtime like you’re five. Nice. “I’m usually in bed… by now. I get up really early on some days for prep and other stuff, and I’m a ten hours of sleep a night kind of girl, so, uh, I try to stay consistent with my routines and stuff, but I’m pretty bad at it. That’s why I have the alarm…” Stop talking.

“I’m sorry I kept you.”

“No!” You reach for him and then think better of it, fisting your hand at your side instead. “N-no, I’m glad you’re here. I just have this early pick up tomorrow, but it’s no big deal, I’ll-”

“go home and go to bed. Do you have anything else you need to do?” Stern again, like he's serious about enforcing your bedtime, like he cares about you getting enough sleep.

“Not really, I just leave the dishes in the sink for tomorrow.” He tucks the pie box into his arm and motions to the back door.

“I’ll wait for you to lock up.”

He gives you his number and makes you promise to text him when you get home, which you do, dutifully, laying in bed, curled up beneath your blankets, typing out a hazy message with one eye open.

>Home. In bed. Thanks for hanging out.

The text back comes only a few minutes later.

>Goodnight sweetheart.

>Goodnight Captain Riley.

#peaches writes #raspberry girl fic #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader

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madamechrissy · 1 day ago

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Escort! Satoru- part two

Pairings- Escort Satoru Gojo x shy CEO F! reader

Warnings- eventually explicit sex, freaky but fluffy- this part- obsessed ass/whipped ass Gojo, mentions of sex work, jealousy, fingering, Gojo has six inch fingers I won't argue about it lol, he masturbates too much, sexual tension - lots of it- he becomes lowkey/highkey Yan tbh, pretty woman vibes 🤭

This will be a fun set of drabbles in this style! I hope you all enjoy them lmk if you wanna get tagged in the next parts <3

<<<Part one

Escort! Satoru never falters, but when he sees you in that elegant black dress, hugging every curve and line of your body, he does just that. Not only has he stroked himself to you every day this week - sometimes multiple times a day- you also make his heart race with your pretty smile, so shy and nervous as you look down at your feet now. 'You look... sexy as fuck' you giggle now, when he brushes back a little tendril of hair that's escaped it's elegant coif, watching your lips part, making his thoughts run haywire. 'You say that to all the girls, hmm? I kind of pay you to say it' he scoffs then.

Escort! Satoru murmurs 'you look beautiful' earning your cheeks heating up, your own heart thudding as you try to remember what you're here for. He's a paid actor who's a sweetheart, and that's all this is. 'And no I don't get paid to say it' You nervously bite your lower lip, drawing his attention as the two of you stand outside of the grand ball room in down town, the wind gently blowing your dress just enough to show him those sexy legs of yours. 'Thank you, Satoru- you look amazing' he smirks, tugging at his slick Armani tux- 'well of course I do'

Escort! Satoru is the perfect partner as the two of you enter the bustling room, snatching up two glasses of champagne for you both, you sip the bubbly liquid and curse. 'My parents, three oclock... we may have to kiss or something is that okay?' Satoru clears his throat. 'I don't on the mouth' 'oh! I'm so sorry...' he's eying your lips now, enticing him to no end, while your hand comes to brush against his shoulder. 'What about the cheek?' Satoru would kiss every inch of your pretty body, he realizes even your mouth doesn't feel like it's off limits, but he gives you an easy smile. 'Sure, sweets'

Escort! Satoru shmoozes right along with all the old wealth in the room, enjoying your every eye roll and sigh, you clearly don't enjoy being around all of this. You make him more curious after he wins your parents over, brushing his lips on your cheek, warm against the plush of his mouth, as his arm wraps your waist. 'Your daughter is really something' he says softly, pulling you closer. 'Thank god, we didn't know if she'd ever meet someone! she's always working-' 'mom!' Satoru snorts in humor then. 'I also work all the time' they look at him curiously. 'And what do you do?' Your turn to look at him, you two didn't discuss this. 'I'm a massage therapist'

Escort! Satoru sips his champagne after they leave, and you raise a brow at him. 'Massage therapist, hmm?' Satoru wiggles his thin white brows, leaning against the table now. 'Wanna find out if I'm lying?' You're so shy from his flirtations, you hardly notice when several men take notice of you in that dress. You don't dress up aside from business, but you must look pretty good- they're all over you, asking to dance as you politely decline, and Satoru's anger grows with each one. When a man has his hand on the small of your back, he forgets you've paid him to come here, walking up and swatting the man's wrist away, as you look at him in confusion. 'Care for a dance, sweetheart?'

Escort! Satoru leads you out to the floor, pulling your body flush against his, you tilt your head up to look at the tall man, whose eyes are swirling blue. 'Playing the boyfriend role so well, gonna earn a hefty tip' you tease softly, Satoru freezes, hands on the nip at your waist. That was not pretend, he wanted to cut a man's hand off for touching a fucking stranger essentially, a pretty client. He smirks, feigning ease he doesn't feel. 'I'm five star for a reason, hmm?' you're losing the night in his arms, spinning around the elegant ballroom, so light and giddy as the champagne rushes your blood stream.

Escort! Satoru and you are standing on the outside again as the evening is ending, and you've ordered a limo to take the two of you home. 'Would you like to ride with me or...' 'yes' his answer is so fast it hits you by surprise, as the wind whips around the two of you, making you shiver. Satoru takes his fancy jacket off, tossing it over your shoulders, in a gesture far too sweet- it's hard to remember this is just a job for him. 'Thank you for tonight, Satoru, you really made it so much better' you peck a kiss on his cheek, he turns his head, lips a breath from yours when the limo pulls up, and he opens the door for you, sliding in close.

Escort! Satoru eyes the rise and fall of your perfect breasts when you take of his jacket, handing it back, your fingers brushing, the contact ending his resolve. He's never needed to have someone like you, his hand slipping up your thigh, feeling you tremble, your eyes dilating in desire. 'Satoru you don't have to perform that part of your job with me, I really did just need someone perfect, to appear that I'm... put together I guess' he sighs now, leaning even closer against you in the night, thumbs running little circles across your inner thigh, hearing your soft cry. 'I want to make you cum, if you'd like me to, you look like you could really use a release' you swallow nervously, when his hand brushes even higher, so close to where you're wet and sticky against the lace of your panties.

Escort! Satoru feels your heat, murmuring - 'fuck' - blue eyes almost blinding, his pupils pinpoints, lips so close they're almost touching. 'Say the word, sweetheart, I'll get your pretty pussy off so good' you manage a weak moan, trying to pull yourself together. 'will this cost extra, mister?' you're trying to tease him, so cute and fumbling over your words, even now. 'Nah, I pick what I want to do with every client, and you I'd love cumming all over my fingers' you nod nervously, while the limo heads to your home. Surely one night of pleasure isn't the worst thing. 'yeah, you want it pretty girl?' his words along with fingers brushing your soaking cunt over the material has your head falling back, a cry eliciting from your throat. 'then say it' he orders softly, thumb brushing the slick growing, looking down at your pretty face, picturing it when you cum.

Escort! Satoru almost cums when you murmur 'I want it' and has your panties pulled to the side, two fingers slid in your cunt in moments. You gasp at the stretch, clinging tightly to him, 'fuck, you're that wet, baby I haven't touched you' he's cocky, he's ridiculous, he's an... escort, but fuck does he know just where to press, his fingers so long you've not been with men as long as them, as his fucking fingers, making you wildly think of his cock when he presses your back against the limo, hair falling over a brown, you hear your greedy cunt squishing and clicking. 'Mnh! It's... intense I...' Satoru smiles, breath ghosting across the tops of your breasts, when his fingers curl just right, making you blinded. 'There's that spot, feels good doesn't it, pretty?'

Escort! Satoru has his fingertips hitting that spot again and again, while he kisses down to your breast, and your hands grip his hair, making him press his cock against the seat, desperate for any friction. When your hands trail down his waist he stops them, making you blink as you focus, hearing the squelching wetness when his fingers pump. Satoru kisses that hand, before he pins your wrist down, watching you climb higher and higher. 'That's it, let go f'me, huh? Be a good girl, would you?' You're ended at that, at his fingers scissoring in and out, and you feel your climax hit, orgasm having you gush all over his hands, he watches in wonder as you do, down to his silver and diamond cufflinks, soaking him and that seat,

Escort! Satoru moans as he watches your pretty face, your eyes fluttering, lips parted in a gasp, and your wrist is still in his big hand, he's never seen anything like you cumming, not even after countless women. 'Oh my god... you should... charge even more...' your sweet little declaration makes him chuckle, when he eases his long, thick digits out you suddenly feel empty, the limo comes to a stop as you sit up nervously, adjusting ruined panties, trying to straighten up while his cock is pulsing, precum sticking to his boxers. 'I can return the favor, free you know' you tease softly, hand brushing his length, eliciting a whimper. A whimper. He's Satoru Gojo, top escort, about to cum from your palm brushing him over layers of clothing.

Escort! Satoru can't embarrass himself, especially not with you, putting his fingers to his mouth then, moaning as he sucks you off him, your pussy clenches at the fucking sight, whining out from the back of your throat. 'Fuck...' he murmurs, tasting how sweet you are, while you watch in wonder. 'you taste that good?' you're enamored by his glistening lips, leaning so close, when there's a subtle knock on the door. You hastily kiss his cheek bone, hugging him tightly, so sweet you make him die more for you, before pulling back, the longing in your body for more fighting with your mind. It's a fantasy, it's his job, it's not... more.

Escort! Satoru hates when you head out of the limo, your legs are visibly shaky, as you look at him so nervous, biting your lower lip and tucking that tendril back once more. 'Satoru Gojo you deserve every five star you get' you say, before nervously turning back, Satoru looks out the window to see you live in a fucking penthouse nicer than his, before the door shuts and he's left alone, your perfume clinging to him, the taste of you just barely enough on his fingers that he can suck you off them again. His phone dings, and you've tipped him another thousand dollars, with a cute little emoji. Now emojis, collarbones and tendrils of hair make him want to cum. Great.

Escort! Satoru tries to go back to business as usual, but he can't get you off his mind. He hasn't tried to write you, he knows it was just a job, but when he's on a 'date' with another client, his memory rolls to you, when he's dancing he craves your unique size in his arms, that perfect body under his, imagines a slicker, tighter cunt like yours, when he's trying to please his clients. He can't even cum unless he thinks of you, and keeps refusing blow jobs, to the point he wonders just what you fucking did somehow. He keeps eyeing that extra tip, feeling horrible you sent it even, how should he get paid to touch you, to make you cum!? Surely he should fucking pay to even be in your presence, and God he would.

Escort! Satoru has an idea suddenly, when he leaves another client pleased, yet he can't manage to make himself fuck anyone, he can't keep it up when they try, and it's been three fucking weeks. It must be in his head, it must be that he enjoyed it so much... it must be something right? Satoru does not get feelings for his clients, he's a professional... or, he was. He is shutting his eyes seeing your glistening cunt he got just a glimpse of, cumming until he's just shooting blanks, over and over like a madness, until he looks you up, it's not hard to find you. He scrolls through your pictures, business ones, and cums more, his cock rubbed raw as he pictures it, you under him as he pumps you full of his cum.

Escort! Satoru finds himself at your business, waiting for a meet with you, the high up CEO of this building, you hear the name and are completely confused, when he walks into your office you remember it all then. All the times you've thought of him, it's so embarrassing! Surely he's back to normal, and you're left using your rose toy on high and imagining six inch fingers buried in your cunt. 'Satoru, this is a surprise, did you need... marketing? For your business?' Satoru chuckles as your assistant shuts that door with a resounding click, pulling out a pretty black velvet box then. Your brows draw together in confusion. 'What is that?' Satoru walks forward, you inhale that scent, eye his lithe body hungrily, trying to keep your composure.

Escort! Satoru hated the thought of you paying so much, the only thing he can think is to give it back, but he can't because he's sure you'd never take it. So he firmly went to Cartier and bought this pretty bracelet he shows you now, making you gasp. Despite being wealthy, he notices you have simple jewelry, you don't have a fancy office, it's as if you don't even let yourself have nice things. Well he would change it, even if it meant just one more time seeing you, maybe to get you out of his system. He watches color dance on your cheeks, as you run your fingers across it - 'It's beautiful, but...' he shushes you, gently taking the pretty white gold out of the box, smiling at you, his snowy lashes low over his heated blue eyes. 'Your review, got me a lot of traction, let me give a gift?'

Escort! Satoru snaps that Cartier bracelet on your delicate wrist, the jewels glinting under your soft office lighting, you feel the cold against your skin, barely cooling you, as you remember his fingers, remember him sucking you off them, the way he had you gushing arousal, had you floating. Desire wars with what it means, was it just him being kind? Was it more? 'Satoru, it's beautiful but, this costs what I tipped you' he smiles a bit, no it cost more than that, but he'll let you think so. He runs his fingertips across your cheek now. 'Don't be a stranger, mmkay?' he turns to walk away, to jerk off to that image of you as you are right now, when you halt him with one question. 'Satoru?' he turns to look at you, when you sit up on your desk suddenly, his heart pounds as blood rushes to his cock, as you nervously cross your legs, tilting your head to the side. 'How much for twenty minutes of your time?'

hehe there will be quite a few of these- our boy is DOWN BAD

taglist #1 @shydroid3000 @thisisew @twinkling-moonlilie-reblogs @aducksmokingquack @miya4life @ravenbc @yenayaps @nezukuwu @etsuniiru @ieathairs @kenqki @princess-bblgm @belovedxiao @ninikrumbs @ieathairs @myahfig4 @theelegantpotato @vvaoo @aldebrana @celestep004 @whoisteona @ladyneisa @lililovely78 @gamerhere @wstaley2 @allthesqueaks @slut4donghyuck @maisiefrancesca @yittten @femaholicc @jjknanamin @that-b-word-lol @devastyle @chiiiiiichan @mat-mat-mat @jkslaugh97 @ovela @mxgnolia @rikiswifeyyy @kaayyhunnyy @gojos1wife1 @arabellasolstice @01ve3rz @jud3thedude @firemoonlightfly @vyluvs @artist1936 @kyelikesanime @mistytojigetolover

#gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #gojo smut #gojo x reader #satoru smut #satoru gojo x f!reader #satoru gojo fluff #satoru gojo x female reader #divider by strangergraphics #gojo x f!reader #satoru fluff #satoru gojo smut #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #jjk smut #gojo satoru #Gojo drabbles #gojo fluff #gojo x reader smut

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whosmariaaa · 3 days ago

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— part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6 !

college! sukuna was fucked. not only had he, the campus playboy, fallen in love. he had also made his said dream girl cry. and now you were ignoring him. no matter how much he tried he tried to talk to you, or push you in a corner, you refused to talk to him.

sukuna had tried every trick in the book. approaching you after class, coming to your dorm, talking to you in break time. it was getting desperate at this point, and oh, if his friends weren’t eating this up by now.

“you’re fucking pathetic, y’know that?” toji laughed mockingly as sukuna once again attempted to grab your attention at lunch. “didn’t ever think i’d see the sukuna this down bad for a girl,” gojo joined in.

“shut the fuck up, both of you. what’s so bad about apologizing? get off my fucking dick,” he retorted back. though neither gojo or toji were stopping there.

“you used to fuck a different girl every night, now you’ve been chasing after the same girl like a dog for weeks,” toji commented.

“a girl that hates you no less,” gojo snickered, “you’d get on all fours if it meant she’d forgive you, wouldn’t you?”

“if you two don’t shut the fuck up, i’m beating both of your asses up in front of everyone,” he scowled.

sukuna was seething. his friends wouldn’t shut the fuck up (when would they ever?), you were avoiding him at every chance you got, and he couldn’t get his mind off what happened. he felt like killing someone at this point.

you, on the other end, were getting sick of this. you were still in a foul mood from the 49% you got on the project, the same project you busted your ass off for. and sukuna still wasn’t giving up, though you weren’t giving him the light of day at all.

though, unfortunately, sukuna was very persistent, and he would catch up to you.

you were walking along the empty halls, a little late to class. but you felt somewhat at ease, which was the first time in days. that was until your vision was blocked by someone.

sukuna had yet again cornered you. “where you going, y/n?” he asked, looking down at you. you were not in the mood to deal with him, especially not right now.

“get the hell out of my way,” you snarled. he didn’t flinch at your irritated tone, and your blood started boiling once more when you notice the sides of his lips curling up into a smirk.

“aw, still pissed about last week? y’know i didn’t mean shit, y/n,” sukuna replied, though he seemed more genuine than taunting.

“i don’t give a shit. get out of my way,” you responded in annoyance. then, he had the audacity to grab your wrist when you started walking, pulling you back.

“listen, i’m sorry for making you cry, i didn’t think you’d be this fucking upset about it,” sukuna apologized, but it still didn’t make up for how you were feeling.

“great, man, now let me go,” you mumbled. you felt his grip tighten slightly.

“c’mon baby, i already apologized, what else do you want me to do?” he questioned, his tone growing less calm.

“for you to leave me the fuck alone, sukuna! jeez, man, how much clearer am i supposed to get? i don’t want to talk to you. you ruined this stupid project that i put my blood, sweat and tears into, and you didn’t do crap!” you told him sternly, before ripping your wrist out of his hold.

you grumbled a few irritated things under you breath, getting to class. and there went the feeling of peace you felt this morning.

sukuna thought he couldn’t be even more down bad for you, well, he was wrong. the way you stood up to his shit, oh girl, he was crazy about you.

he stood there in silence. should he drop this, and should he drop you? yes. will he do that? nah, absolutely not. he was in love, and pissed off you weren’t talking to him. that man wasn’t stopping at anything until you forgave him.

──★˙🍓̟!! okay guys wrap it up this is getting insane😭😭 again i feel so flattered with all the likes, comments and reblogs!!! and i’m sorry for this part idk, really more a filler part than anything im sorry, but part 7 is the last part!! it’s going to take a little longer because i attend to make it the longest part yet, so stay tuned 😝😝

— taglist ! @imlikeacoffeeconnoisseur @totallygyomeiswife @sukubusss @seizecherry @xlilycoco @v1x3n @go-go-gadget-autism @elizabeth-von-winken-universe @paradisestarfishh @whosmarjj @aquariusscollection @satorushousewife @rwirxles @anonnieghost @bitchpleaseeeeeeeeee @iminloveweveryone @poopooindamouf @phisen @ryomku @erintaro @clp-84 @mastermasterlist1p1 @katsukiseyebrows @iioveoldermen @happy2delivur @jup1tersuccubus 🍓

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slapmeshigaraki · 2 days ago

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"You're pretty when you cry."

summary: uhhh meanie!rafayel likes it when you squirt...to put it simply

cw: pussy slapping, really condescending, slut shaming, daddy

"No no no more talking. You lost your speaking privileges." The usually soft-spoken boy was suddenly enraged, growling through his gritted teeth as he slammed his hips into you from behind, snaking his free hand around your body and covering your mouth.

"You should be thanking me, honestly. It's not like you deserve to feel good, do you? Brats shouldn't get to come at all. I'm doing you a favor, aren't I sweet?" Your muffled screams only made him fuck into you faster, your sticky skin smacking against his, creating such filthy sounds--god, it was all making him so painfully hard. Tears brimmed in the corners of your eyes now as he forced your face down into the mattress, reveling in the way he could see every muscle in your back tense and contract whenever he pushed himself into you.

"Fuuuck, you're so wet, angel. You don't like this, do you? You getting off on being bullied? Only a slut would like that--you're not a slut, are you baby?" He released your mouth, anticipating an answer, but only moans left your lips.

"Answer me and don't fucking lie." His hips stilled at once, a few free fingers sliding down between your legs, threatening to slam down onto your clit if he didn't hear what he wanted to.

"No not a slut--fuckk please keep fucking me."

"Mmmmh see, princess that was a lie. Do you think a good girl's cunt would be this fucking nasty?" Without warning, he pulled out entirely, leaving your hole to clench around nothing as he placed a harsh slap onto your cunt. You screamed out at the sensation, quickly trying to force your legs closed, but it was no use, as Rafayel forced your thighs apart with one of his own.

"Don't try to run now. You wanted this remember. You were the one using this dirty fucking mouth to beg me earlier, 'pleaseee daddy, just touch me.' I'm touching you now, aren't I baby? What do we say when someone gives us a gift?."

"Thank you thank you..." Another hard smack landed on your clit, forcing a shriek out of your mouth.

"I said thank you!" You protested at the unwarranted punishment only to be met with another harsh spank.

"I heard you." He did, but that didn't mean he was going to stop. The way your cunt was soaking his fingers and the way little gasps left your lips each time he slapped your swollen clit was far too entertaining. It was only a matter of time before your struggled screeches turned into moans, your hips gently grinding back against his palm at every point of contact.

"Please..."

"Please what? What do you want, baby, hm? Come on use your big girl words."

"Please, can I cum?" He couldn't help but to laugh at the pathetic request.

"Be more specific. What do you want me to keep doing, huh? What is it exactly that's about to make you cum all over my fucking hand?"

"Please keep slapping my cunt, daddy." There it was... he had you right where he wanted you--gasping and writhing beneath his touch, making a little puddle of drool on the sheets, begging him to do something so degrading to you. He had won and Rafayel was anything but a humble champion.

"Aww of course I will, pretty girl. Go ahead and cum for me. Fuckkkk that's it. This pussy is so fucking sloppy for my fingers, come on. Give it to me, angel--it's mine...Shittt what a creamy mess." A few more smacks and you were cumming, tits smushed against the mattress, back arched, ass pressed back into Rafayel's fingers as incoherent little mumbles left your mouth. Much to his surprise though, you weren't just cumming from him slapping your clit--you were squirting. A stream of wetness covered your thighs and his torso, his eyes widened at the sight as he continued forcing his palm down against your flesh.

"Fuckkk you are sick. Making a puddle like this all over me--you tryna mark your territory or something, baby?" Before you could answer you felt his length slam past your entrance once again, somehow stretching you more than before as you quivered and shook, your orgasm still coursing through your body.

"Wait wait please--fuck slow down..." It was no use, his palm was against your mouth once more, your juices covering his skin, the taste of your own wetness soaking your lips.

"Speaking privileges revoked, once again. If you're not gonna use your mouth to say something smart, then you should just be quiet all together, huh? You're sick, aren't you? You're a nasty slut--let daddy give you your medicine, baby. Let me make you a good girl again." His grip on your face forced your back to arch even more than before, pulling you up from the mattress, your back against his chest. It wasn't until now that he saw your face, eyes low, hair glued to your forehead with sweat, your neck glistening from the spit that had dripped down past your lips--but it was the tears that he liked the most, the way your little wet eyelashes looked, the pouty pleading gaze... he could've came right then.

"Fuck...can I tell you something, sweet girl?" All you could do was sob and moan out against his palm.

"You're pretty when you cry." he whispered, placing the softest kiss to your wet cheek. "Make another mess for me, will you? I wanna see this pussy cry again too, angel."

a/n: okayyyy sorry for being MIA. full transparency, i started taking antidepressants a few weeks ago and they make me have like NO sex drive at all. until today i randomly thought about fucking rafayel, so i decided to fill one of my asks. anywayyyy hope you enjoy, specifically the person that asked for this. have a good day, lovelies xx

#l&ds #l&ds x reader #love and deepspace #lnds #l&ds x you #lads smut #lads rafayel #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel smut #lnds smut #lnds rafayel #love and deepspace smut #love and deepspace fic #love and deepspace x reader #lads x you #lads x reader

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xoxochb · 2 days ago

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°˖➴ “but soft rafe isn’t canon!” I am inside of your walls

“don’t give her that, she’ll eat it.”

rafe shrugs nonetheless at your scolding and watches his baby girl’s movements attentively. within his arms, her wide eyes curiously admire the cream colored seashell.

and like you presumed, she lifts it to her mouth and begins so slobber over it. hurriedly, you rush to take it from her— only to be met with an almost dramatic cry from the infant.

you frown empathetically and kiss her small forehead. “I’m sorry, baby, but you can’t eat this.”

her bottom lip quivers as her cries die down to hiccups upon your tender words. you peck her nose a last time before letting the sea take the shell back.

you sigh and look back to rafe who begins lightly bouncing the baby to return her happy mood. your worry fades as her tears stifle.

“she’s fine, see?”

you throw an unamused expression towards rafe. in return, he smiles. you find it hard to compose your own growing grin.

“shut up.” you shake your head playfully.

rafe snakes an arm around your waist, tugging you against his side opposite your daughter. once you’re in her view, she lets out a squeals, small feet kicking in joy.

mirroring uncontrollably, you laugh and let her take your index finger between her entire fist.

“she’ll eat your finger now,” rafe states the obvious.

you roll your eyes and extend your head upwards to him. “at least my finger is clean unlike the dirty seashell you wanted to give her.”

“in my defense, it looked clean.”

you squint your eyes gaily. “that doesn’t mean it is.”

there is no further argument as he is well aware you were correct, and would regardless, win it. rafe presses a kiss against your forehead, and then to the baby’s, who gnaws on your finger.

“I’ll find her a clean one.”

“thank you.”

“‘course.” he kisses the infant’s chubby cheek before your own. “anything for my girls.”

#xoxochb #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #outerbanks rafe #rafe imagine #rafe fanfiction #rafe x you #rafe fic #rafe smut #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #obx #obx fic #obx x reader #obx fanfiction #outer banks

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gloomwitchwrites · 2 days ago

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i saw a tiktok of a heavily pregnant woman saying “maybe i dont give him butterflies anymore but i do give him high blood pressure” then they walk by their S/O with a latter and power tools. and i have been thinking about how the guys would react ever since

Oh, anon. This is so cute! I love this. I know the trend you're talking about, but I feel like I haven't seen it with pregnant women specifically, but I find it even more hilarious if it is. I had a lot of fun with this one. Thank you for sending it in!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (MDNI): swearing, dad!141, pregnancy, married life, parenthood, domestic fluff

Word Count: 800

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

“Get off the ladder, cabbage.” John exhales, trying his best to keep his voice calm.

You’re standing just high enough on the ladder to rest your pregnant belly on the top rung. John stands directly behind you, both hands firmly planted on either side of you against the rail. It’s not to support the ladder but to catch you if you fall. A potentially likely possibility since you’re carrying extra weight in front of you. You could easily tip back enough to lose your balance.

“I’m fine, John,” you reply, continuing on as if he’s not worrying.

It’s maddening how relaxed you are, like the potential factor of danger is a completely foreign concept.

“Please,” he emphasizes. “Get off the ladder.”

“Why?” you ask. “I’m more than capable.”

“You are,” he agrees. “But you’re also pregnant.”

“So?”

“Cabbage,” warns John.

“Fine,” you exhale.

John keeps his hands on your hips the entire time. When you’re back on solid ground, some of that tension melts away, but his heart still thumps quickly.

You lightly cup his cheek, batting your eyelashes at him. “Were you worried about me, John?”

John places his hand on your belly. “Worried about all three of you.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle sits at the kitchen table, sorting through the mail. With a heavy sigh, he opens the energy bill, removing the paperwork, reading over the breakdown of energy usage for the month.

From his peripheral, Kyle notices movement. Glancing away from the itemized bill, Kyle’s gaze softens when you walk into the kitchen. You’re pregnant, close to your due date. Even waddling around, Kyle can’t seem to keep his hands off you.

He leans back in his chair, appreciating you for a few languid seconds, then his heart drops into his stomach.

“Damn it all. Put that down, love.”

Kyle shoots out of his chair, trying to calmly but quickly make it over to you.

“I’m fine,” you insist, attempting to walk by. “I can assemble it.”

“No.” Kyle’s tone is firm but gentle. “Give it here.”

His heart is pounding, anxiety spiking from not just the power drill you carry, but the cardboard box full of wood you’re attempting to guide down the hall.

“You sit here.” He points to the chair. “Sort the mail. I’ve got this.”

You slowly ease down into the chair, and Kyle breathes deep, trying to calm his nerves. “Bloody hell, woman,” he mutters.

John "Soap" MacTavish

He hears your footsteps first, and then your voice as you curse under your breath.

Johnny lounges on the sofa, reclining against a fluffy pillow. At his feet are his two-year old twin daughters. On the television, a Bluey episode plays. The girls aren’t watching. They’re smashing their dolls together and running them over with the yellow toy excavator.

Sitting up, Johnny glances over the top of the couch

At first, he smiles. Then frowns. Then launches himself off the couch.

“Put it down,” commands Johnny. “Drop it.” He steps on a doll and winces, wobbling slightly.

You turn toward him, pregnant belly coming into view. You’re carrying a ladder, the large one, and you’re not supposed to be lifting anything over a certain weight.

“Down,” he repeats. “Put it down.”

You roll your eyes and turn away. Johnny makes it to you quickly, grabbing the ladder and placing it on the floor.

“What are you thinking?” he asks. “You’re bloody pregnant.”

“Don’t yell at me.”

“I’m—I’m not yelling,” soothes Johnny, cupping your face in his hands. “But you gave me a right scare, yeah?” He kisses your forehead. “I’ll take care of it. Go sit with the girls.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon is curled up on the sofa, a precious bundle in his lap. His two-year old daughter rests her head against his chest, gaze focused on the colorful pages.

“He started to look for some food,” reads Simon from The Very Hungry Caterpillar. “On Monday he ate through one apple.” His daughter traces the outline of the apple, and then runs her finger over the caterpillar. “But he was still hungry.”

As Simon turns the page, he hears your soft but determined footsteps. He briefly looks away from the book, his gaze falling on your belly, round and full of his child. Inwardly, he smiles, knowing that the family you’ve created together is about to grow by one.

“On Tuesday he ate through two pears,” continues Simon. “But he was still—”

His voice disappears, and his stomach flips, blood pressure spiking as he watches you turn the corner. You have a step stool tucked under your arm and a drill in your hand.

“Goddamn it,” he mutters, lifting his daughter out of his lap and placing her on the sofa. “Daddy will be back shortly, doll.”

He kisses the top of her head, and then takes off after you. With the added weight, your steps are slow, and it only takes Simon a few strides to walk past you and cut you off before you make it to the nursery.

“What are you doing?” he asks, reaching for the drill.

“Hanging a painting,” you reply like it’s no big deal.

Simon sighs. “Give it here.”

“I can do it,” you insist, turning away from his reaching hands.

Simon plucks the drill out of your hand and holds it out of reach. “Give me the step stool.” With a pout, you surrender it. “Gonna give me a bloody heart attack.”

taglist:

@glitterypirateduck @suhmie @z-wantstowrite @kylies-love-letter @keiva1000

@iloveslasher @ravenpoe67 @sadlonelybagel @nishim @arrozyfrijoles23

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@km-ffluv @thriving-n-jiving

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mggslover · 1 day ago

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MORE TO LOVE

In which Spencer proves to you how much he loves your big breasts.

pairing spencer reid x gf!reader genre smut (18+) cw reader has big breasts and is insecure bc of porn standards, just 6k words of tit worship: tit play, tit sucking, tit fucking. lots of teasing, oral (f receiving), p in v, cum play, creampie, reader wears a dress and lingerie, spencer is clingy and horny, spencer and reader are slightly tipsy, soft!dom!spence wc 6,3k a/n for my big tit girls <3 i hope someone can relate to this, and if you don't, i hope you can still enjoy! thank u lovely @esote-rika for proofreading

Everyone who’s had the honor of meeting Spencer Reid in an informal setting is aware of the fact that he isn’t a drinker. You’d score an indefinite amount of points in his book if you have something besides alcohol to offer. And Spencer isn’t picky — some trail mix in a bowl works as a good enough replacement.

So, being surprised was an understatement when Spencer suggested coming to the bar where you were having drinks with your friends. The case he was on got wrapped up quicker than anticipated. He was about to walk to your apartment to spend the night with you when he remembered you were out with friends.

It was the plan to pick you up and walk you home, making some light conversation with your friends while he was at it (for the amount of months you’d been dating, he should invest more time in getting to know the people who are close to you). He hadn’t planned on drinking, even surprising himself when he downed the two shots of liquor that one of your friends handed him. But he had no choice. Not when he walked into the bar and noticed you dancing in the crowd. Not when you were wearing that tiny black dress that was on his mind ever since he’d found it in your closet. Not when you turned around, your eyes twinkling and a bright smile tugging at your lips when you noticed him. And certainly not when his gaze had lowered and landed on the cleavage that was close to spilling out of your dress. He truly needed the liquid courage to get through the night.

Now, standing on the corner outside of the bar, waiting for an Uber, you didn’t even notice the cold of the night as your body buzzed with the warmth of alcohol in your system combined with Spencer’s touches. He stood close to you, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist and his chin resting on your shoulder as he pressed gentle kisses to the curve of your neck — acting uncharacteristically clingy now that there’s alcohol in his system.

“So this is the real reason why you don’t drink, huh?” You ask Spencer in a chuckle, feigning annoyance while actually feeling very flattered by his sudden clinginess, which he rarely displays when sober.

“You’re just so pretty.” He says in a lack of a better explanation.

He had his palm placed flat on your stomach, the heat of him radiating through the thin fabric of your dress. He squeezed the soft skin before his hand moved up your body at a concerningly fast speed.

“Hey there, mister,” you say in a playful warning, placing your hand on top of his to stop him in his tracks. “We’re still in public. Remember?”

He grumbled some incoherent words as his fingers toyed with the underwire of your bra. “I like this dress.”

You smile, a flush creeping up your neck, glad he can’t see how much you’re enjoying this. “Yeah?”

He hums in confirmation. “I’d like it even better off of you.”

The flush has now found its way to your cheeks, heating your skin as your heartbeat raced.

He presses a kiss to your jawline. “Bet you’d look so pretty.”

Your cheeks were on fire at this point. The butterflies in your stomach set free.

“Want to see you naked.”

Then, everything comes to a halt.

“N-naked?”

He nods against your neck, his soft curls nuzzling you.

Spencer doesn’t notice the way you tense up. To be fair, he’s not noticing any of his surroundings, completely focused on the way you feel in his grasp.

His statement wasn’t weird. It shouldn’t have thrown you off like it did. He’s been your boyfriend for over three months — nearing the four-month mark — and you’ve had sex a lot of times. Still, he has never seen you naked. At least, not completely.

All the times you’d had sex, you kept your bra on. They were cute bras, sexy lingerie sets that had cost you a fortune — specifically because the bra sizes you were looking for were like trying to find a signed limited edition of Kafka’s Metamorphosis. (You spoke from experience, having fought everyone on the internet to get a copy for Spencer’s birthday). All this effort was to hide one thing, well, two things really: your breasts. And it worked. Spencer was always hypnotized the second you took your top off. He had asked before if he could take your bra off, but when you rationally responded with, “It was so expensive, it would be a waste to take it off,” he always agreed, cupping your tits through the lacy fabric and forgetting why he ever complained.

This is a good example that shows how considerate Spencer is. He’d let the subject slide with every weak excuse you made, never asking any prying questions. You knew it didn’t make sense to think Spencer would be turned off by the way your breasts look without a bra. He is obsessed with them covered, let alone when they’re not, your friends had told you. Still, doubt gnawed at you. He was a man. Men watch porn. You knew of his exes, how they have a different body type from yours. You were just afraid you’d shatter the illusion — that he’d be disappointed when he found out that your breasts aren’t as perky without support, how your nipples aren't placed symmetrically in the middle, how stretch marks covered the skin.

“Are you alright?”

Spencer’s voice rattles you out of your thoughts. You swallow. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

The knuckle of his index finger tilts your chin, coercing you to look at him. His eyes looked sweet — a little tired, very lustful, but sweet nonetheless.

“I love you. You know that, right?”

Three simple words, and still it felt like a large weight fell off your shoulders, allowing you to breathe again. “I know,” you respond with a nod, reaching out to cup his jaw. Your thumb grazes his light stubble, then gently brushes against the hidden scar underneath his chin.

“I love you,” you say back.

The intimate moment is of short duration. Spencer tilts his head, then raises his hand to signal to the Uber, who just drives into the street.

You mumble a soft thanks as Spencer holds the door open for you. You crawl into the backseat, and he follows behind you, clicking his seatbelt on and giving the driver the address to your home.

“Driver, roll up the partition, please,” you sing under your breath as the Uber driver does so.

“Beyoncé?”

You gasp, placing a hand on your heart to emphasize your surprise. “Wow, I’ve taught you so much.”

“You teach me lots of things,” he says with a goofy grin.

And he meant it. You did teach the all-knowing genius quite a lot. Whether you’d consider sharing your excessive pop-culture knowledge as impressive as the facts he rambled about was questionable. But the information was useful, nonetheless.

His eyes flicker from the driver back to you, saying his next words just loud enough for you to hear. “I don’t think it would be a smart idea if you were to get on your knees, though.”

Your lips curl, taking your bottom lip in between your teeth. His comment is a reference to the song; still you could tell there was a slight invitation behind his words.

“You don’t think so?” You tease.

He scootches forward in his seat. His eyes roam over your body, halting on your cleavage, then move up to your pouty lips.

“It’s a pretty cramped space,” he settles on saying, his voice hoarse. “Not even mentioning the fact that partitions are made of polycarbonate — which does absorb up to 34 decibels on average, but that’s not enough for you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Not enough for me?”

He places a hand on your bare knee, thumbing the skin. “You’re pretty loud,” he recalls, his eyes finding yours.

You chuckle, your gaze falling down to his hand, which was slowly creeping its way up your thigh. His fingertips were digging into the muscle, massaging it with care. The act is enough to turn you on, though you were already turned on by the kisses that he had left on your neck earlier. The memory is still vivid in your mind.

“It’s not fair to blame it on me,” you tell Spencer. “You’re the reason for making me scream.”

He breaks eye contact, but not before you could catch the sparkle in his dark irises. He was trying to hold himself together; you could tell. He licks his lips, tucking a loose curl of hair behind his ear, before leaning in. His shoulder brushes against yours, his hot breath leaving goosebumps as his mouth traces the shell of your ear.

“Will you scream again for me tonight?”

-`♡´-

Spencer’s kisses were all tongue, holding your jaw as he claimed you. There was no fight for dominance — you had surrendered the second he had closed the front door behind you. You had kicked your heels off at the same speed as he had thrown his blazer and tie on the ground.

Large palms grip your face, connecting his lips back to yours as you blindly stumble through the living room in search of your bedroom. You know you’ve reached your destination as the back of your knees hit the mattress.

Spencer pulls back. A deep exhale leaves his lips, caressing your cheek with the knuckles of his hand. “So beautiful,” he whispers, taking you in.

You pull him back in by his collar, kissing him fervently. The lace of your underwear is bundled up between your folds, the material completely soaked. You roll your hips, moaning against Spencer’s mouth because of the slight friction it causes.

Spencer notices what you’re doing. What you need. He grabs your ass, pulling you flush against him in a swift motion. Another moan escapes your throat as he locks his leg in between yours. Your dress rides up and he sees it as an invitation, rubbing his knee against where you need him most.

You let out a cry, the first one of the night.

Spencer’s hands make way under the thin straps of your dress, pulling them down your arms, making your skin ignite. He pulls the dress down lower in a slight struggle as he tugs the fabric over your chest. Finally he frees your breasts, still covered with the lacy bra you’re wearing, but visible enough for his mouth to water.

He pinches your nipples between both of his thumbs and index fingers, making your eyes roll back. “So needy, aren’t you, angel?”

His question isn’t meant to sound condescending — quite the opposite, actually. Still, you feel like he’s enjoying the way you’re all glossy-eyed and fawn-legged, feeling like you can come undone by the slightest of his touches.

He continues stripping you down, revealing you inch by inch until the dress you had so carefully picked out in the evening is now pooled at your feet.

Spencer gently presses you on the mattress, pushing your knees open as he takes place on the ground in between your legs.

He hooks his hands behind your knees, scooting you a bit forward. His hands trail to your inner thighs, making you gasp as his fingertips dance over your skin ever so slowly.

His touch was a delicious tickle, not one that you wanted to scratch, but one that you wanted to last forever. The heat in your core builds with every swipe of his digits. Your chest is heaving, his fingers so close to your throbbing pussy.

“These are so damp,” he observes, curving his finger around the string of your underwear. “Think we should take these off, hm?”

A breathy moan leaves your lips.

Spencer looks up at you, head cocking. He’s waiting for you to answer. You nod your head, hands gripping the bed sheets. “Yes. Want them off.”

He’s satisfied with your response, propping the material to the side to reveal your glistening cunt.

“God, you’re perfect.” He praises in awe.

Perfect.

You blink the thought away. There was no room for your anxieties as his tongue made contact with your pussy. You gasp, clenching your stomach and squirming forward, hands immediately finding their way into his hair.

He uses the flat of his tongue to lick stripes up your folds, then uses the tip of his tongue to add pressure with every swipe against your clit.

“Tastes so sweet,” he says, letting go of your swollen clit with a pop.

You’re balancing yourself on the palms of your hands, back arched and head thrown back, giving yourself over to the pleasure. A rough hand gripped your thigh, fingers digging into the flesh. His curls disappear between your legs again. Then that same rough hand… but now around your breast.

You didn’t notice anything at first — too caught up in the buzz of his hands and mouth on you. That was until he pulled the cup of your bra down, your breast spilling free.

“Spence!” You squeal.

The sound could pass as a moan to anyone else, but Spencer knows the way you sound. His hands drop from your body, mouth pulling away, leaving you empty but giving you enough time to quickly cover yourself up. His pretty face is etched with confusion. “What is it?”

“You pulled my bra down.”

“Did I break it?”

You didn’t even think of that. You turn your head to your collarbone, then pull on the strap. “No. It’s fine.”

“Then what’s wrong?” He repeats, golden-speckled eyes blinking up at you. “I told you that I can buy you some new brassières. I don’t mind.”

“It’s not that, Spencer,” you sigh.

It isn’t fair to get irritated by him. The first step to a good relationship is communication — it’s a sentence you’ve become sick of with the amount of times you hear it, but that doesn’t make it less true.

“Do you…” you’ve now started your sentence. There’s no going back. “You… You like my boobs. Right?”

It’s like watching a mime; the way his eyes widen in surprise, then the wheels in his mind seem to turn, his eyes narrow, and a frown line forms between them.

“Of course I do,” he says, standing up from his spot in between your legs.

You’re scared that you’ve ruined it. That the mood is gone now that he’s aware there’s something keeping your mind busy.

“I thought it was clear how much I like your breasts,” he assures, gently helping you up by your wrists and pulling you into a hug. His arms make you feel more covered, less vulnerable, because he’s still wearing a button-up and pants, while you’re merely clothed in your flimsy lingerie, wetness still coating your inner thighs.

He presses a kiss to your hair. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like I don’t like them.”

You still need to get used to being in a relationship with someone so emotionally mature. He truly had nothing to apologize for. It’s the voices in your head that tell you that he doesn’t like them. He’s never given you any reason to doubt yourself.

“You haven’t, Spence. I swear. I’m just-“ you’re glad you’re talking to his chest right now, not having to face him as the next words leave your lips. “I’m scared you won’t like them anymore once you see them… bare. They don’t look the same as when I’m wearing a bra.”

You can feel his slight chuckle reverberating from his chest. “I don’t look the same without clothes on either.”

Yes, he looks even better. His clothes hide the muscles in his arms, the thickness of his thighs, the soft flesh of his tummy.

“They just… you know. Sag a bit.” You whisper the last words, feeling like you’ve just admitted to a foul crime. The room stays silent, and his hold on you lessens.

He pulls back enough to see your face, a playful glint still shimmering in his eyes. “I have three PhD's, one of them being in physics, and you don’t think I know how gravity works?”

Well, you weren’t expecting that answer.

“I know it’s natural and all,” you shrug. “They just don’t look like they do in porn. I felt like I needed to warn you.”

He cups your face, making you look at him; a sweet smile lingers on his lips. “If I wanted a pornstar,” the word sounded foreign on his lips, “I wouldn’t be here right now. I want you. All of you.”

You nuzzle your face into the warmth of his palm. Words were just words, but you’d never find out if he meant them if you didn’t give him a chance. You swallow, gathering courage as you take a step back, just enough room for him to fully observe you, his tall figure standing over you.

Your fingers make their way to your back, trying to ignore their shaking as you reach the clasp of your bra. You maintain eye contact with Spencer, trying to see if he’d change his mind, but so far his hazel eyes are just filled with anticipation and need.

You take in a deep breath, then undo all three clasps at once, ripping the band-aid off. The relief is immediate, certain that there’d be marks on your skin because of the biting underwire.

Spencer’s jaw slackens. His irises grow with every inch of skin that reveals as you pull the cups down. Then — in a quick move of your hand — you fully remove the bra from your body.

“Jesus,” Spencer says breathlessly.

Anxiety flashes through you like a sudden strike of lightning. Your hands reach out to cover yourself up. “I shouldn’t have-“

Warm hands lock around your wrists, gently pulling them away. “I didn’t even imagine you could look this beautiful.”

His voice was tinged with complete adoration as he took you in. Your mind had to do a double take to signal to you that you’ve heard him properly. Beautiful.

You play with your hands, squeezing the tips of your fingers to keep yourself from hiding the curves that were on display. “You don’t have to say that.”

He took a step forward, his fingers knitting through yours. “I’m not just saying it,” he guides your intertwined hands to his pants; your breath catches as you notice the outline of his cock bulging through the fabric. He places your hands on his cock, squeezing your fingers around his length. A breathy ah escapes his mouth, his head slightly thrown back as you start moving your hands on your own accord.

“This is all for you. This is what you do to me,” his voice rasps.

Your thumb moves to his tip, circling the sensitive spot until you see a wet patch forming. Spencer’s hips stutter, bucking into your touch. “Let me prove to you how much I love you. Please, angel.”

His plea was one out of pure desperation. Not only was he dying to touch you, but it had been several hours since he’d first seen you in that dress. Several hours of fighting the urge to bury his cock deep inside of you.

“I need you so bad, Spence,” you mumble back, nails grazing his clothed cock.

A loud moan escapes from his throat. He doesn’t waste any time, holding you by your waist and letting the two of you fall onto the bed. You squeal, your tits bouncing from the effort.

“God, look at you,” he groans, making way in between your legs as you lay down. Your breasts have fallen to the sides of your body, framing you deliciously. Spencer leans in, teasing you as he licks a wet stripe right up your breastbone, curls tickling your pillowy curves, but not yet touching them.

He swallows your whiny moans by kissing you. His tongue hastily meets yours. He can’t help but grind himself against the softness of your inner thigh, seeking relief as his arousal continues to grow.

Your mind is spinning. The contrast between his fully clothed body and your naked, vulnerable state is stark. His strong hands grip your delicate face as he kisses you deeper.

With a catch for breath, Spencer pulls back. His dick twitches as he looks at you — eyes full of desire, pouty swollen lips, hard nipples begging to be touched, and your pussy glistening, ready for him to use.

“You drive me absolutely crazy, sweetheart.”

You reach out to let your hands roam over his chest, pulling on the collar of his shirt. “Please, take it off.”

He nods, making a quick effort to take his shirt off, throwing it haphazardly to the ground. With slightly shaky legs, he gets to his knees on the bed, hands fumbling with his belt, too busy staring at you.

You can’t escape the moan that leaves your lips as you see the first dusty brown hairs appear on his pubic bone. He pulls his pants down lower, revealing the thick shaft of his throbbing cock. You’re not even aware of your own hand sliding down your body, gasping as your middle finger touches your swollen clit, the feeling electrifying.

“Getting yourself off just by looking at me? I thought that was my job.”

His slacks and boxers fall to his knees, his cock slapping up against his abdomen. You felt almost guilty for teasing him this long — his tip was just as red as his rosy lips, leaking shiny precum. And his cum-filled balls stood strained, like he could bust at any moment. Your middle finger slips into your warm pussy easily, eyes rolling back as you curve your knuckle, hitting that delicious spot hidden inside of you.

Spencer takes his pants completely off, then grabs your wrist, pulling your finger out swiftly, the motion making a sloppy, wet sound. You whine, bucking your hips up in the air. He moves your hand to his mouth, connecting his lips around your wet finger as he sucks on the digit.

He swirled his tongue, collecting all of your sweet juices and moaning in appreciation. “You can wait a little longer,” he purrs as he pops your finger out of his mouth.

All you want to do is touch yourself again, especially now that that finger has been in his pretty mouth, but he doesn’t give you the chance as he holds your wrists together, locking them above your head.

“You can’t show me your beautiful body and then expect me not to worship it,” he softly breathes, leaning in, his lips ghosting your cheek.

You wiggle in his grasp, making him squeeze his fingers around your wrist. “Be good for me and keep your hands up like this, okay?”

You could say no. Could decline his proposal and have his cock pounding into your aching pussy with just one word. But where would the fun be in that?

“Okay,” you nodded, anticipation bubbling in your core.

Spencer let go of your hands, and as promised, you intertwined your own fingers, keeping them in place above your head. For a second he just looked at you, taking you in and not knowing where to start. Like a feast that looked delicious from head to toe. But he was the only guest, so he could take his sweet time savoring all of you.

He eventually made his decision. His thumbs and pointer fingers each cupped a breast from the side, then lifted them up so they pressed perfectly against each other.

A groan left his throat as he bounced them, tongue darting out as he played with your tits in an adorable fascination. “Is this okay?”

You hum, a soft smile lingering on your face. “Yeah, you can be rougher; I won’t break.”

He displayed his fingers over your breasts, experimentally starting to massage the pillowy, plump skin like he’d do with your thighs. Your nipples hardened under his touch, inducing a moan from the both of you.

His thumbs swiped over your buds synchronously, causing you to whimper. His brows rose lightly, the same look he’d have every time he’d have an epiphany; he then pinched your nipples, slightly turning them as he pulled. Your back arched on the bed, accompanied by a heavenly sounding moan.

“So sensitive, aren’t you?” He muses. “My poor girl, depraved herself for so long.”

You could only cry, begging for more.

“That won’t happen again,” he gently reassures, thumbing your nipples, sending electrifying sparks to your clit. “I’ll make sure to give them all the attention they deserve, hm?”

You hastily nod in agreement, your voice a soft whimper. “Please.”

He leaned down, settling in between your legs, hissing when his cock grazed against your soft inner thigh.

“Can’t wait to taste you,” he whispered, breath fanning your sensitive skin. He stuck his tongue out, and you couldn’t wait to experience how he’d feel lapping on your tits, if it were to feel just as incredible as having his tongue on your pussy.

Your question was quickly confirmed as he licked a wet stripe over the bud. The cool air that followed formed goosebumps on the skin. He cupped your breast tightly in his hand, leaning in again to repeat the motion, then again, until the bud glimmered under the bedroom light. He squeezed your other tit, making sure to give that one the same amount of attention as he swirled his tongue around the same bud.

The only sounds that filled the space were your longing moans and the smooching of his kisses. You lay still, hands kept patiently up as you let him use you like a canvas, painting your skin with gentle strokes of his tongue.

It was after a few more teasing licks that he closed his lips around the bud, cheeks hollowing as he sucked. You gasped, not being able to help yourself as your hands shot to his hair. He didn’t mind though, moaning around you as you tugged on the locks. He let go of your nipple, placing featherlight kisses and sucks on your chest before finding his way to your other breast, connecting his lips to it. The feeling was so dizzying, and you swore that you could come by just a single tap to your clit.

He opened his eyes to look at you, blown wide pupils locking with yours as he continued to suck. His eyebrows were scrunched as if he was waiting for you to tell him that he was doing a good job, that he was pleasing you.

“God, you look so beautiful,” you say in a moan. “Make me feel so good.” His eyes twinkled at the compliment, and he grinded his length against your leg as if to say the sentiment was mutual.

He released your nipple from his mouth, hoisting himself up to press a kiss to your lips. His tongue moved around yours in the same way as it had done to your body just a moment ago.

“Thank you for trusting me,” kiss, “can’t get enough of you,” another kiss, “need more.”

An idea sparked in the back of your mind. It was something you’d never tried before, not with anyone, but you could imagine it feeling good. He has fucked your thighs before. Your mouth. Your pussy. The only thing that was missing was—

“Do you want to fuck my tits?”

“Oh God, yes,” Spencer instantly groaned in response. You giggled as he made quick work of moving up the bed, placing a knee on either side of your upper body. His hard cock was just inches away from you; a string of precum coated his tip, dripping onto you. You reached out, finger gathering the sticky essence before suckling on the digit.

Spencer’s hips twitched, releasing another thick drop of precum. “You have to stop doing that.”

“Why?” You teased, proudly showing your clean finger.

He groaned, both in frustration and longing. “Because I will come all over you before I’ve even fucked you.”

You laugh, turning him on even more without it being on purpose. You placed your hands flat against your tits, squeezing them together invitingly. “Come on, then.”

Spencer grips himself by the base, tapping his tip against your soft cleavage before sliding himself in between your breasts.

“Jesus, fuck,” he moans, throwing his head back. He’s too aroused to start out slow, instantly slamming his hips up in a steady rhythm. His upper thighs slap against your breasts, recreating the dirty sounds he'd make if he were actually fucking you.

“You feel so good like this,” he whimpers. “Always so good to me, angel.”

He reaches out to pinch your nipples, making sure to bring you pleasure as well. Not like you weren’t enjoying this — Spencer was so, so pretty; you could stare at him for hours: his jaw slack, moans and groans spilling from his swollen lips like a song sung just for you, his chest and neck covered in red splotches from the heat of your bodies, his slick, pink tip rubbing against your chest, his veiny hands playing with your tits as he kept looking at you, his eyes filled with love and adoration… You couldn’t get enough.

“I’m so close, baby,” he pants, his cock twitching, using the wetness that had gathered between your breasts as lube to move his hips faster against you.

“That’s okay,” you encourage breathlessly, pressing your tits closer together, creating more friction for him. “Let go for me, Spence.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice. One of his hands clasps around your shoulder, the other kneading the soft flesh of your breast as he thrusts his hips forward once more. His muscles tense, and you catch that look on his face — the look that tells you he’s right on the edge. Your prediction gets confirmed as a throaty whine escapes his throat, followed by warm spurts of white shooting onto your neck and chest. You’re able to catch a few drops by sticking out your tongue, swallowing, and sticking it out again to show him the proof.

“You drive me absolutely crazy, angel,” he says awestruck, climbing off of your body and staying seated beside you.

You hum as you take in the way he has painted your chest, tracing your skin with your index finger, creating small drawings. He looks at you mesmerized, then blinks. “We should clean you up.”

“I got it,” you announce, cupping your breast up to your face and licking a firm stripe across the skin.

A gasp sounded beside you, and you couldn’t help the sly grin that formed on your face as Spencer looked at you in pure surprise.

“I didn’t know you could do that.”

You giggled, placing your lips around your nipple as you gave a gentle suck while focusing on your boyfriend, whose cock was hardening again.

“Acting so needy when you’ve been pleasing yourself all this time,” he tsked. “Such a dirty girl.”

He matched your smile, cupping your face and bending over to lightly caress your lips with his once again. You moan in satisfaction, licking his bottom lip to be invited in. Your lips acted in a familiar play, experimentally moving around each other until you figured out each other’s moves, able to feel the urgent need in the way his tongue stroked yours, signaling back to him that you’re feeling the same by biting down on his bottom lip.

He groaned in response, his hands sneaking around your waist to hoist you up. “You’ve done enough hard work; you deserve to lie down now,” you joke as he gently makes way onto the soft bed sheets, holding onto your even softer thighs as you straddle him.

His cock feels heavy in your hands as you position it underneath your throbbing pussy, shuddering as you tease your walls with the slick head.

“You look so beautiful,” he praises, moving his warm hands up and down your hips, easing the strain you feel when you slowly sink down onto his length. You gasp when his thick tip disappears between your folds, but his sweet moans calm you down. Oh, you’re so tight. Just a little more, just like that. You’re doing so good for me, angel.

“Oh my God, Spence,” you moan as your hips make contact with his. The stinging has eased into a delicious sense of being full, placing your hands on top of his tummy to keep yourself steady as you start rocking your hips. Spencer gives a firm squeeze, fingertips digging into the curve of your ass, sure it’s going to leave marks.

You move your body up and down, breasts swaying with every one of your movements, the act completely hypnotizing Spencer. His head feels fuzzy and his throat dry as he watches you, not being able to believe how lucky he got.

You up your speed, moaning and whimpering as you use his cock as your personal toy, his voice and face working as porn as he shudders in pure bliss underneath you.

“Taking me— fuck — so well, baby,” he whines. Spencer places the soles of his feet flat on the bed, holding you tightly by your waist as he lifts his body up.

“Spencer!” you cry as his cock drives deeper into you.

“Hm, I’m sorry, baby,” he murmurs in apology. “Just want to help you out.”

You nod — because even though you’re very much enjoying taking the lead, you know how good it feels when Spencer helps you out by pounding into you. So that’s what you do: sinking down onto him, meeting each of his thrusts as he bucks his hips up.

“Is it painful?” he asks considerately, nodding toward the way your heavy breasts bounce with each push of his hips.

You shrug, “Just a bit.” To be fair, you’re way too focused on the way your core tightens every time he buries his cock in your pussy, hitting that sweet spot inside of you as the veins decorated around his shaft tease your inner walls — to even care.

His large hands find their place on your breasts, squeezing them once, then twice, then looking back in your eyes. “I can work as your personal brassière.”

You chuckle, rolling your eyes. “Ah, how civil.”

“Did you know brassières were only invented in 1893? It’s fascinating because technically the first brassières dated back to ancient Greece. Actually, in Book 14 of Homer’s Iliad, there’s a reference to Aphrodite’s embroidered girdle.”

You hum, leaning forward to catch his lips. “And did you know that you talk too much?” You tease as you press another kiss to his mouth. ��And did you know that no one uses the word brassières anymore?”

“But it’s the correct term!”

There’s only one other way to shut him up. You cradle your hands underneath his head, bending while tilting his head up to press his face against your tits.

“Hmpf,” he mouths against your breasts, before easily finding your nipple to latch on.

You hold onto the headboard, relishing in his touch as you pick up your rhythm again. His cock hits even deeper inside of you in this position. There’s something so electrifying about the stimulation of your breasts in combination with the pleasure against your G-spot. A feeling so electrifying you doubt you can hold on much longer.

“Getting close, Spence,” you cry as his hands cradle your ass, holding the cheeks open as he pumps his length in and out of you.

“Not yet, sweetheart. Wait on me.”

His hot breath fans against your wet nipples, and you cry loudly, gripping the headboard until your knuckles turn white.

“I can’t, Spence. I can’t — feels so fucking good.”

“Yes, you can. Just a little longer. Make me proud, angel; I know you can.”

You tighten your walls around him — maybe it can be considered as cheating — but it works. Spencer groans as he bites down on your breast, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you squeal.

Spencer holds you tight against him, chests pressing together as he moves his hips with force. “That’s it — Oh, I’m close. Let go for me.”

With one more jolt of his hips, you come undone. You cry incoherent words in the crook of his shoulder. Your legs are shaking from the strain of holding them open for so long. Your pussy flutters around him repeatedly until Spencer’s legs quiver in the same way as yours, filling you up with his warmth.

He groans in satisfaction, pushing his hips up a few more times to make sure his release is buried deep inside of you. The round head of his cock slips out of your folds. You let out a sharp gasp, still feeling the print he had left inside of you. You can feel the way your pussy twitches as his cum drips out of you and dribbles onto his thighs.

Spencer pulls some hairs out of your face, pressing a sweet kiss to your temple as you settle your head down on his sweaty chest.

“It's okay,” he soothes you. “You did so good.”

You smile sheepishly, drawing figures on his chest. “Yeah?”

He mirrors your smile. “Yeah. You did perfectly.” Another kiss to your face. “My beautiful, brilliant girl.”

Your heart does a leap out of joy. It’s easy to say afterward, but you can’t believe how you were ever scared to show yourself to him. Now only regretting not having done it sooner as you see the physical proof of how enamored he is with you. Maybe you didn’t fit the ideal you’d been forced to fit in all of your life, but if anything, there’s only more to love.

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daryltwdixon · 3 days ago

Text

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4?

Summary: After an accidental Freudian slip in bed with your husband, you and Joel agree to take a step back. Boundaries are drawn, lines are reinforced—but the damage is done, and even the strongest of willpower can't keep you apart.

|| smut MDNI 18+, little bit of angst there too, starting to not really be able to say this isn't cheating anymore yikes, dirty talk, pinv, riding, breeding kink, no outbreak, little bit of action with Tommy (f!receiving oral) Joel Miller is starting to catch feeeeelingssss ruh roh || notes: oh boy oh boy did I get secondhand embarrassment from this one. I think my eyes might start bleeding if I try rereading this again so plz lmk of any errors

Tommy had always been good to you. Patient, eager to please. He took his time, hands kneading the soft skin of your thighs, mouth dragging slow, open-mouthed kisses along your inner leg like he was savoring you. Like he loved you. And he did. Maybe that was the problem.

Because love wasn’t the same thing as knowing.

He wanted you to feel good, of course he did—but there was something hesitant about it, something careful. Like he was trying to do right by you instead of wreck you. Like he was holding back.

His tongue traced a path through your folds, licking and eating and suckling everywhere except where you needed him most. You squirmed, hips pushing up into his mouth, searching for that right spot, just a little higher, to the left…

You hummed when his nose nudged your clit, eyes fluttering shut, and what you didn’t mean to do was picture another man with the last name Miller instead of the one between your legs.

But you did.

And you didn’t picture patience. You pictured hunger.

Joel had devoured you, consumed you like he’d been starved for it, like he would’ve died if he didn’t get his mouth on you, inside you. He hadn’t wasted a second searching—he knew exactly where to touch, exactly how to work you open, like he’d memorized your body before he even had his hands on it. And God, those hands. The way they parted your thighs like the sea, fingers digging deep like they belonged there, like they were meant to bruise.

And his filthy, sinful mouth—

That voice, rough and low as he’d murmured against your soaked skin, coaxing you through every little whimper and gasp, urging you to let go, just one more, pretty girl, gimme another. You’d come on his tongue again and again until you could barely breathe, until you were trembling, until he finally, finally let you rest.

Tommy just didn’t do things like that.

Tommy felt like warmth, like comfort, like the hands of a man who wanted to love you—but not the hands of a man who understood you.

And maybe that was why you didn’t even hear yourself when it slipped out–

“Joel–”

And then there was silence.

Thick and suffocating, pressing against your ears, your chest, your ribs.

Tommy had stopped. You barely registered it at first—so lost in your own head, in the whiplash of pleasure and horror—until you felt the absence of his mouth, the cool air licking over your slick skin. He had frozen in place, his breath still warm against your thigh, but he wasn’t moving.

And then, slowly, achingly, he sat back.

You didn’t want to look at him.

Didn’t want to see the way his brow furrowed, his mouth parted like he was going to say something but didn’t quite know how.

Didn’t want to see the way his hands flexed against your legs before he let go of you completely and sat back on the pillows beside you.

The space between you suddenly felt massive.

“Oh, God,” you croaked, your stomach bottoming out. “Oh, Tommy, I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—”

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.

You scrambled, heat clawing up your throat, shame like a hand around your neck. “It was just—my head was all over the place, I wasn’t thinking, I—I swear I didn’t mean it, Tommy, I—”

“Stop.”

It wasn’t angry. If it was, maybe it would’ve been easier. Maybe you could’ve handled that.

But it was quiet. Resigned.

Tommy exhaled, dragging a hand down his face before finally meeting your eyes. You wished he hadn’t.

Because there it was. Not fury. Not disgust. Hurt. Disappointment.

“I, uh…” He let out a small breath that almost sounded like a laugh. Like he couldn’t believe it. “I guess I should’ve seen this comin’.”

Your pulse stuttered. “Tommy, no—”

He shook his head, lifting a hand, stopping you again. “I knew this wasn’t gonna be easy,” he murmured, voice low, rough. “Knew feelings could get mixed up. Thought we could have rules and make it simple.” A humorless chuckle, a shake of his head. “Jesus.”

You swallowed thickly, throat raw. “I love you, Tommy.”

He looked at you, really looked at you, and something inside of him cracked. He nodded, reaching for you, letting you lay your head on his chest. “I know.” But when you looked up, his jaw tightened, his fingers curling into loose fists. “I just—I see the way you two are lately.” His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and his voice softened. “You and Joel.”

Your breath caught.

He scrubbed a hand over his mouth, his shoulders sagging under the weight of it all. “There’s just…this energy between you. Always has been, I guess, but now…” He huffed out another short, mirthless laugh, shaking his head again. “Shit, I don’t even think you two see it. Not fully.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

Maybe you had seen it. Felt it. Maybe you’d been feeling it since the very first time, but you had locked it up, shoved it down, willed it away because you loved Tommy. Because you had made a choice.

Hadn’t you?

Tommy sighed, rubbing at his temple. “I just wanted a family with you.” His voice was thick, hoarse, like he was forcing the words through gravel. “More than anything.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I still do.”

You blinked hard, nodding, hands trembling as you reached for him. “And we will, Tommy, we—”

The arm he had around you stiffened, fingers twitching as you touched him.

“That’s the thing, though,” he murmured, voice quieter now. “We’re sittin’ here, prayin’ for somethin’ to take, prayin’ for this baby—and when I picture it…” He trailed off, shaking his head, letting out a breath that sounded defeated.

Your stomach twisted. “Tommy.”

He blinked down, eyes focused on the blankets. “When I picture it,” he repeated, slower this time, like he was barely holding himself together, “I dunno if I see me anymore.”

It felt like a gut punch.

His jaw flexed, something breaking in his voice. “I knew it might get messy with Joel. Knew we might have to separate things in our heads, that you’d be spendin’ time with him, that it’d be—” His breath shuddered. “That it’d be him touchin’ you, not me.” His Adam’s apple bobbed, his fingers tightening. “I thought I could let it slide if it made you happy.”

Tommy’s words still hung heavy in the air, thick as smoke, curling in the space between you.

But you wouldn’t let them settle. Because he was wrong.

You let out a slow breath against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall beneath your cheek, the familiar warmth of him. Then, with purpose, you pushed yourself up, sitting back on your heels, straddling his lap. Your hands pressed against his bare skin, grounding you both as you looked down at him—really looked at him.

“Listen to me.” Your voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. His eyes flicked up, wary but locked onto yours. “If this works—if we have this baby—that’s ours, Tommy. Yours and mine.” You shook your head, fingers tightening slightly where they rested against him. “Not Joel’s. Ours.”

His jaw tensed, something flickering behind his eyes. You didn’t let him look away.

“I love you,” you continued, voice unwavering. “I chose you. I choose you.” You swallowed, feeling the weight of every word. “Yeah, it’s gonna be weird at first, but this—this is about us, not him.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers twitching against your thighs. “I just…” He hesitated, looking up at you, searching. “I don’t wanna lose you.”

“You’re not,” you said instantly. “You won’t.”

His hands slid up, gripping your hips now, solid and warm, like he needed to feel you, to believe you. His brow furrowed, lips parting slightly, and for a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, slowly, his grip tightened.

You felt the shift in him before you saw it. The way his body responded to yours, the way his fingers curled into your skin, grounding himself in you.

His eyes darkened just slightly, flickering down to your lips before dragging back up, searching your face.

You leaned in first.

The kiss wasn’t gentle—it was deep, tender, his breath hot against your mouth as he surged up, pulling you down, swallowing the last remnants of doubt between you. His hands traveled, skimming up your back, one sliding into your hair, the other gripping your waist like he needed to feel every inch of you, needed to remember.

A soft sound slipped from your throat as you shifted against him, the hard press of his body undeniable beneath you. The heat between you burned away the uncertainty, leaving only this.

His tongue slid against yours, slow and deliberate, as if reclaiming you, as if reminding you—you were his.

His grip tightened. Then, with a rumbling deep in his chest, he flipped you onto your back.

And for a second—just a split second—your mind flickered back to the last time someone had pinned you down like this.

You shoved the thought away, sealing yourself in this moment. In him.

Because you had made your choice.

Hadn’t you?

The tile shop smelled of fresh-cut stone, sawdust clinging faintly to the air beneath the sharp scent of industrial cleaner as you browsed the samples.

Joel walked beside you, giving you advice on the best materials for the bathroom remodel. He fit in here, comfortable among the stacks of flooring samples, the thick catalogs of material swatches, the talk of grout and durability.

When you reached the section of colorful tiles to pick from, he grabbed a copy of Home Building magazine from a nearby shelf in his hands, flipping through it absently as he leaned a hip against the counter of the showroom.

“So, you gonna tell me why Tommy was bitin’ my head off yesterday on a job?” His voice was rough but casual, like he wasn’t too concerned.

You blinked, stalling mid-step by the tile wall. “Huh?”

Joel looked up at you, gaze darkening like he thought you were playing dumb. “Was layin’ into me about every little thing. Usually, I can take one or two from ‘im—ya know, messin’ around, shootin’ the shit.” He flipped another page, shaking his head. “But this was different. Something got under his skin.” Then, content, he shut the catalog, setting it down on the counter and tilting his head.

Your stomach twisted. You dropped your gaze, fingers grazing over the veins in a slab of white marble, tracing the golden and brown threads weaving through the cool surface. The crisp, clean lines blurred as your thoughts ran too fast, searching for a way to frame this—if there even was one.

Joel called your name, and you hesitated before looking at him, only to drop your gaze just as fast, settling on his boots instead of his face.

“What’s goin’ on?” His voice came softer this time, a low murmur. He stepped toward you, his presence shifting the air around you, pulling tighter.

“I, uh…” Your lips pressed into a thin line. The words felt jagged in your throat, difficult to shape. “I may have screwed up.”

Joel’s brows pulled together. “Oh?”

“The other night, Tommy and I…we were…” You flicked your eyes to his, then around to check your surroundings before lowering your voice. “Ya know.”

Joel gave a slow nod, urging you to continue.

“And at one point… I was just trying to get myself there, ya know, I was close but couldn’t quite manage to…” You sucked in a deep breath, your skin prickling with heat. “I said your name.”

His frown deepened, forehead creasing, but he didn’t say anything—didn’t seem to fully understand yet.

You swallowed, heart drumming hard. “I said your name, Joel. Instead of his. Instead of my husband’s.”

Realization crawled over his face, slow, dawning. A flush crept along the tips of his ears, darkening the already pink hue to his skin.

“Oh, shit.”

“Oh shit is right,” you muttered, turning back to the tiles, though the intricate veins of marble couldn’t hold your focus.

Joel exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “This has gone too far,” he mumbled. “We can’t keep… this is too messy.”

You nodded, though it barely felt like agreement when there was a lump growing in your throat, thick and suffocating.

“Yeah,” you whispered.

The air outside was crisp, the sun starting to dip just enough to soften the light when you finished up with the tiles. You adjusted the weight of samples in your arms, stepping toward Joel’s truck.

Joel walked beside you, quiet. He’d been quiet ever since you left the showroom, brooding and only giving answers when needed, only talking to the salesman about the projects he was working on.

You grabbed the handle of the passenger door to open it—

But before you could, his hand shot out, slamming it shut again.

You startled, jerking slightly as his palm flattened firm against the metal. The space between you shrank, the air suddenly heavier as you turned to face him.

Your pulse skipped. “Joel?”

He didn’t look at you right away. Just kept his hand there, his jaw tight, something unreadable pulling at the corners of his mouth.

Then, after a moment, he swallowed, inhaled deep through his nose, and said, “I’m only gonna say this once.”

Your stomach tightened.

Joel turned his head just slightly, gaze flicking to you beneath furrowed brows. His voice was low, measured, but careful. So careful. It didn’t match the weight of his words.

“And then never again,” he murmured. “You hear me?”

You nodded, barely breathing anymore.

Joel inhaled again, like he was bracing himself. Then, finally, “My head’s all messed up over this,” he admitted, voice low, gravel-rough. “I ain’t been right since the first time. Since you.”

Your stomach clenched. Joel exhaled sharply, dragging a hand over his mouth, shaking his head slightly like he couldn’t believe he was about to say this. “Tried to put it away, pretend it don’t mean anythin’. Tried to tell myself it’s just sex, just a favor, just somethin’ to get you and Tommy what you want—”

He huffed a short, bitter laugh, gaze flicking away for a second before finding yours again.

“But it ain’t just that. Not for me.”

Heat bloomed beneath your skin, thick and suffocating.

Joel’s fingers flexed against the truck door. His jaw tensed. “I ain’t been with anyone else since this started.” He let the words settle, let them sink in. “Haven’t even wanted to.”

Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

He shook his head again, his voice getting rougher, rawer, the truth scraping its way out of him. “And now I can’t stop thinkin’ about you. Can’t stop wonderin’ how you’re gonna sound, how you’re gonna feel every time I close my damn eyes. Can’t stop picturin’ you in my bed.” His breath shuddered. “I can’t even fuckin’ touch myself without seein’ you.”

You felt something tighten low in your stomach, sharp and unbearable.

His voice dipped, low and ragged. “And I—” He stopped himself, swallowing thickly before murmuring, almost like a confession, “I like it too much to want to stop. But we have to.”

Your chest rose and fell faster, your pulse hammering as your fingers twitched toward him. The storm of feelings in your head was screaming at you to stop reaching out to touch him. You couldn’t help it. Your body moved, closed in, your eyes dragging over his face before landing on his lips.

How could you feel like this?

How could you want two men at once? How could you look Tommy in the eyes, tell him you loved him, tell him you chose him, and then stand here now—your body tilting toward Joel like you didn’t have a choice in the matter? But the truth was, you had never chosen this. You had never asked for this. It had crept up on you in stolen moments, in the space between duty and desire, in the unspoken, in the way Joel knew you without even trying.

He was so close. So warm.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? You had always loved Tommy differently. Steady, safe, the warmth of something real and tangible, the kind of love that built a future. But Joel? Joel was something else entirely. He was unshakable—a presence that settled deep in your bones, that lived in the quiet parts of you, the places you had never let anyone else see. He was the ache in your stomach when his voice dropped too low, the heat in your chest when he looked at you just a second too long, the part of you that had been unraveling since the first night his hands had been on you.

The lines between them were blurred now, bleeding into one another, and you were standing in the middle of it, grasping at both of them, unsure which one would steady you first.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. He inhaled sharply, his chest rising beneath your palm, the warmth of him soaking into your skin like he belonged there.

And then, just as you began closing the distance between you, Joel pulled away.

His hand shot up, covering yours, pressing it firmly against his chest for just a second before peeling it away.

His head shook once. “No,” he said, rough. “We can’t.”

Your stomach dropped. His gaze met yours, full of something aching and raw, but his next words were firm.

“I won’t do that to Tommy. We said we wouldn’t let it get messy.”

Your throat bobbed, “Joel…”

He shook his head again, jaw tight as he released you, stepping back like he had to. Like if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to. A humorless huff of breath left his mouth before he said, “Already broke two rules, didn’t we?”

And when you didn’t reply, he shook his head and opened your door, “Get in the truck.”

The drive back was quiet.

Not the easy kind, not the peaceful kind—it was the kind that sat heavy between you, thick and charged, the kind where every breath felt too loud, where neither of you dared to fill the silence because what the hell was there even left to say?

Joel kept his hands on the wheel, his fingers flexing against the worn leather grip, his gaze fixed on the road like if he looked at you for even a second too long, he might crack.

You kept your hands in your lap, fidgeting and trying to ignore the way your skin still burned where he had touched you—where he had stopped touching you.

The truck rumbled as he pulled up in front of your house, tires crunching over gravel. He shifted into park but didn’t kill the engine. Didn’t move.

You turned to him, clearing your throat, “Next week, for your birthday–”

Joel’s knuckles flexed against the steering wheel, “What about it–”

“Tommy and I want to have you over,” you said simply. “I’m cookin’ steaks. There’ll be cake and the whole nine.”

His head turned slightly, brow furrowing. “What? Why?”

“I want—” You stopped yourself, pulse skipping before you corrected, “We want to. It’s just dinner, Joel. If not for me, for him. For Sarah. Just a regular family dinner.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “You remember what happened the last time you hosted one of them?”

His lips twitched at the corners, and for the first time since the tile shop, the tension cracked, just a little.

Your shoulders sagged slightly in relief, and for a second, things felt normal again. But then his gaze found yours. And just like that, the moment was gone.

For a second, you thought he might refuse. That he’d tell you it was a bad idea, that it was too much, that after everything that had happened, sitting at the same dinner table with you would be the last thing he wanted.

But he didn’t. Instead, he let out a slow breath, eyes flicking away like he was trying to find an argument and coming up empty.

Finally, he gave a small nod. “Alright.”

Your chest loosened. “Good. Be here at six.”

You reached for the handle, pushing the door open, stepping out into the cool evening air. The truck door creaked as you turned back, gripping the edge of it for just a second longer than necessary.

Joel wasn’t watching you, just staring forward at your house, the glow of golden hour drenching everything in a deep orange.

“And Joel?”

His eyes turned to see you, like he had just pulled himself from a deep thought, “...Hm?”

Your lips parted, and you took a slow breath, steadying yourself, forcing your tone to be calm, deliberate, heavier than anything else you could’ve said.

“Fuck those rules.”

You slammed the door shut before he could say another word.

The dinner went fine.

Really, it did.

Sure, there was tension, but it stayed beneath the surface, stitched up neatly between polite smiles and easy conversation. You played your part well—a good wife, a good sister-in-law, a good aunt to Sarah.

She didn’t need to know how messy things had gotten, how tangled things had become between the most important people in her life. She laughed when you teased her about school, rolled her eyes at her dad’s bad jokes, and beamed when Tommy ruffled her hair like he always did. Normal.

Joel did the same. Sat across from you at the dinner table, calm, collected, focused on his plate like the steak needed his full attention. He spoke when he had to, laughed when it was natural, let Tommy rib him about finally letting himself be celebrated for once. If anyone had been watching closely, they’d say he was fine.

But you caught him looking.

You weren’t sure if it was just a ‘he glanced at you at the same time you glanced at him’ kind of thing, awkward and just coincidence. But it happened too often for that. His eyes dragged over your face for a second too long when you passed him a dish. His fingers would flex around his beer bottle when Sarah chatted to you about soccer. He sat back in his chair at one point, fingers tapping idly against his thigh, gaze slipping to your mouth before he forced himself to look away.

And then later, when you were singing him an off-key rendition of Happy Birthday—Sarah belting, Tommy grinning, and Joel blushing crimson with a hand over his face—you saw the way the candlelight flickered in his eyes.

“Make a wish!” Sarah exclaimed as the song died down.

Joel leaned forward, jaw tight, hands moving to brace against the edge of the table. The room quieted, waiting. And just as he was about to blow them out… He looked at you.

It was quick, a flick of his eyes, a second too long, a beat too heavy. But it was enough. Enough to make your breath hitch, enough to send something sharp and aching down your spine.

Like whatever was running through his head had everything to do with you and nothing to do with wishing for more wishes.

Then the candles went out.

Cheers from Tommy and Sarah filled the room, shattering the moment, breaking the thread stretched too tight. You quickly joined the raucous applauding and Joel sat back, shaking his head when Sarah asked What’d you wish for, Dad?

He didn’t answer.

And you didn’t need him to.

Dinner went fine.

You had been halfway through folding laundry when a knock came at the door a few days later. It was sharp, impatient–a knock that made your stomach tighten before you even reached it.

And as you opened the door, you couldn’t help the surprise on your face when you saw him.

His dark hair was mussed, a mess of waves from a long day’s work, damp strands clinging to his temples. His shirt was stained and sweat-damp at the collar, fabric sticking to the broad stretch of his chest, fresh smudges of dirt and grease painting his skin like he hadn’t even stopped to clean up.

His breath was uneven, shallow, like he had rushed here, like he had spent the whole damn day working through something only to find himself on your doorstep.

“Joel?” you began, looking around for your husband’s truck, “Where’s Tommy?”

“Sent him to talk to the concrete guys.” His voice was rough, like he wasn’t sure he should be here—but he came anyway.

Silence stretched between you, thick and humming. He hadn’t stepped inside, and you didn’t make a move either.

Finally, he took a deep breath, “Did you mean it?”

You blinked at him, confused.

“When you said fuck the rules.”

Your stomach flipped into your chest, your heart beginning to thunder in your throat. His eyes stayed on you, dark and searching, waiting, almost pleading.

“Yes,” you finally said, voice cracking.

He lunged.

His hands found your face, fingers cupping your jaw with such tenderness that contrasted his need, tilting your head up as his lips crashed into yours—hot, feverish, desperate. You gasped against his mouth, and he swallowed it down, kissing you like he had been starving for it, like he had spent days, hell, months holding himself back only to break now, to let it consume him whole.

You molded together like this wasn’t the first time but the thousandth, like your lips had already memorized the shape of one another, though the heat and the desperate way you clung to him told a different story. Your hands twisted in the worn cotton of his shirt, pulling, yanking, tearing it over his head, arms snaking around his neck as he pushed you back. You only heard the click of the lock as he slammed the door shut behind him.

Your spine hit the wall with a dull thud, and he barely paused. He only stopped to pull your shirt over your head, discarding it like it was nothing before pressing his body flush to yours.

You felt everything–the heat of his skin. The rough scrape of his jeans. The hard, thick press of him between your legs. But it wasn’t just that, it wasn’t just the way he fit against you, the way he felt. It was how hungry he was.

How he touched you like he was mapping you out by memory, hands skimming over your ribs, splaying over your waist before dipping lower, gripping your ass, squeezing hard enough to make you gasp. He hoisted you up like it was nothing, like you belonged there.

Your legs locked around his hips, his hands gripping tight beneath you, holding you up, holding you still, pressing you harder into the unyielding wall behind you.

“I’ve wanted to kiss these perfect, sweet lips for so goddamn long,” he breathed, his voice low, wrecked, nearly shaking.

A sound caught in your throat—half gasp, half moan—as Joel kissed you again, deeper, rougher, claiming every inch of your mouth like he wasn’t ever going to stop.

His body was unrelenting, his grip unyielding, his hands moving—always moving, like he couldn’t touch enough of you at once. One held tight to your thigh, pulling you tighter against him, the other sliding up your spine, fingers curling into your hair, tugging just enough to make your head tip back, exposing more of your throat to him.

And he took it. Mouth dragging lower, teeth grazing, lips parting, sucking, tasting.

Your hands were everywhere—gripping his shoulders, clawing at his back, desperate, needy, as he ground into you, hips pressing tight between your thighs, and suddenly there was no air left between you at all.

There was only heat, hands, breath, and want.

And Joel. Only Joel.

His grip tightened, fingers flexing where they held you, keeping you locked against him, and then he was moving—pulling you with him, dragging you away from the wall like he couldn’t bear to stop touching you for even a second.

Your hands twisted into his hair, keeping him close, lips still fused as he carried you across the room, each step heavy, deliberate, every inch of you pressed against him.

Then, suddenly, your back hit the couch.

The cushions dipped beneath you as Joel settled you down, kneeling between your legs, breath coming short, hands already at your waistband, already pulling, already seeking more.

Your eyes flicked open just as his fingers curled into the denim, but you stopped him.

Your hands covered his, stilling him, and for the first time tonight, Joel froze. His chest rose and fell sharply, his knuckles flexing beneath your touch, his eyes flicking up to yours.

“Let me take care of you tonight,” you whispered.

He didn’t move, you weren’t even sure if he was breathing. He only watched you, pupils blown wide, his jaw tight, like he was caught between disbelief and surrender.

You pushed up, slowly, deliberately, until you were eye level with him, until your mouth was brushing against his again, tongues sliding, teeth nipping, pulling another wrecked sound from deep in his throat. You moaned into him, hands dragging over the planes of his chest before pushing him back, turning him toward the couch.

You stood before him, slow and measured, fingers hooking into your waistband.

Joel’s throat bobbed, his eyes dragging down your bare chest, lower, blazing as they followed your hands, as they lingered where your fingers began pushing your pants down. His breath came rough, unsteady.

"Go on, baby," he rasped, voice wrecked, thick fingers gripping the couch. "Take ‘em off. Show me what’s mine."

You smiled coyly, dragging your shorts down agonizingly slow, and once they were discarded, Joel immediately sat up, hands grabbing for you, fingers spreading wide over your thighs like he couldn’t bear to not touch you another second.

One hand traveled up, dragging from the inside of your knee to the damp heat between your legs, where the lace of your panties was practically soaked through already.

His fingers curled, a low, rough chuckle slipping from his throat as his thumb pressed into your panty clad center, just slightly, just enough to make your breath catch.

"These are cute," he murmured, teasing, and then leaned forward, his mouth finding your hip bone, lips dragging over soft skin, kissing and teasing. His fingers stayed firm, still gripping your thigh as his teeth scraped over the soft flesh of your stomach. His lips traveled lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses into the fabric as it sat just over your thigh, catching the delicate lace between his teeth.

And then he bit down. And ripped them straight off.

"Joel!!" you screeched, your body lurching forward, grabbing at his shoulders, breath knocking out of you at the sheer force of him.

He hummed, satisfied, palming your ass, still gripping you like he wasn’t finished yet.

"Think I’ll keep ‘em," he mused, voice deep, smug, his free hand stuffing the ruined lace into his back pocket.

Your breath heaved out of you, body buzzing as you giggled, shaking your head and climbing on top of his lap, “You are so bad,”

Joel just grinned, hands firm on your cheeks, guiding you, pulling you closer as you sat down on his lap.

The rough grit of denim met your bare center, and the friction sent a sharp pulse of heat through your core. You shivered, sensitive, every nerve ending alight as you rolled your hips down onto him. Joel sucked in a breath, his fingers flexing where they gripped your thighs, but he didn’t push you down, didn’t move to take over, even though you could feel how badly he wanted to. He was holding back, letting you have this moment, letting you grind against the thick press of him as slick coated the seam of his jeans, your body aching for more.

"Help me get these off?" he muttered, voice low, thick, barely in control. His hands stayed on your thighs as you reached down, fingers fumbling with his belt, the clatter of the buckle mixing with your heavy breathing.

With shaking fingers, you dragged the zipper down, the sound barely louder than the ragged breaths filling the room. He lifted his hips, only releasing you to shove his jeans down to his knees, hissing through his teeth as his cock sprang free, thick and hot, the head already glistening.

The breath of relief he let out was cut short as your fingers wrapped around him, slow, deliberate, dragging along his length just to watch his face twist in pleasure. His whole body tensed beneath you, jaw clenched tight, chest rising and falling with deep, measured breaths as he let you stroke him, let you feel every hard inch of him. His cock twitched in your grip, heat pooling between your thighs at the sheer size of him, the way he pulsed in your hand, the way his fingers dug into your skin, like he was fighting to keep himself from flipping you over and slamming you into the couch right then and there.

"Next time," you whispered, leaning in until your lips brushed his ear, voice dripping with promise, "you're at least gonna let me suck your cock. Deal?"

A sound ripped from his throat, half-growl, half-moan, and his hand shot up, tangling in your hair, gripping hard as he crushed his mouth to yours, kissing you deep, all tongue and teeth and hunger. His free hand slid down your back, rough fingertips dragging over heated skin before gripping your ass, kneading, pulling you against him, pressing you flush to the heat of him.

"Next time," he muttered, voice thick, heavy, wrecked, "but if you don’t sit on my cock right now, I swear to God, I will flip you over and—"

You cut him off with a smirk, lifting yourself up just enough to run him through your soaked folds, teasing, coating him in you. His breath hitched, sharp, his grip tightening against your hips, his whole body going rigid beneath you.

"You’ll what now?" you teased, notching the head of his cock at your entrance.

The thickness of him was always overwhelming. No matter how many times you had taken him, no matter how much he stretched you, there was always that moment when your body had to adjust, had to accommodate the sheer size of him. You moaned as you sank down slowly, taking your time, feeling the slow, delicious stretch as he filled you inch by inch.

Joel's head fell back against the couch, brows furrowed, his lips parting around a broken groan as he let you take him, let you work yourself down onto him at your own pace. His fingers flexed against your waist, gripping tight, sure to leave bruises, but he didn’t force you down, didn’t rush, just let you feel it, let you savor the way he filled you completely.

"Goddamn," he gritted out, voice strained, body trembling with restraint, "takin’ me so well, baby. Fuck, just like that."

You whimpered, nails dragging across his shoulders, needing something to hold onto as your body stretched around him. He felt impossibly deep, hitting that spot inside you that only he knew, that made your whole body tense, made your breath catch, made your mind blank as you sank down, down, down, until your ass pressed into his thighs.

Joel let you have a moment to adjust, chest heaving, his hands dragging up your sides, fingertips trailing over the swell of your breasts before sliding back down to grip your hips, strong, steady, grounding. And then, just when you thought you could start moving, he gripped you tighter and thrust up into you, sharp and deep.

Your gasp broke into a moan, your head tilting back as the sensation sent heat flooding through your core. His grip tightened, his pace rough and demanding as he fucked up into you, his hips meeting yours in quick, brutal strokes, forcing you to take every inch of him.

"That what you needed?" he grunted, his voice a low growl, his hands guiding you now, forcing you to ride him, making you take it.

Your whole body was burning, desperate, aching as you rocked against him, every stroke pushing you closer and closer to the edge. His teeth dragged along your throat, lips and tongue soothing the marks he left behind, hands sliding up to cup your breasts, thumbs flicking over your nipples as he groaned into your skin.

"Love watchin’ you like this," he murmured, voice wrecked, his breath hot against your neck, "been dreamin’ of this–you bouncin’ on my cock, lettin’ me ruin you. Such a good girl for me, huh?"

“Yes, Joel, yes–”

You clenched around him, your body tightening in response, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in your stomach.

"Fuck, baby, you gonna come for me? Already?”

No. Not yet. Not yet, because this moment was too much, too big, and you wanted to feel every second of it. But he needed to know. He needed to.

He slowed down so his thumb could press against your clit, slow, teasing, deliberate, and your whole body jerked, oversensitive, and barely holding on.

“Joel,” you whispered.

"Yeah?" His voice was a low rasp, breathless, wrecked as his half hooded eyes gazed up at you.

Your hands slid up to his neck, playing with the nape of his hair as you tried to find the words.

"I—" you swallowed hard, heart hammering as you tried to catch your breath. "I took a test this morning."

Joel stilled. The gentle teasing of his thumb stopped. His hips halted.

Everything stopped.

He blinked up at you, lips slightly parted, completely still beneath you. "What?"

“I’m pregnant,” you said, biting your lip as you gauged his reaction.

His hands spread wide across your waist, fingers pressing tight, thumbs tracing slow, reverent circles. Then, lowering, splaying over your stomach.

"Carryin’ my baby in there, huh?"

Your heart skipped.

"Joel…"

But suddenly, you weren’t in control anymore. You’re not sure you ever were to begin with.

His arms wrapped around your waist, locking you in, holding you so tight against his chest that there was nowhere to go, no space between you at all. His muscles flexed, his grip firm, and then he drove up into you, his cock punching so deep you felt the thick, unrelenting stretch of him in your stomach.

You gasped, body jerking against him, the sudden force of it making your breath catch as pleasure cracked through you like a whip.

"Fuck," he groaned, the sound raw, guttural, his head tipping back for a split second before he resumed his hungry kisses to your flesh.

He thrust up hard, sharp, thick heat dragging along your walls, stretching you open, making you take every inch. The press of him was almost unbearable, every push hitting that spot inside you that made your whole body tremble and your moans break apart into sharp, breathless whimpers.

"You’re carrying my baby." he groaned into your skin.

"Joel!" you screeched, head tilting back, body arching, your nails digging into his shoulders as his mouth found your throat, biting, sucking, marking. His cock dragged through your slick, gliding easy but so thick, so deep, pressing right up against that sweet spot over and over again.

But still—you hadn’t said it.

And Joel knew it.

He slowed, hips dragging deep, deliberate, making you feel all of him, every thick inch stretching you open.

"You can say whatever you want," he murmured, voice low, rough, thick with something dark and heavy. His hands slid up your back, pulled you closer, his lips brushing over your ear.

"But who's been fillin’ you up every month, huh?"

He rolled his hips up slow, so deep, and you whimpered, clenching down around him.

"Who’s been fuckin’ you until you see stars? Who’s made you come on his cock over and over again, baby?"

His voice turned gravelly, filthy, absolute sin.

"Sure as hell ain’t my baby brother."

Your whole body trembled, on edge, breaking apart, so close to coming, but he wouldn’t give you what you needed.

"Say it," Joel demanded, his grip tightening around you,

Your lips parted, a whimper slipping out, but nothing came.

He growled, snapping his hips hard, making you cry out.

"Say whose baby this is."

You were right there, right on the edge, pleasure coiled so tight you could barely breathe.

"Say it, and I’ll let you come on my cock again."

Your whole body shook, thighs trembling, head tilting back as the words finally tore from your lips.

"It’s yours, Joel," you gasped, the words breaking, desperate, ruined. "It’s yours—fuck—"

His breath hitched, sharp, ragged, completely wrecked.

"That’s right."

He pulled you against him just right so you were grinding into him, your clit catching on the patch of curly dark hair at the base of his cock where your hips met. The moan that left your throat was downright obscene as you felt the pleasure shock through you.

His hands moved to grip your hips so tight it was bruising, his mouth crushing against yours, teeth dragging over your bottom lip, his pace wild, desperate, unstoppable as he dragged you against him again and again.

"You’re mine," he groaned, voice breaking, fucking into you with everything he had, filling you over and over, relentless. "My baby. My girl. My fuckin’ perfect girl, carryin’ my baby."

"Joel!" you screamed, your whole body locking up, pleasure ripping through you like fire, waves of heat curling, crashing, drowning you.

"That’s it," he rasped, feeling you tighten around him, feeling you break for him as your clit kept rubbing perfectly against his pelvis, sending shockwaves through you as he held you through your climax. "That’s it, my good girl, gonna fill you up again, baby, gonna take it? Gonna take my come again?"

“Yes, Joel, yes, yes, yes,” you blubbered, clinging to him.

And then, with a rough, broken groan, Joel buried himself deep, pressing flush, full, spilling inside you, filling you completely.

Your whole body continued to tremble as you both caught your breath. Your thighs were shaking, limbs weak and boneless as you sprawled over him, completely spent, completely ruined. Your heartbeat was thunderous, hammering in your ears, every nerve ending still shivering from the aftershocks.

His hands were still gripping your hips, tight, possessive, unmoving, holding you flush to him, keeping you there with him. His head was tipped back against the couch, chest rising and falling fast, lips parted as he caught his breath, his skin hot and damp beneath your palms.

Slowly, reality began creeping back in.

Your fingers traced mindlessly over his broad shoulders, the damp curls at the nape of his neck, still coming down, still floating in the hazy, fucked-out warmth of it all.

Joel’s grip softened, his hands sliding up your back, slow, lazy strokes over sweat-slick skin. His breath was still uneven when he finally muttered, voice wrecked and hoarse, “Christ…made me lose my damn mind there for a minute.”

You huffed a quiet laugh against his shoulder, still not ready to move, still too high from everything. But you lifted yourself up just slightly so your forehead pressed to his, nudging your nose against his, his lips grazing, teasing, kissing you slow and deep.

And then you looked up as movement caught the corner of your eye.

And froze.

Everything in you turned to ice.

Because standing in the doorway, staring at the two of you, was Tommy.

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