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dreamauri · 4 months ago

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Sub Oscar but he needs a break from aus and he relaxes by getting so many orgasms??? He deserves it tbh

♪ — 𝗥𝗘𝗖𝗢𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗬 𝗠𝗢𝗗𝗘 sub!oscar piastri x girlfriend!reader ( smut ) fic summary . . . after a tough home race, oscar piastre needs your help to get his mind of his race results (1.4k words)

( my master list | more of oscar piastri ) ( requests )

CONTENT WARNING — ( +18 MDNI, smut with a little plot, blow job (m receiving), overstim, sad oscar)

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Oscar slumped into the plush couch of his driver’s room, his body heavy with the weight of disappointment. His face was still flushed from the race, and though the adrenaline had faded, the frustration lingered. He had started P2, full of hope, only to finish P9—far below where he felt he should have been. The spin, the lost positions to a Sauber, Stroll, Leclerc . . . It all weighed on him.

The door clicked softly behind you, and he didn’t need to look up to know it was you. The gentle sound of your footsteps on the floor told him you were coming over to him. You didn’t need to speak; you never did when it was like this. Oscar rested his head on your shoulder as you sat next to him, his arms naturally finding their way around you.

“I fucked up,” he muttered, his voice tinged with frustration. You wrapped you arms around him in return, stroking your fingers through his weat damp hair.

You let him vent, listening to every word, his self-blame unraveling in the form of a disjointed rant.

"I had it. I fucking had it," Oscar muttered, his voice tight with frustration. "P2. I started P2, Yn." He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head against your shoulder. "And then I just—what? I lose it like a fucking rookie? One mistake, and suddenly I’m in ninth, watching a Sauber fly past me like I don’t belong here."

His grip on you tightened, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt. You just held him closer, rubbing his back in slow, steady circles.

"You do belong here, Os."

"Then why does it feel like I don’t?" He exhaled sharply, shifting slightly. "Lando's on the podium, Max is Max, and I’m here, talking about how I got overtaken by Stroll like an idiot." His voice cracked slightly on the last word, the frustration melting into something more fragile. "I should’ve fought harder. I should’ve defended better. But I panicked, and I—I let it slip away."

You cupped the back of his head, running your fingers through his hair, grounding him. "It wasn’t just you, Oscar. Strategy wasn’t perfect. Tires were shit. It’s not all on you."

"It feels like it is." His breath stuttered, his shoulders rising and falling unevenly. "I hate this. I hate feeling like I disappointed everyone. The team, the fans—myself."

"You didn’t disappoint me." Your voice was soft but firm, and he finally looked up, eyes searching yours, flickering with something vulnerable.

Oscar exhaled shakily, the tension still thick in the air. He leaned his forehead against yours for a brief moment before looking at you, his brown eyes wide, a mix of vulnerability and yearning behind them.

"I just . . . I want to forget today," he whispered the last part like a confession, barely audible over the sound of his own ragged breathing.

You blinked, the request catching you off guard. Your hands, which had been rubbing soothing circles into his back, stilled.

"Now?" you asked softly, searching his face.

He nodded, a little shy but resolute.

You hesitated. "Oscar . . ." Your fingers grazed his jaw as you tried to find the right words. "I don’t want you to just bury this. You had a bad race, but avoiding it like this—it won’t make it go away."

His lips parted slightly, a flicker of something unreadable flashing in his eyes. "I know that," he said, voice strained. "I know tomorrow I’ll still be thinking about it, I know I’ll go over every mistake a hundred times in my head—but right now, I just need—" He swallowed, voice dropping to something barely above a whisper. "You."

Your heart clenched at the way he said it, so raw, so desperate. Then he gave you this look—this quiet, pained, pleading look, like if you said no, the weight of today might just crush him entirely.

And just like that, your resistance melted.

You sighed softly, fingers tracing the curve of his cheek before pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his lips—a question, an invitation, and an answer all at once.

When you pulled back, his eyes searched yours, still uncertain, still a little lost.

You gave him a small, knowing smile, your voice gentle but firm. "Okay, Os. Let me take care of you."

He nodded shyly, not saying anything more, but you could feel the weight behind his request. Without saying anything else, you pressed a kiss to his lips—a gentle, lingering kiss that was both a question and an invitation. When you pulled back, you gave him a small, smile, and you could see the uncertainty in his eyes.

Slowly, you slid down to your knees in front of him, your hands resting on his thighs as you looked up at him, making sure he was comfortable with what was happening. Oscar’s breath caught in his throat, his hands shaking a little as he helped you unbuckle his race suit. You took your time, pulling it down carefully, ensuring he felt at ease with the situation.

When his pants finally came off, you reached up to gently touch his chest, calming him further. His eyes were closed now, his breathing shallow. You leaned in, your lips brushing over his skin, your fingers tracing the edges of his muscles, comforting him in ways that words couldn’t.

Oscar was no longer tense, his body slowly unraveling beneath your touch. The tightness in his shoulders, the stiffness in his jaw—all of it began to fade as you worked him over with slow, deliberate care. You kissed your way down his body, mapping each inch of his skin with reverence, pressing your lips to the places where tension lingered, coaxing him into relaxation with every deliberate movement.

His breath hitched as your mouth found its way lower, and you could feel the slightest tremor roll through him, his body caught between pleasure and relief. His fireproofs clung to his skin, the heat of the race still lingering on him, but none of that mattered now. His muscles, once tight with frustration, melted under your attention, each kiss, each touch dissolving the weight of the race he had carried with him.

Every time you drew another shudder from him, you noticed the way his body reacted—the way his fingers twitched at his sides before curling into the couch, the way his thighs tensed beneath your palms only to relax moments later. His breath grew uneven, small gasps slipping past his lips despite his attempts to hold them back. When you reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his, he squeezed back instantly, grounding himself in your touch.

The intimacy wasn’t lost on either of you.

You kept your movements steady, pulling him back from the downward spiral of self-doubt, replacing his frustration with something else entirely. This was about more than just pleasure—it was about comfort, about giving him an escape, a moment where nothing else existed but the warmth of your touch and the way you made him feel.

Oscar’s gasps grew heavier, his body trembling beneath you, each moment unraveling the last bit of tension he had been holding onto. He wasn’t thinking about the race anymore, wasn’t thinking about the positions lost, the mistakes made—there was only this, only you. His grip on your hand tightened as he gave in completely, his body shaking with the intensity of his release, the last remnants of frustration dissolving in the aftermath.

He was panting now, chest rising and falling in quick, uneven movements, his fingers still tangled with yours. His head lolled back against the couch, eyes fluttering shut, completely undone in the best way possible. You pressed one last kiss to his thigh before pulling yourself up beside him, running your fingers through his hair.

For the first time since he stepped out of the car, Oscar looked at peace.

You stayed close, keeping him grounded in the moment, ensuring he felt cared for, wanted, and supported. After everything, it was the only thing that mattered—being there for each other when the world felt a little too heavy.

Oscar leaned back, his eyes half-lidded, a small, content smile playing on his lips. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. You smiled softly, brushing your thumb over the back of his hand.

“You deserve to be taken care of,” you replied, your words soothing his lingering frustrations.

Voice notes 🔊 . . . ( i wrote this at midnight I don't know what I'm doing, sorry if it's not well written enough )

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fandomlit · 1 month ago

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sweatshirt thief (spencer agnew x reader)

summary as the office thief, you finally find your passion—stealing people’s sweatshirts. it turns into an iconic bit that cameos in many videos, but some cast members are surprisingly waiting for their turn..

warning swearing

gif cred belongs to @menchie

you were notoriously known as the office thief. it was a bit you had unintentionally started after some games gone chaotic in which you had been known, or more likely accused, to steal cards or other game related objects to either derail the game or benefit your competitive nature.

if anyone asked (and the fans started to), you would say it was angela’s fault, truly. she was the one who had yelled, after stealing penalty cards and slipping them into her spread during moose master, that soon you’d be stealing from desks. and so you decided it was only fair. the next day, angela was in a near panic trying to find her lucky frog—a small plush you had gotten her. and when she came to you, nearly in tears, to say she had somehow lost your sweet gift, you were holding him in your lap. from there, the thief rumors really started.

from pens to coffee cups to the shoe off of amanda’s foot, you were sneaky with your takes, but most everyone knew it was you after some months of shenanigans. even the fans, once amanda and shayne had you star on smosh mouth after the infamous shoe incident. but it wasn’t until about a month ago when you found your favorite thing to steal, and the fans loved it even more than you did—sweatshirts.

it started when you “arrived late” to a werewolf shoot. courtney had already given the intro and they had bantered a bit about the game before chanse gave the awaited, “aren’t we missing someone? where’s y/n?”

“sorry guys!” you called from just out of view and you watched jaws drop and laughter start when you romped onto camera, hands on your hips. you stopped in a “casual” pose, the iconic ‘furniture’ sweatshirt on full display to all. “traffic, you know?” shayne was almost in tears on the couch, face red as you took your seat next to angela.

“where did you get that?” he squeaked out, voice pitched higher in his hysterics. “i haven’t worn that in weeks!” his words sent the cast present into even further hysterics.

you just shrugged, keeping yourself impressively stone faced amongst the laughter. “i have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“are we just.. not going to address it?” shayne said after a few more minutes of more banter and explaining the game. he was still chuckling, eyes locked on the sweatshirt you had somehow managed to get your hands on.

“shayne,” you sighed, shaking your head. “you’re married, stop looking at my outfit.” courtney and angela gripped onto each other’s arms to steady themselves from their laughter as chanse gasped dramatically. and thus, the sweatshirt stealing began.

next was tommy, who was more in love with how you pulled it off than confused. then there was angela, who stared at her iconic arizona tea sweatshirt in shock for half of the video. your favorite for a while was amanda’s reaction, who at first was obliviously giddy that you had found the same striped pullover as her until you finally cracked and started laughing. you had even managed to get your hands on anthony’s ‘on the verge’ sweatshirt one of his rare days on set, which he found absolutely hysterical after being informed of your sticky fingers.

some of the cast watched as you and anthony laughed and talked, you still proudly donning his sweatshirt.

“who do you think’s her next victim?” angela asked.

“i don’t know,” tommy hummed, tilting his head. “maybe courtney? she told me she’s been waiting for a chance to get ian, but he doesn’t really wear sweatshirts.”

“you know who does wear sweatshirts all the time?” they shared a knowing look.

and to be honest, spencer was waiting his turn.

you and him had been good friends for a while, getting lunch together once a week and spending downtime in the office brainstorming and joking with each other. he was trying to be cool, downplaying his feelings for the sake of a comfortable workspace in the scenario that you didn’t reciprocate, but his connection to you was undeniable.

you were beautiful, hilarious, confident, and your personality radiated in everything you did. not to mention you two had amazing chemistry both on and off camera—your infamous stone face was hard to break, but spencer was one of the few who could catch you off guard regularly, a fact that the fans loved to point out. but even without the fans to point it out, your banter and teases at each other were natural and fun, and spencer cherished that connection.

so he was waiting for a sweatshirt to go miraculously missing, so he could have that moment of teasing you on camera for wanting his sweatshirt, but also for the selfish fact that he just wanted to see you in his clothes.

he was a little worried that he was being too obvious about it and that’s why you weren’t taking the bait. he had started hanging his sweatshirt on the back of his chair wherever he was while also starting to tease you about your sweatshirt stealing habits.

“you just want to be next, don’t you?” you had teased back one morning, raising your mug to your smug lips. spencer’s heart immediately sped up. he knew you were joking, but the thought of you immediately clocking him had his cheeks heating up.

spencer decided playing along was his best bet—denial would only make him look as desperate as he felt. he leaned against the counter, offering you a charming smirk. “i just know you won’t be able to stay away for much longer.” you let out a laugh, and his smirk grew into a smile. “if you think i’m irresistible, just imagine how comfortable my sweatshirt will be.”

you laughed again, shaking your head as you moved past spencer to return to your desk, “we'll see where the day takes me.” you turned and winked at him as he watched you. his heart could have exploded as you giggled. “see you later, spence.”

he felt like he had been emotionally blue balled when you pulled up to the next smosh pit video "late" and rocking one of damien's hoodies.

"sorry i'm late! traffic, y'know?"

then it was courtney, and then arasha. after two months of the bit, he was ready to beg. the joking flirting between the two of you, plus the genuine connection you had when hanging out was starting to haunt spencer. it was beginning to feel like everything was going so well, and yet there was a piece missing. as if the sweatshirt stealing would be the great crux to this growing tension and incessant pining.

of course, it happened when spencer least expected it.

it was a crazy week in the smosh office, with fitting a lot of shooting in to accommodate busy schedules in the weeks after. there was a lot going on on the games side and spencer quickly found himself deep in his work, nearly forgetting your sticky fingers with his efforts completely focused elsewhere. and that's where you got him.

it was the friday evening shoot--the very last thing he had to do before he got to relax for the weekend. it was a simpler edition of board af, with you, angela, shayne, tommy, and spencer. he didn't even think twice about you being late when tommy started the intro.

"but wait," tommy chuckled, "aren't we missing someone?" spencer's heart involuntarily sped up at the classic line that began to signal you. "where's y/n?"

"sorry i'm late!" and when you stepped into the light, it was as if all the weight in the world had been taken off of spencer's shoulders. from the long week filled with shoots, complicated scheduling, last minute brainstorm meetings and other stressors, the sight of you in his iconic legacy hoodie was the most satisfying relief he could have imagined. he didn't realize one of his hands had come up to cover his open mouth until the other cast members looked at him as they laughed. "traffic y'know?"

spencer had thought about how he'd react a thousand times, but in all of those times he had never imagined just how good you would look in his sweatshirt. still, he masked his internal freak out. he dropped his hand and shook his head. "it has been such a crazy week, i don't even know when you did that." he wasn't aware of just how big his smile was in that moment.

you bowed with a proud grin. "a magician never reveals their secrets... but you have a bad habit of leaving your sweatshirts on the backs of chairs when you take them off. it was only a matter of time."

he just laughed, internally patting himself on the back. he couldn't take his eyes off of you, even as you sat down. he shook his head as the rest of the cast still grinned knowingly at your pair. "well, you look great."

"i feel great," you sighed out contentedly. you offered him a subtle wink before sinking into the video, "so, tommy, what are we playing?"

it was a fun gaming session, with the usual chaos and yelling that usually ensued, but spencer felt a little more into it today. and maybe it was because his pulse rushed every time he looked over and saw the adorable sight of you wrapped in his iconic hoodie, but spencer felt like every joke and every move he made was right on the money.

once there was a brief lull as turns changed and you spoke, "i'm so sorry guys, could i take a bathroom break really quick? i'm really hydrated."

"go piss girl," tommy encouraged and you giggled before jogging away to the nearest restroom.

"so, spencer," angela spoke loudly. "bet you're feeling great right now." his entire body flushed--he knew exactly what she was alluding to, and the image of you entering in his hoodie with a grin flashed into his brain once again.

"actually, a little cold," he decided to sigh in response and the cast laughed out in response. he hoped that distracted them from the warmth he could feel on his cheeks.

"okay, sorry! i'm back!"

"that was quick," shayne laughed, brow furrowed. and then you came around the corner and his jaw hit the floor. spencer’s heart nearly stopped and his jaw dropped when you plopped back into your seat, wearing another one of his sweatshirts—the light green champion one he had been looking for for weeks. and, lord, if this wasn’t the best way to find it.

“i was wondering where that went!” he exclaimed, laughing amidst his shock. if no one noticed his blush before, there was no way they’d miss it now. “oh my god!”

you grinned evilly, and it was way too hot for spencer to handle amidst the chaos.

“you’re actually a klepto,” angela was saying when spencer could finally tear his gaze away from you and focus on his surroundings. you laughed out and he couldn’t think of a more beautiful sight than you doubling over in his crewneck. his mental camera was going to need new film after this.

they picked the game back up after this resuming the chaos that was slightly more amped from the hilarity of your thievery. there was another pause when alex called out, “hold on, guys.. y/n, can you come back here for a sec? it looks like you got the bad mic today.”

“of course i did,” you laughed, standing and moving behind the camera for them to correct. they all chatted on set for another second about something happening in the game before you came back in sight.

“YOU’RE ACTUALLY KIDDING!” angela demanded and you didn’t even make it to your chair before you were doubled over, face beautifully flushed in pride and hilarity at your own bit. spencer’s hands came up to cover his open mouth as he saw you donned another of his sweatshirts—the tan champion one he had literally worn yesterday.

if his face got any redder he thought all blood flow to his body would be cut off. his hands moved up to rake through his hair as he laughed out again, shaking his head. he was so giddy inside, and everyone's incessant laughter was only ramping up the hysterical situation and his adrenaline. "what the fuck!" he laughed.

"this should be a lesson to you," you spoke, pointing at him with a grin as you walked back onstage. "stop leaving your sweatshirts around! you know i'm the sweatshirt thief!"

"it's almost like spencer wanted this to happen..," shayne muttered and spencer shot him a glare, but it seemed you didn't hear him over something angela was saying.

eventually, the game picked up without any further interruptions besides the occasional jest about the situation, and it ended with spencer taking the win.

"well, it looks like the spencer is the real winner today," angela sighed. "in many ways." she looked back at you and you all laughed again before shayne took the lead on the outro.

after you all signed off, spencer's gaze moved back to you immediately. you looked back at him after a moment, still smiling in that mischievous way that had his head reeling. "i'm pretty proud of myself for this one."

"i can tell," he chuckled, horribly aware of how hot his face still felt.

"personally, i'm so impressed," shayne laughed and angela immediately agreed.

"i will say," you nodded, "spencer wins comfiest sweatshirts." the others immediately complained.

tommy hummed teasingly, "i feel that's a little unfair! you only tried one of everyone else's, but three of spencer's! he clearly got an advantage."

you giggled, "maybe i'll have to draw more samples from everyone to really tell. i'll start a dance moms style pyramid." they all laughed, talking about what you could do, but all spencer could think of is how he hoped he would be the only one who you took multiple sweatshirts from.

soon after the shoot, as he packed his things for the day, spencer's mind was still reeling. he felt like he was on cloud nine, but he wanted to keep riding it. he wanted to ask you out or tell you how pretty you were, but above all he had the deep urge to just kiss you and let that do all the talking.

you approached spencer's desk with a sheepish smile and three neatly folded sweatshirts in hand.

"ask as you shall receive, spencer," you sighed and he raised an eyebrow at you. "you were the only one who asked me when their turn was, so i made it extra special for you."

"oh," he chuckled, his heart beginning to race just as it did earlier. "well, it was very appreciated. and you looked great." it came out more sincere than he had meant it, but he was glad when he saw a flush rising to your cheeks.

"why, thank you," you smiled. there was a moment where you both just smiled at each other before you held out the small stack to him. "well, i wouldn't want to keep you from them any longer. thanks for playing the game."

he almost didn't want to take them. what he really wanted was for you to put them back on and kiss you and compliment you and spin you around. but after eyeing them for a moment, he opted to just take them. "i'll always play the game with you, y/n." yet again, it came out so much more sincere than intended.

after a beat where it looked like you may say something, you just offered him a small wave, "have a good night, spencer." and in a moment of panic where he thought this might be the best chance he has, spencer grasped your hand just as you turned from him. you turned your head back to him, looking down at your hands as you paused. you sounded a little flustered when you spoke, "was there something else?"

"um, yeah," he gulped awkwardly. he looked into your patient eyes as he tried to form some smooth talking to convince you into a date with him, but the smile you offered him only proved to scramble his brain even further. so, he resorted to what he had been thinking for most of the afternoon and tugged you close as gently as he could. he made sure there was no hint of disgust in your expression just before he took your face in his hands and kissed you with a passion he didn't think he had left in him after such a week. but you had revived that part of him from its slump the second you walked on set.

spencer could've collapsed when he felt your arms wrap around his shoulders and your lips kiss him back with the same passion, if not a little more. it was like heaven to hold you, his hands moving so one was in your hair and the other held your waist, and it was even better to feel you pour your emotions into the kiss just as much as he was. he didn't know how long you two stood there, lost in the moment, but still wished it had been longer when you pulled apart for air.

he took a moment to think properly before speaking in a surprisingly level tone, "you've done a great job at flustering me all over the place today," you let out a surprised giggle, "i thought it was only fair to pay it back somehow." you laughed again, moving the inch forward to press your foreheads together.

"i definitely think you achieved that."

he smiled, praying you couldn't hear his heartbeat despite your closeness. "and i would love to repay it further. maybe with dinner?"

you hummed and the way you looked up at him, eyes shining with feelings he couldn't wait to decipher, nearly made him melt in your arms. "dinner sounds amazing. but only if it's carry out."

"oh, for sure," he nodded, leaning away from you so he could grab his keys off of his desk. he missed the closeness instantly. "we can eat at my apartment." he leaned down and picked up the sweatshirts he had dropped when he kissed you. he grinned as he offered them back to you. "but only if you wear one of these."

you let out a laugh and grabbed his legacy hoodie, teasing, "what, my fit isn't good enough for you?"

"oh, it is. you look great in everything," he assured, wrapping an arm around your waist as you two started toward the doors. he smiled down at you. "i just think we should pay tribute to what got us here." you hummed in response. "really, we should be thanking all the sweatshirts stolen."

"no. we should be thanking angela."

#smosh x reader #youtubers x reader #smosh fanfic #youtuber fanfic #smosh games x reader #smosh games fanfic #spencer agnew #spencer agnew x reader #spencer agnew fanfic #shayne topp fanfic #courtney miller fanfic #tommy bowe fanfic #damien haas fanfic #angela giarratana fanfic #anthony padilla fanfic

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bloomseishiro · 2 months ago

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DRUNKEN CONFESSIONS — ITOSHI RIN

౨ৎ — rin doesn’t drink often, and you begin to realize maybe that’s a good thing.

itoshi rin x reader. fluff, confessions, mentions of alcohol/intoxication, best friends to lovers :3, pro soccer player!rin, rin is drunk and sappy

word count. 1.6k

Despite Itoshi Rin’s popularity, he really wasn’t one to go out much.

He thought parties and clubs were a useless waste of time that could instead be spent practicing soccer, weight training, or even resting his body for a faster recovery.

So when you were visiting him overseas and begged him to take you to a party, you were surprised that Rin actually agreed. What was even more shocking was that he drank enough alcohol to get intoxicated.

Was this really the same Rin you knew? Sure, you haven’t seen your best friend in a while, but you knew this was uncharacteristic for him.

“I cannot believe you drank this much,” you groan as he leans his weight against your body. You all but had to drag him into an Uber so you could both get home safely. “Isn’t this usually the other way around?”

“Bad week,” he mumbles, unlocking his door after inputting the wrong numbers into the keypad twice already. “Really bad.”

Rin takes off his shoes before heading over to his kitchen, his movements didn’t have the same calculated grace as normal. You frown as you follow after him, gingerly taking the glass from his hands that he was trying to fill with water, and pouring it yourself.

“Here,” you say, handing it over to him. “Why was your week so bad? You didn’t text me about it. I don’t think I got any texts from you, at least.”

He shakes his head. “I didn’t wanna talk about it. Sae… We lost to his team during last week’s game.”

Your face falls as you rush to his side. “Why didn’t you tell me? You should’ve called, Rin! And you should’ve told me last week’s game was against him. I could’ve asked for an extension on my project and flown over to be with you.”

With a heavy sigh, Rin closes his eyes and drowsily leans his cheek onto the top of your head. “No. You kept talking about how important that project was for work. Couldn’t bother you.”

“You should bother me more,” you say with a pout, struggling to stay upright with all his weight on you. “I’m your best friend. You can lean on me.”

He does and you almost slip. Rin catches himself before you topple over and shoots you a lazy smile.

Even as his close friend, a smile from Rin isn’t something you see often. To witness him drunk and so disarmed was definitely a once-in-lifetime chance.

“Thought you said I could lean on you,” he murmurs.

“Figuratively,” you retort, pinching his alcohol-flushed cheeks affectionately. “Come let’s go to the couch and talk.”

“No,” he says stubbornly. “My bed.”

You eye the spiral staircase leading up to the second floor where the master bedroom was located and sigh. “Okay.”

At least you didn’t have to worry about not working out enough today. Half-carrying Rin around was more than enough cardio and weight training for you.

Somehow, you manage to make it up the stairs and onto his bed, only dropping him twice along the way, much to your credit. You plop onto his plush sheets in satisfaction and he takes a seat next to you.

“Now, tell me what else has been bothering you,” you demand, gesturing for him to follow suit and lay down beside you.

His intoxicated state must make him compliant, since he listened without any protest. “I thought after all these years, I’d prove I’m better than him. But he still won.”

“You are better than him,” you insist. “You’re my best friend, so you’re automatically just better. And you’re the best soccer player I know!”

“Do you know many?” he says dryly.

“Well, no.”

He snorts, attempting to flick your forehead but missing and getting your temple instead.

You playfully swat his hands away and Rin lightly pushes back. As if you’re children again, the swatting transforms into a harmless push and pull and ends in a fit of play wrestling. Of course, you have the willpower of a mountain and the desire to always win, and you end up sitting on top of Rin, your legs on either side of his body to pin him down.

“I win!” you proclaim. “And I won’t get off until I hear you say, ‘I’m the best striker in the world and next time I face him, I will beat Sae’s scrawny ass!’”

He lays there in surrender, but a wild glint in his eye tells you that, if he wanted, he could flip you over with ease. Even in his drunken state.

“I’m not saying that,” he deadpans.

“Then I guess I’m never getting off.”

“That’s not the threat you think it is,” says Rin, his hand lazily resting on the back of your thigh.

You blink. Normally, you would take those words as flirting of sorts, but you knew he was drunk and likely didn’t mean anything by it, so you simply shrugged it off. It’s hard to ignore the burn of his palm on the coolness of your upper thigh, but you try to appear unaffected.

“Fine, you don’t have to say it, but just know it’s true,” you say with a sniff, discreetly sliding off him to lay down away.

Reluctantly, Rin lets go of your thighs and allows you to detach yourself from him.

“And next time,” you turn your head to the side to face him, “don’t keep these things from me! I don’t care how busy I am with work. You’re my best friend. I’ll watch your game or visit you if you ever need me.”

Rin slowly reaches his hand out to smooth over the hairs on your eyebrow, his touch so delicate it surprises you.

Did drinking always make Rin this affectionate? you wonder worriedly. Suddenly, you were glad he didn’t like to go out to parties much.

“I’m glad you came,” he says quietly, his words mixing into a lazy slur. “This week was shit but it’s better now that you’re here.”

“Good. I’ll always be here for you, Rin.”

He closes his eyes and nods. “Being with you feels like home. Doesn’t matter if we’re in Japan or overseas. Just need you here.”

Your cheeks warm at his heartfelt tone that you really aren’t used to hearing at all.

Hiding your feelings of bashfulness, you say, “You’re so drunk, aren’t you?”

Rin’s brows crease in frustration. “No. Well— Yes, but that’s not why I’m saying that.”

“Suuure,” you drawl, booping his nose gently. “It’s okay, Rinnie. I had a feeling you’d be a lovey-dovey drunk.”

“I’m not,” he scowls, a noise of irritation escaping him as he grabs your hand that kept touching his face.

You raise your brow at him questioningly. “You’re not? Then how can you explain your sappy behavior right now?”

Still frowning, Rin shifts his grip from your hand to your wrist, holding it firmly. “Because it’s you. I’d only be this cringe and stupid around you. Because for whatever reason, I like you.”

You try to wriggle your hand away to hide your face in embarrassment, but his grasp is too strong. Your eyes dart around frantically, trying to avoid his intense stare, but, damn, is it hard to look away.

Is he that drunk or did he mean it? Even if he was drunk, maybe he did still mean it…

“I’m being serious,” says Rin, finally letting go of your wrist. “I may be a few drinks in but I mean it.”

A few drinks was certainly rounding-down, but you decided not to pester him.

“You mean it now, but will you tomorrow when you’re sober?” you ask with a remorseful smile. “Let’s not complicate things just for you to regret it in the morning.”

Moving closer to you, Rin pokes the squish of your cheek and you giggle. “I won’t regret it.”

“There’s no way you can be certain of that right now,” you say, and his face falls. “But I’ll still be here tomorrow. I’ll be here for you whenever you need. If you really do mean it, tell me again when you’re sober. Okay?”

“I will,” he vows, with a firm nod. “I’ll set a reminder on my phone.”

“You’re so romantic,” you say sarcastically, scrunching your nose up at him.

“Shut up.”

Rin’s expression softens as he looks at you through the dim light of his bedroom lamp. You examine him as well. His lashes are as long as ever and you reach out to trace them. Rin’s eyes flutter shut at your touch. You notice his jaw and cheekbones are more defined, reminding you this isn’t the same round-faced kid you were once best friends with.

This is Rin. The professional soccer player and famous athlete who is still your best friend, but could be more.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow,” he says again, brushing your hair out of your face. “But for now, can I give you this?”

His face moves closer to yours and you shut your eyes in anticipation. Instead of a kiss on your mouth, you feel soft, warm lips against your forehead. Your heart skips a beat at the feeling and the moment Rin pulls away, you pull him back to hide your face in his chest.

“Maybe you should get drunk more often,” you mumble teasingly, voice muffled in his shirt.

“Don’t need to be drunk to do this. Not anymore.”

Needless to say, you couldn’t wait to wake up tomorrow and hear a fully sober confession from Rin. But for now, being here in his arms that feel like home is enough.

545 notes · View notes

crushmeeren · 3 months ago

Text

❣︎ piecemeal (brother’s best friend au!)

⤷ ⋆ part one ; ft. kenma kozume

❣︎ note ; soooo my second ever mini series and it’s about kenma lmao. i think this part will be cut into a few different sections. we’re growing & following reader’s crush/relationship with kenma over the years through various scenarios.

❣︎ cw ; none, this is mostly just a big ball of fluff.

| master list | | piecemeal masterlist |

reader is six. kenma is eight. tetsurou is nine.

Moving to a new house is scary.

All your best friends live on your old street. The dinner table your family ate at, where Tetsurou told such a funny story that milk shot from your nose, has been replaced.

You don’t even want to talk about how you accidentally left your favorite stuffed bunny in the bathroom at the snack store!

Your parents swore they’d buy you a new one, but to a hysterical six year old, words mean nothing. Your bunny is the only bunny.

The last thirty minutes of the car ride you’ve spent crying, tucked into your brother’s side. A bump in the road jostles you further into Tetsurou’s arms and your next exhale is shaky.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Tetsurou soothes, hugging you tight with one arm. “I’ll help you find bunny, I promise!” Tetsurou winces when your tiny hand clutches his t-shirt and lifts it to wipe your nose.

You believe in him as much as you can believe in a nine year old who can’t remember the name of the street you live on.

Your sobs soften to hiccups, a few sniffles joining the party. “Tetsu-nii,” you whine. “What if bunny is scared? He’s all alone!”

Tetsurou grabs your shoulders and pushes you back. “Bunny’s not scared, imouto-chan!”

“Really?” You stare at him with wide, red rimmed eyes, hopeful.

Tetsurou nods with complete confidence. “Yes really! He’s the most brave bunny I know. We have to get your room ready for him when he comes home. We don’t want him to be sad, right?”

You sit up straight, releasing Tetsurou’s shirt, and square your shoulders to mimic him. “Right Tetsu-nii! We have to get Bunny’s bed ready for him! I have his favorite blanket in my backpack.”

Tetsurou continues to distract you, talking with animated hand gestures, listing all the new, exciting places you’ll be able to explore with Bunny. You eat it up, lost in reassurance only your older brother can provide.

Both your parents breathe a sigh of relief from the front seat.

↡ ↡ ↡ ↡ ↡ ↡

The car parks in your new driveway with a lurch. Your stomach twists like when you got a shot at the doctor, legs restless and dangling over the seat. Small fingers curl into fists while your family piles out of the car.

Tetsurou is tasked with unbuckling you from your booster seat. He offers his hand, which you cling to, as he helps ease you into the concrete.

To your left a door shuts loudly, drawing your attention towards the neighbor’s house. Tetsurou points and shakes your hand, grinning from ear to ear.

“Imouto-chan look! That boy lives next to us! Maybe we can be friends!” Tetsurou starts hauling you across the plush green yard while you trip over your feet to keep up. “Oi! Kid that looks like a cat, over here!” Your brother shouts, freezing the boy mid step.

Protests from your parents fall on deaf ears.

The boy’d been walking down his driveway, now shifting to face the approaching menace that is Tetsurou — who’s still dragging you like a sack of potatoes.

He’s quiet, a grimace on his face, hand lifting in an awkward wave. “Hello,” The boy replies, soft and bored. Tetsurou skids to a stop at the edge of the yard, clutching your hand to steady you as you flail.

“Hi!” Tetsurou repeats. His bright personality causes the other boy to shield his eyes. “I’m Tetsurou, this is my little sister. What’s your name?”

The boy next door spares you a glance and your cheeks burn. You move to hide behind Tetsurou’s leg. Peaking up at the strange boy you realize he does look like a cat. A really pretty cat.

Your hand is sweaty.

“Kenma,” he offers, shoving his hands in the pockets of his shorts.

“Kenma! Nice to meet you.” Tetsurou notices the video game logo on Kenma’s t-shirt and lights up. “Woah dude, I love that game! You should come over and play with me.”

Your Mother’s irritated shout to stop bothering the neighbors hits your ears, and you nervously glance over your shoulder, tugging at Tetsurou’s shorts.

“Testsu-nii,” you cut in. “Kasaan said to come back.”

“Nah,” he waves you off. Then he hears the anger in her voice and his spine stiffens. “On second thought, we gotta go, imouto-chan.” Tetsurou starts to whirl around with you in tow as you lock eyes with Kenma. You wiggle your fingers at him and the corner of his mouth lifts. In turn, the tips of your ears grow hot.

“Kenma! Don’t forget to come over and play with me!” Tetsurou calls over his shoulder. Kenma hums, non committal, and you hope he says yes because you want to see him again.

Your Mother scolds Tetsurou for being over the top, dumping a heavy box labeled “dishes” in his arms. He protests but takes it. You ignore your brother dragging his feet and steal another peak at Kenma’s house, eager to see the other boy again. You frown when you notice he’s gone.

You don’t mention Bunny again. Instead, you talk Tetsurou’s ear off about Kenma.

Kenma is over the next weekend.

Granted, it’s at the insistence of his Mother and yours, but he’s there nonetheless.

It’s summer, so the boys have what seems to be every fan in the house pointed at them while they play video games. You’ve taken to watching with undivided attention for the last hour, perched on the edge of the couch, legs swinging in the air.

Kenma’s your true focus. Staring at his dark, grown out hair. It’s super hard not to reach out and tug, to see if it’s soft. Your Mother said to keep your hands to yourself unless someone tells you it’s okay. Plus, it’s rude to pull someone’s hair. Doesn’t stop you from wanting to play with it.

Tetsurou tries to follow along with Kenma’s new game. You’re unsure what it’s about, only that your brother is terrible. He’s lost. A lot.

Kenma shares similar thoughts. “You suck, Kuroo.”

“Yeah Tetsu-nii! You’re bad at this game,” you chime in, eager for Kenma’s approval. It works. He looks over his shoulder with a smirk, forcing the fuzzy feeling in your belly to return. Your eyes snap to the strawberries on your socks.

“Hey!” Tetsurou protests. “Ugh! I’ve never played this before,” he whines. He drops the controller on the floor with a pout, flopping onto his back as he groans. He catches your gaze and shoots you a grin full of mischief. Tetsurou stretches a hand over head and tickles the bottom of your foot.

You squeal, jerking out of reach. “Nii-chan!” You complain, laughter coloring your voice.

“Hmm?” Tetsurou feigns innocence. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Did so!”

Tetsurou sits up and pushes to his feet with a contemplative hum. “Did not.” He changes the subject. “Kenma, you want a popsicle? It’s so hot I’m gonna melt!” He complains, heading to the kitchen.

“Sure,” Kenma replies, standing to follow your brother.

“I want one!” You scramble off the couch and bounce on the balls of your feet next to the fridge.

Tetsurou pops out of the freezer, presenting blue and purple popsicles. The purple one has two sticks on the bottom. “I didn’t forget you, imouto-chan.” He waves the sweet treat in the younger boys direction. “Which one do you want, Kenma?”

He shrugs. “Purple I guess.”

You wilt. Purple is your favorite, you really wanted it. Tetsurou notices your frown and leans over to whisper in Kenma’s ear, handing him the purple one. You glance between the two, brows pinching together.

Kenma nods to whatever your brother says. Then, he rips open the popsicle wrapper, breaks it in half, and bends down, holding out one half for you.

“Here, I don’t mind sharing,” he says, expression kind and soft.

Tetsurou encourages you to grab the treat, so you do. Staring at Kenma like he’s hung the stars. “Thank you,” you mumble, cheeks blistering. Your face always gets hot around Kenma. It’s annoying.

Kenma nods, lifting his own half to take a huge bite.

The three of you finish the chilly snack in relative silence, Tetsurou teasing you for having a purple tongue. Kenma sticks his tongue out to show you’re not alone.

Sitting in the living room sees you squished between the two. Tetsurou shouts loudly when he loses again, making Kenma laugh. With as much as grace as a six year old can muster, you inch closer to Kenma until your knees touch.

If Kenma notices, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he attempts to explain which button does what on the controller. You pretend to understand, marveling at the warmth of Kenma’s attention.

time skip. reader is ten. kenma is twelve. tetsurou is thirteen.

Giggling. The entire lunch period is filled with it. Your friends speak in hushed whispers, pointing at the boys in class as they walk by.

You don’t understand the appeal. With one hand you could list the boys in class that aren’t super annoying. The other girls have tried several times to include you in the conversation, asking “which boy has the best hair?”, “which boy do you want to hold hands with?”

You picture Kenma, his hands as they smash buttons on a controller. His hair’s grown passed his ears now. Out loud, the answer is they all have awful haircuts and you’d rather deal with brain freeze than hold any of their hands.

You ate lunch in peace after that.

Balling up the wrapper to a discarded bag of chips, you finish picking up leftover trash. You pick up your lunch bag, about to leave the table and go to the playground, when one of the girls mentions having a “crush.”

“What’s a crush?” You butt in, curious over the new term.

The girl who’d mention it tilts her head to the side. “You know, a crush.” You shake your head no and she makes brief eye contact with another girl before continuing. “Like when you think someone is really cute, and you want to spend all your time with them because they’re just so freaking cool.”

Another girl pipes up. “Or when you want to give them a hug and do stuff they like to do!”

Your stomach flips, eyes widening. “Oh. Um, how do you know if you have a crush?” You ask, shifting in your seat.

“They make you blush and they give you butterflies,” the first girl answers. “I smile real big when my crush is around.”

The empty chip wrapper crunches in your fist. You don’t answer, longing to bolt from the table.

“Do you have a crush?”

Images of Kenma flood your mind. Every time you see him you wish you could hold his hand. You sit right next to him when he plays video games with Tetsurou, not an inch of space left.

When Kenma gives you his full attention you blush for an eternity. Whenever you sprint to the front door and yank it open, seeing his golden eyes and lazy smile you get…..butterflies.

Kenma does remind you of a really pretty cat. He is cute.

Your breath quickens and you nod.

“I think so.”

↡ ↡ ↡ ↡ ↡ ↡

Waiting outside the school for Tetsurou to pick you up is torture. First off, it’s boiling outside. Not to mention finding out you have a crush has overloaded your emotions. It’s been the only thing running through your head all day.

“Imouto-chan~!”

The tension in your shoulders relaxes when Tetsurou saunters up to you, alone. “Are you by yourself today Tetsu-nii?” The hopeful tone is obvious, and Tetsurou glances at you in apology.

“Well, not really —,”

“Kuroo!” The irritated voice freezes you both in place, stomach dropping to the soles of your feet.

It’s Kenma.

Tetsurou spins with a sheepish grin. “I’m sorry Kenma! You were taking forever. Besides, I knew you’d catch up.”

Kenma stops right beside you. Side stepping allows him space between you and Testsurou. His gaze slides your way. “Hey,” he greets, the wrinkle in his brow smoothing when your eyes lock.

“Hey,” you mumble, opting to stare at your shoes, white knuckling your backpack straps. The butterflies have returned.

“Next time I’m leaving you behind, Kuroo.” Kenma shoots the taller boy a look and resumes walking, hiking his backpack up.

Tetsurou laughs, keeping his place on Kenma’s left side. “I’ll make it up to you. We can play Mario Kart when we get home!”

“I’ll beat you.”

You listen to them bicker, heart skittering when Kenma’s elbow bumps yours. You pretend to fall behind, bending to fake tie your shoe. The heat in your cheeks won’t go away.

“Imouto - chan, hurry up! Mom will be mad if I lose you,” Tetsurou calls over his shoulder.

“Coming!” You squeak, using the distraction to cling to your brother’s side. Tetsurou bumps his shoulder against yours, raising an eyebrow in silent question.

Usually you’d fight him to stand by Kenma.

You shrug, eyes trained in front of you. Tetsurou, thankfully, leaves it alone. He reignites his conversation with Kenma, pestering him to start playing volleyball. Kenma protests, complaining about the athletic part of it.

You ignore them, wanting to shrivel down and disappear.

What do you even do with a crush?

↡ ↡ ↡ ↡ ↡ ↡

You rushed through the front door as soon as it was within eyesight, leaving the other two behind.

It’s out of the norm for you to hide in your room instead of join Tetsurou and Kenma for a snack. Tetsurou knocks on the door, wondering if you’re going to play Mario Kart with them. You decline, avoiding them like the plague.

After dinner, as you’re finishing a frustrating math problem, Tetsurou decides to sit in the chair across from you. He must’ve taken a shower, because the scent of his body soap is strong. Your nose wrinkles.

“Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not being weird. You smell weird,” you huff, erasing a lopsided five to rewrite it.

He ignores the insult. “Whatever. You’re always stuck to Kenma like glue. Did he make you mad? He’s kinda mean sometimes.”

“Don’t say that! He’s not mean!” You defend, glaring daggers at Tetsurou.

He rolls his eyes. “You’re acting like you have a crush on him.”

You freeze, eyes going round with horror. You slam your pencil onto the table, face flushing red hot. “N-no I don’t!”

Tetsurou’s jaw drops. “You so have a crush on Kenma!” He teases. Then he laughs and scrunches his nose. “Ew. Why?”

“Please don’t tell him Tetsu-nii!” You beg, eyes stinging, lower lip trembling. “He’ll hate me!” Tears begin to slip down your cheeks.

Tetsurou stands in a hurry, rushing to your side. You throw your arms around his waist, face buried in his shirt. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. “I didn’t mean to make you cry. Kenma won’t hate you, he likes you.”

“Promise you won’t tell him!” You demand, words muffled.

“I promise.”

You pull back and stare up at him. “Pinky promise?”

“Pinky promise.” Tetsurou smiles. He holds his hand up, pinky out, waiting. You connect your fingers, relieved.

You can’t see Tetsurou’s fingers crossed behind his back.

time skip. reader is twelve. kenma is fourteen. tetsurou is fifteen.

The front door slams shut behind you in a whirlwind, bearing the unfortunate brunt of your anger. Kenma jumps, switch nearly flying from his hands as you stomp into the living room.

Kuroo was supposed to be home thirty minutes ago, leaving Kenma stuck waiting on your couch after receiving a “gonna be l8,” text. You freeze upon seeing you’re not alone, Kenma doing the same.

An awkward silence fills the living room, the soft sounds of Animal Crossing playing in the background.

“Oh,” you sniffle, voice scratchy. “I didn’t know you were here.” You scrub your eyes with the back of your sleeve.

Kenma’s head tilts, brows pinching together. It’s obvious to him that you’ve been crying, not that he would be privy as to why; and he’s unsure if he should ask. He’s quite awful at comforting people. “Um, yeah. Waiting for Kuroo. Your mom said I could hang in here,” he explains lamely. His thumb nervously traces back and forth over the x button.

“I see.”

So you don’t feel like explaining further, that’s fine. A relief, if Kenma’s honest. Still, there’s some discomfort in his chest at the sight of your tears. It’s not like he wants you to be sad. Against his better judgement, he speaks. “Are you, uh, are you okay?” Kenma clutches the edges of his switch, hard.

“Yes. I’m fine.” Your voice cracks as you stare off into the kitchen, sniffling.

“Okay.” Clearly you aren’t. Kenma’s scared you’ll cry if he asks again. He glances down at his switch, a light bulb going off. When he’s upset, playing a game makes everything ten times better. “Do you want to see my animal crossing village?”

Your head whips towards him, face lighting up. “Really?” You’re toeing off your shoes before he answers, rushing to the couch.

Seems your previous upset is forgotten.

Kenma nods, scooting over so you have space. You drop down right next to him, bouncing a little, thigh squished against his. Kenma likes how warm you are, and he catches a hint of vanilla coming from you that makes him blush.

“What were you doing?” You look at him with an adorable smile. He realizes how close you’ve gotten and his blush creeps to his hairline.

Kenma clears his throat. “I was looking for a stringfish. I haven’t been able to catch it.”

“Those are super hard to find. Oh! Have you gotten the golden trout yet?” You sound so excited. Kenma’s stomach flutters.

“Yeah,” he replies, clicking a few buttons on the switch to show you.

You press further into his side, staring at the screen in awe. “That’s so cool! You’re so good at this!” You snatch his forearm, shaking it. “Do you think you could you help me catch the golden trout? Pretty please Kenma!”

Kenma isn’t sure he could refuse if he wanted to, heart jumping to his throat. “S-sure. If you login to your account I can find it.”

You’re all but buzzing. “Okay! Hang on, I’ll be right back!” You jump off the couch and sprint to your room, returning less than a minute later with your switch. It’s controllers wear the Animal Crossing blue and green, stickers of characters littering the back.

You thrust it into his waiting hands, reclaiming the spot beside him.

“This may take a while,” he warns.

“That’s okay!” You giggle, reaching for a blanket to snuggle up under. “I really, really want that fish.”

Kenma relaxes against the cushions, smiling to himself. “I promise I’ll find it.” Kenma almost squeaks when your temple meets his shoulder, fluffy blanket tickling his forearm as you rest on him.

Forty five minutes later Kuroo shows his face. Loud as ever as he bursts through the door. Kenma had caught the golden trout, then continued on building a garden for you.

“Sorry I’m late!” Kuroo calls, not sorry whatsoever.

“In here Tetsu-nii!” You respond, lifting your head from Kenma’s shoulder. Kenma wishes you wouldn’t.

He saves the game, not wanting to lose progress. “Where were you?”

“I was talking to some guys on the volleyball team and they challenged me to a friendly game. Did you miss me?” Kuroo teases, flopping onto the other couch.

“No.”

Tetsurou gasps. “Mean Kenma! You like my little sister more than me?”

Kenma flushes red like cherries. He’s saved from answering when your Mother calls you to come help with dinner. You rise from the couch, leaving Kenma cold in your wake. You flick your brother’s forehead as you pass by, Tetsurou letting out a sound of protest.

“Thanks for catching the fish for me Kenma!”

Kenma nods. “Sure.”

It’s silent after you leave. Kenma catches his best friend’s teasing grin and narrows his eyes. “What?” He snaps.

Kuroo sits up straight, crossing his hands behind his head. “You have a crush on my sister, don’t you?”

Kuroo is met with a decorative pillow to the face.

did I make you feel anything? what do you think will happen next in their little growing love story?

a big smooch to everyone who gives my story a chance. c:

if you’d like to be added to my taglist, feel free to let me know below! (but if you’re under 18, or i can’t see your age, please don’t ask, i’m not comfortable interacting. sorry!)

#kenma kozume x you #kenma kozume x reader #kozume kenma x reader #kenma kozume fluff #kenma x reader #kenma fluff #kenma x you #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x reader #hq kenma #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu kenma #hq x reader #hq fluff #kozume kenma #kenma kozume #kenma #kenma x y/n

469 notes · View notes

its-luna-noel · 5 months ago

Text

puppy chronicles

03. the playful puppy | nanami x reader

The JJK men are gifted a hybrid puppy. ...wait, that kind of puppy? alpha!human!jjk men x omega!hybrid!reader

warnings: 18+, MDNI, f!reader, hybrid!au, omegaverse, hybrid!reader, omega!reader, pet play, collars/leashes, smut, heat/rut, knots, oral (f! receiving)

word count: 4.3k next: the innocent puppy | choso x reader

masterlist | link to ao3

notes: hi there! here's nanami's puppy chronicle, i hope you enjoy! had a lot of fun writing this one, he's got such a good dynamic.

When Kento was told he was getting a Christmas bonus this year, he was not expecting to receive an untrained hybrid puppy instead of an extra check.

You tug at the leash his boss’s secretary has you on, nearly knocking her over as you whine and whimper, tail wagging excitedly behind you while you try to catch his scent. Your sheer black slip rides up your hips, revealing matching black panties that accentuate the plush curve of your ass. The flesh around your hips and thighs jiggles gently with every animated lash of your tail.

Kento has to clear his throat and adjust the tie at his neck, suddenly feeling far too warm in his suit.

“Uh, sir–” he tries to say, because he wasn’t expecting to go home with a puppy today.

His boss cuts him off with a grin and a hearty laugh. “Just take her, Nanami! She’s from one of the best breeders in town; I’m sure she’ll make a perfect pet, once she’s trained.” He winks.

So Kento takes the leash from the secretary, pretending his hand isn’t shaking.

He takes you home, keeping you on a short leash to keep you by his side as he unlocks his front door and allows you in. He unclips the leash from your thick leather collar, and you’re darting away, ignoring the calls of your name while you giggle and explore.

He pinches the bridge of his nose while he watches you prance around his living room, exploring all of his decorations, his collection of books, his shelf of records. Your furry tail whips side to side, and your ass wiggles while it wags because you just can’t contain your excitement; you have a home! You’ve always wanted one of those, especially with a handsome, kind owner. He’s got pretty blond hair and warm hazel eyes, and he smells good, too, like a true alpha. You smell him on the air and bound over to him, rubbing up on him affectionately.

“Mr. Nanami!” you cry happily, tail still beating back and forth. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

He sighs softly, and his drawn expression relaxes a little as he looks down at you, watching you rub your face against his shoulder. “Call me Kento,” he tells you, reaching up to pet your fluffy, floppy ears.

You hum happily and tap your foot animatedly, making him chuckle. Then, when he pulls away, you bound away, jumping up and down excitedly. “Do you have any toys? Or games? What about a ball; I’m really good at fetch! Or tug-of-war, I’m good at that too!”

He shakes his head. “I don’t have any toys, puppy. I wasn’t exactly expecting to bring you home today.”

Your tail drops, and a small pout forms on your lips. Then you brighten up. “That’s okay! We can go get some! Can we go shopping, Mr. Kento? For toys?”

“Just Kento,” he emphasizes gently. “Will you be a good girl if I take you out?”

You grin up at him, bounding towards the front door. “I’ll be good! Oh, please please please!”

So he lets out another soft sigh before gently patting your side, gesturing for you to move away from him. “Let’s get you changed first.”

“Oh, but why? I don’t wanna wait!”

He gives you a stern look. “Because I don’t want other alphas staring at you while we’re out. The walk here was hard enough.”

You smile up at him, tail wagging. It makes you feel good that he wants to keep you for himself, that he’s already possessive over you. It makes you feel like you’re wanted, desired. “Okay!” you chirp, turning and happily skipping towards the master bedroom.

He shakes his head after you, following you. “On the left,” he calls ahead as you sniff at different doors, trying to find the bedroom.

You walk inside, and you’re suddenly overcome by the overpowering scent of him. It’s everywhere, heady in its intensity, drowning you in musk as you, without permission, crawl up onto the bed and curl up right in the center.

Kento walks in and raises an eyebrow when he sees you. “That’s mine,” he says.

You smile, tail thumping softly against the sheets. “Smells like you,” is all you say in reply.

He lets out another sigh before coming over and sitting on the end of the bed. He reaches over a hand and lightly pets your ears, and your foot taps repeatedly against the mattress.. “Let me find you some real clothes to wear, alright?”

You nod happily, bumping your nose against his palm affectionately. He smiles a little and stands.

He searches through his dressers for something you can wear, something more appropriate than the sheer, unsupported slip you were presented to him in. He finds you one of his sweaters and a pair of joggers that might fit you.

You stay curled up on his bed, watching him move around the bedroom with ease.

He’s attractive, you notice again. Almost devastatingly so. With cheekbones so sharp you’re sure you’d cut your fingers on them and those gentle eyes, it makes you want to whine and whimper until he comes over and ravishes you in his bed. But the idea of going on a walk with him is even more tempting, so you sit perfectly still in bed while he brings you clothes, setting them on the bed beside you.

“Get dressed,” he tells you.

You grin up at him and crawl towards him, sniffing at his neck. “You’re supposed to dress me! I’m your puppy now.”

His cheeks burn pink, and you coo at the adorable sight, lapping at his neck and cheeks. He puts his hands on your shoulders to gently push you away. “Stop that. You’re perfectly capable of dressing yourself.”

You whine, high-pitched and pathetic. “But Kento,” you say, and the sound of his name on your sweet lips is enough to make him blush a deeper shade of red, “I want you to do it.”

So he, cheeks still brightly flushed, reaches down towards your thighs, grabbing the bottom of your sheer slip, and starts pulling it up your legs.

Your tail wags animatedly at the feeling of his knuckles brushing your skin.

He pulls the slip up, up, up, until your body is fully revealed to him besides the lacy panties you still wear. Your tits hang perfectly on your chest, and he fights to swallow, averting his gaze before he starts imagining what it would be like to lower his mouth to them and suck, to run his tongue over your heated skin.

He clears his throat and grabs the sweater he brought for you, practically shoving it onto your body.

You whine again at his brusque behavior, ears pinned back, though if it’s in annoyance or hurt he’s not sure. So because he can’t tell, he softens his movements a little, gently helping you to stand at the side of the bed so you can step into the legs of his joggers.

Once they’re up around your hips, he practically sighs in relief. You’re much less of a temptation now that you’re not dressed in see-through lingerie. He reaches up, fingers gently trailing the leather collar at your throat. “Want this off, too?” he asks.

Immediately, you whimper, pulling back to look at him with pleading eyes. Your tail drops between your legs, and you shake your head repeatedly, backing up against the mattress. “No, don’t take it away!”

“Shh,” he whispers, caught off guard by your vehement response. “It’s okay, I won’t take it if you don’t want me to. I was just asking.”

Slowly, you relax. Then, once he offers a soft twitch of his lips towards what you think is a smile, you sniffle and prance forward. “Walk?” you ask.

He can’t help himself; he chuckles. “Yes, let’s go before the shops close.” He leads you towards the front door, and before you walk out the door into the brisk evening air, he clips your leash at your throat.

You hum, leaning your cheek into his hand before he pulls away. Then he opens the door and leads you outside.

He huffs when you bolt out the door, tail wagging wildly once more as you tug on the leash, going up to everything and everyone you see to investigate.

More than a few people stare at the misbehaving puppy.

Kento hisses your name under his breath, giving the leash a sharp tug – not enough to hurt you, but enough to make his displeasure known. Your ears pin back slightly, and you come to a stop, turning and looking back at him with a chastised expression.

He walks over, tightening his hold on the leash. “You said you’d be good.”

You hang your head, and he can’t tell if you’re being dramatic or if you’re actually taking in his soft reprimand. “Sorry.”

He sighs and pats your head, trying to raise your spirits once more. He already doesn’t like seeing you sad. “Come on,” he encourages, giving your ears a gentle rub. “Just try to stay by me, okay? I don’t like when you pull on the leash.”

You nod, seeming to take his instructions seriously. And when you start walking again, you stay at heel, simply gazing around at the sky, the neighborhood, the walking neighbors.

Living in an affluent area, there are a few other hybrids around, some on leashes and some off. They turn to look at you curiously, their ears forward and tails swishing as they realize a new puppy has joined the neighborhood.

Some who pass close enough stop to scent you, and when you scent them back, Kento has to try to not feel jealous. It’s only natural for you to be curious.

But he’s already starting to feel possessive of the little omega he was gifted only this afternoon.

He walks you to the nearby shops, where he buys you things you need like clothes and toiletries. Then, your last stop for the night, he leads you into one of the hybrid accessory shops to buy you toys as a reward for behaving. With bags in hand, he leads you back home, giving you slack on the leash as you continue to walk beside him without complaint.

When you get home and he unclips the leash from your collar, he gently squeezes your chin between thumb and forefinger. His eyes are even softer than they were before, and you gaze up at him, thinking he might just take you and kiss you senseless.

Instead he asks, “Would you rather sleep in my room or the guest room?”

Your heart aches to be away from him. “Can I sleep in your room?”

He nods and helps you take the bags up to his room, helping you unpack all your new things. Once he’s done, he turns with a smile and tosses a tennis ball – new and bright green and fragrant – down the hall.

You bound after it, laughter pealing off the walls. He chuckles under his breath and shakes his head after you. He wasn’t excited to have an energetic pup like you when he first walked you home, but now he’s sure you both will enjoy the company.

Besides, this just gives him the chance to learn exactly what tires you out.

When your heat comes, you’re nearly insufferable.

Rubbing your ass up on him, stretching and arching in bed just to tempt him into taking you – even just the sweet scent of your heat nearly drives him crazy. He’s trying to be respectful, trying to treat you kindly, but you’re making him want to just pin you down and mount you, to mate you like an animal.

He fights it for as long as he can, but he can only do so much when you’re just begging to be taken.

He comes home that day from work to find you nesting in bed, curled up in blankets and whimpering like it hurts, because it does. Every moment that the alpha – your alpha – won’t claim you is another spent in agonizing heat, and no amount of touching or fingering or cumming can fix it without his knot.

You try to tell him as such. You whimper, “Kento.”

“I know it hurts, sweet girl,” he says, voice hushed as he’s hit with the thick, cloying scent of you. “But I don’t want to take advantage of you; I don’t–”

“It’s not taking advantage of me,” you whine, ears flat against your skull as you rise up on your hands and knees and arch, wagging your ass back and forth. You can hear his sharp intake of breath as you show off your wet, darkened underwear, nearly translucent with slick and arousal. “Please!”

He grits his teeth, trying to fight it. But he can’t rip his eyes away from the sight of your barely clothed cunt, your puffy lips poking out from either side of the fabric. You’re so wet he’s pretty sure he could lean in and drink it from you, and yet he holds himself back, he hesitates, all because he doesn’t want to hurt you…

But with one last circular movement of your hips, he can’t help himself. He has to feast on you. Has to devour you.

He grabs your hips, fingers digging into the plush flesh there, and he yanks you backwards towards the edge of the bed. You yelp in surprise, but you just bury your face into the duvet and grind your hips back, the thin fabric of your underwear catching on the buckle of his belt.

He lets out a muffled groan, fingers squeezing your hips. “Sweet girl.” He’s already panting.

He falls to his knees at the end of the bed, spreading your thighs so he can get a better look at your dripping pussy. You angle your hips into an even deeper arch, and he hooks his fingers into your panties and pulls them to the side, taking a good, long look at the meal he’s about to have.

Then he leans in and licks a long stripe up your pussy from the back, tasting you for the first time.

He groans loudly, and your hips jolt, the vibrations from his voice sending pleasure tingling through your body. “Taste so sweet, darling girl,” he mumbles into your cunt, and then he licks another long line from your clit up to your pussy, tongue swirling there before diving in, making you cry out loudly at the sensation.

All he’s doing is building the heat higher, higher, higher.

“Kento,” you whimper, legs trembling already at the stimulation. He just wraps his arms around your thighs and tugs you forward until your ass is dangling over the end of the bed, giving him a prime angle to eat out your drooling cunt. “Kento!”

He doesn’t stop. He just wraps his arms tighter and commands, “Say it again.”

But you don’t, because you’ve always been a playful little girl, and you like having the power over him. And so he pulls back, panting, hot breath fanning against the back of your thighs as he tries again. “Say my name, sweet girl.”

You shake your head, wiggling your ass in his face, tantalizingly close. “Not till you fuck me.”

He growls, a low, rumbling noise deep in his chest. “You’re being a little brat, huh? I know the best way to get you to stop that, though, don’t I?”

You shake your head, not understanding. You’re not a brat, you just like to play with him. Like when he finally smiles, when he finally lets his guard down enough for you to see the real, soft him, the one who laughs while playing with you and pets your hair like a good alpha.

But he knows the truth; you are a brat, and he knows he loves it.

He tightens his grip on your hips and continues, “Yeah, I know the best way.

“I just have to tire you out.”

You yelp again when he dives back into your pussy, nose nearly breaching your entrance as he licks at your clit with feverish intensity. You try to tug away, just wanting his dick! But he doesn’t let you go; he just wraps his arms tighter around you, beefy biceps pushing against your plush thighs. He laps at your clit repeatedly, finding the exact right angle that makes you moan the loudest and stays there, bringing you crashing towards your orgasm in an embarrassing amount of time. Your cheeks are burning as he makes you cum almost immediately, your thighs tightening and pussy throbbing against the tip of his nose as you ride out your orgasm on his face.

He doesn’t even stop for a moment to let you breathe before he’s forcing you towards a second one.

“Wait!” you cry, reaching back to push at his head, trying to detach him from your cunt. “Wait, I’m sorry!”

“Mm, don’t be sorry, sweet girl. I should be sorry for not tiring you out properly, especially when you’re just in heat and don’t know any better. Can’t know any better, right? You’re just a little puppy who needs to be taken care of.” And he redoubles his efforts against your clit.

You cry out again, hips bucking under his tongue. “Please, Kento!”

“Mm,” he hums against your clit, following your every movement so that he can make you cum properly – that is, over and over and over again. “What, sweetheart?”

You whimper, “Too much.”

“Aw, honey, it’s okay.” He reaches up with one hand and takes yours, which is currently gripping the duvet with white-knuckled intensity. “Just hold onto me.”

So you move your fingers to wrap around his, and it helps keep you grounded as he entirely ruins you.

He makes you cum a second time before he even moves. He takes a moment to catch his breath, working his jaw to relax the sore muscles before bringing the hand that’s not holding yours down to rub your ass. He palms the flesh there for a moment, letting you take a breather. He doesn’t start back up until your breath has started to slow.

Then he moves his hand, and two long, thick fingers push slowly into your pussy, stretching it open for him.

You whine and moan, hips bucking against his palm, but he doesn’t change his pace as he just slowly sinks into the heat of you, your dripping arousal more than enough lubrication for him to comfortably fit his fingers inside.

Then he pulls back and starts to slowly fingerfuck you.

You moan, hips continuing to try and pull away from his touch, instinctually running away from the overstimulation. But he doesn’t let you run; he keeps you pinned there as he resumes his perfect motions, licking your clit once more as he slowly pushes his fingers inside you.

You have no idea how one person’s mouth can be this good. He’s tearing you apart and putting you back together, and all you can do is enjoy it, even as you continue to pout, because you just want him to fuck you.

“Sweet girl,” he whispers against your cunt, “I need to get you ready first.”

And that makes the heat burn even hotter, to know that he is planning on fucking you. You suppose you can wait.

And he makes you wait, until you’re a drooling, panting, crying mess against the bed.

Your legs can’t even hold you up anymore; it’s all Kento as you lean into his strong hands, letting him position you where he wants you. The lower half of his face is covered in slick, and all he does as he finally pulls away from your cunt is wipe it away with the back of his hand and lick it clean.

Oh, it’s a divine sight.

Kento rearranges your limbs on the bed, climbing up behind you until you’re propped up on your knees again, legs wobbly from how many mind-shattering orgasms he’s already given you. He pushes you down into the mattress, one hand on your hip and the other in your hair, as he rises up onto his knees behind you, pressing his clothed erection against your quivering, needy pussy. It’s practically slobbering on him, smearing slick over the front of his pants, but he doesn’t care, he can’t care, not when he’s rubbing himself on you, grinding his dick against your swollen lips.

Then he brings his hands down and slowly unbuckles his belt, unhurried. You can’t believe the amount of patience this man has.

He drops the leather to the side, and then he’s unbuttoning his pants, lowering the zipper until the only confines trapping the thick print of his cock are his dark boxer briefs. He pushes his pants down towards his knees and kicks them off, and then he repeats the process from the beginning, grinding his dick against you before finally pushing down his underwear, too.

Leaving him bare behind you.

You can feel how hot he’s running, can feel how big he is right up against your pussy. He slathers slick along the head, gathering your arousal as lubricant before he presses up against your cunt. “Are you ready?” he asks, ever the gentleman.

You just moan in response, right into the mattress. It’s all you can muster.

He smirks a little; he can’t fight it. Seeing you fucked drunk with just his mouth is a sight he’s proud of, and he takes it in as he slowly pushes inside of you, letting you feel every inch and every ridge of his veiny length.

You moan, face pressed into the duvet as you’re nearly drooling at the sensation of his thick, perfect dick stretching you open. You’re practically choking on it; you think you can feel him all the way in your chest.

Finally, he bottoms out, and he pauses, letting you both take another breather. His shoulders are rising and falling a little faster than before, and it makes you happy to know that you affect him just as much as he ruins you.

Then he starts to pull his hips back, fucking you slowly, tenderly. But that’s not how you want it.

You grind your hips back against his, and he makes a choking sound, grabbing your waist to stop your movements. “Knock it off,” he strains through gritted teeth.

You don’t. “Or what?” you tease, turning your head to look back at him.

God, you look ruined. This is the first time he can see your face clearly since he started, and you’re flushed, sweaty, eyes hazy and cock-drunk with only a couple thrusts. Your tongue lolls out at the corner to catch a drop of drool.

He grips you harder. “Sweet girl,” he says, voice tight with restraint, “I can only do so much. I can only control myself to a certain point. You can’t keep taunting me, or I’ll lose it.”

“So lose it,” you say, like it’s that simple.

He snarls and snaps his hips forward, and your back bows into a delicious arch, a loud cry falling from your lips. His blond hair is a mess, sticking to his forehead with sweat as he pulls back. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

All you know is the aching stretch of his cock, and the promise of more when you take his knot.

So you knock your hips back again. Toying with him. “Please.”

And, well, who is he to deny your wishes when you ask so pretty?

He grabs your hips and pushes you further into the mattress, pining you into a mean arch as he pummels into your swollen pussy, feeling how gummy and tight your walls are as they convulse around him every time he hits your cervix. You’re hardly even moaning anymore; you’re just whining and crying out, loud ah ah ah!s echoing in his bedroom as he fucks you like you wanted.

Like the brat you are.

He grunts, the slaps of his hips meeting yours just as lewd as the sounds coming from your lips. And it just turns him on more, how fucking filthy it all is, the wet squelching of his cock ramming into your pussy, the sweat and slick and drool that’s ruining his sheets.

He can’t help but think that maybe he is nothing more than an animal.

With that thought, he leans down, brushing his lips against your neck. His canines scrape the skin right where your scent glands emit such delicious pheromones. “Sweet girl,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss there to soothe the red welts his teeth leave, “be mine.”

You just moan, eyes rolling back as he continues to fuck you. He takes that as a yes.

He bites, teeth sinking into the buttery flesh there and breaking skin. He holds on while he fucks into you, and he feels the base of his cock swelling, just a couple more moments and he’ll make you his, oh fuck–!

With one more heavy shove, he forces you to take his knot, leaving you mewling in aching, agonizing pleasure. And then he cums, filling you with rope after pearly rope of his semen, plugging you full of his puppies.

His chest heaves with every breath, and you feel his muscular torso against your back as he slowly sinks down on top of you, his body caging yours in. And he presses soft kisses to the side of your neck, right over his mating mark, trying to soothe you as you come down from the overwhelming experience.

He tries to shift, but that just makes his knot tug at you enough to make you yelp and cry out. So he stays on top of you like that, kissing it all better.

“My sweet girl,” he murmurs against your neck, trailing kisses up to your ear, where he whispers, “my little puppy.”

And oh, at those words, you think you’re in love.

thanks for reading! -luna link to ao3 | next: the innocent puppy

#banners by cafekitsune #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #fanfiction #hybrid au #omegaverse #nanami kento #nanami x reader #jjk nanami #jujutsu nanami #nanami smut

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jinusajas · 5 months ago

Text

02/09/25; 09:40pm

sylus x fem.reader

obligatory tags: @voidsylus | @daturasflower | @madam8

warnings: mentions of nausea and vomiting.

you let out a sharp gasp of pain, feeling a dull ache forming against your temples as you struggled to keep your nausea at bay.

this had to be a migraine, one that was potent enough to make your stomach turn sour as your brain was felt pounding against the confines of your skull. your boyfriend had left momentarily to grab the groceries that had been delivered to your shared home-

leaving you feeling dizzy and alone as you braced yourself against the onyx counters. your vision had gone hazy, casting what looked like spider webs across your line of sight, your steps uneven when you attempt to walk into a nearby restroom.

you became dimly aware of heavy steps and a grunt of your name, a powerful pair of arms wrapped around your form to help with your balance. “sweetie, what’s wrong?”

you swallow thickly, struggling to get the words out, “sick… bathroom, now!”

needing no further urging from you, sylus picks up your form with ease, taking quick strides towards your master bedroom as he helped you brace yourself over the toilet. you hid your face, your dry heaves echoing throughout the area as you felt the contents of your lunch come out of you. along with the horrible sensation of puking your guts out, the intensity of your headache seemed to grow by a tenfold, leaving you drained and miserable by the end of it all.

sylus flushed the toilet, wiping at your face with a damp and warm handkerchief. he wipes at the corner of your mouth with concern shining within his rufescent eyes. “what happened? we ate the same meal for lunch-“

“migraine… it came suddenly.” you admit to him with a gasp, practically clinging to sylus’s broad chest when he carries you out of the bathroom and into your shared room.

“i told you that you needed to stop staying up so late, waiting for me. that migraine must have been triggered by your lack of sleep.” sylus gently scolds you, and you could only bring yourself to let out a soft whimper in response. clinging to the front of his shirt, you rest the side of your cheek against his chest, allowing sylus to settle you on top of the bed.

placing the comforter over your form, sylus disappears momentarily before coming back into the room with some medication and a cold bottle of water in hand. he takes out two white tablets and hands them to you, “take this. it should help with easing your pain.”

you nod, praying that your vision would return to normal soon when you place the tablets within your mouth. taking the bottle of water, you uncap it and drink as much as you could handle, making sure that you had swallowed the tablets.

a few minutes later, the webs finally dissipate from your vision while dimming down the harsh intensity of your migraine to a tiny simmer. your mind was clearer now, and you were able to see sylus’s smug face smirking down at you.

“hm, what’s got you grinning like that?” you ask while giving his chest a poke with your fingertip. he simply shakes his head, letting out a rich chuckle while grabbing a hold of your hand to place a kiss at the back of them. “nothing, sweetie, it’s just… i find it nice to see you depending so much on me. i could honestly get used to it.”

you roll your eyes at him, feigning annoyance while at the same time gripping his wrist. you pull him into the bed, and despite how laughable it was to think that you could ever overpower sylus-

he falls into the plush mattress with you, already taking you within his arms while rolling back into bed. feeling the sensation of his sweet kisses against your hair, you visibly relax while clinging to him. no words were spoken, yet you could feel the depths of his devotion for you through his actions alone.

perhaps you could get used to relying on him as well ♡

end notes: hhhhh i wanted to write and post something cute for valentine’s day for all the lads men, but i have a bad headache, so have some fluff with my favorite husband instead 😖

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

#sylus qin x you #sylus qin x reader #sylus qin x y/n #sylus qin fluff #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus x y/n #sylus fluff #love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #lads x reader #lnds x reader #l&ds x reader #writings 📖

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sailornymph · 9 days ago

Text

the shape of love; uchiha men

synopsis — you’re soft, shy, and far from the shinobi world they dominate, but to them, you’re everything and they’ll make sure you never forget your own struggles.

content warning — curvy/insecure fem!reader, body worship, teasing/flustering, reader blushes easily, age gap dynamics, possessiveness, oral, praise, light degradation, soft doms

requested via messages

♡ madara uchiha

— he notices everything; madara doesn’t miss a thing, not the way your arms wrap around your middle when you’re uncomfortable in your own skin, not the way you pull your clothes tighter to hide curves that draw attention. he’s a master of observation, a born strategist, and yet when it comes to you, his attention isn’t calculated. it’s instinctual. he knows your insecurities even when you try to hide them behind practiced smiles. and he doesn’t coddle. instead, he treats your body like it is sacred, never letting your self-doubt taint the way he sees you—always powerful, always his.

— his hands linger longer than necessary. he is not a man of idle affection, but with you, he becomes possessive in the most subtle ways. his large hands often rest at the small of your back, fingertips barely grazing the curve of your waist as if to remind you, this—this is his favorite part. and when he walks past you, he’ll let them skim over your hip, slow and deliberate, until your cheeks burn. he doesn’t need to say anything; he knows your body responds to his touch just as much as your heart does to his gaze.

— he uses his words like weapons—soft, cutting, and worshipful

“you cover yourself like you’re ashamed. if anyone should be ashamed, it’s them—for not being worthy of the sight.”

madara’s compliments are rare, but when they come, they crash through you like a landslide. he speaks low and slow, his voice dropping just for your ears, a private kind of praise that leaves you breathless. he loves how easily you blush, how he can reduce you to trembling silence with nothing more than a sentence. and gods help anyone who dares speak on your body with less reverence than he does.

— he’s extremely protective of your self-image

madara is not tolerant of your self-loathing. he’ll listen, sure, but the second you call yourself “too much” or “not enough,” something primal flickers in his gaze. he doesn’t comfort you with lies; he simply reminds you of how desired you are, how often he’s thought of bending you over the nearest surface or worshipping you until you forget the world outside. and then he shows you—over and over, until your thighs shake and your doubts vanish with your voice.

— he doesn’t want you small, he wants you powerful. your softness doesn’t lessen you in madara’s eyes. if anything, he sees it as a symbol of resilience—an echo of strength carried through blood and bone. he traces your stretch marks with calloused fingertips, presses his lips against your thighs like they’re altars, and tells you, “they called my clan monsters. you think i fear the opinion of people who can’t handle a woman with real presence?” he doesn’t want you to shrink. he wants you to take up space—his bed, his life, his legacy.

you’d never meant for him to see you like this. the mirror was cruel in its reflection—hips too wide, thighs pressed together no matter how you shifted, the hem of your robe catching awkwardly against the plush curve of your backside. the silk was supposed to be luxurious, tailored, beautiful. but all you could see were the places it clung too tight. the places it didn’t hide.

your fingers hesitated at the waist tie, debating whether to strip it off or wrap it tighter. and that’s when you heard it. the door didn’t creak. madara moved like a shadow, all presence and no sound.

“why are you frowning?” his voice, deep, rich, familiar—washed over you like gravity.

you froze. “i didn’t hear you come in.”

he took a step closer. then another. you could feel him behind you now, the weight of his attention far heavier than the robe.

“answer me.”

you didn’t want to. didn’t want to explain that your mother’s side always ran curvy, always had too much hip and too much chest, and you’d spent years wondering if men looked at you with admiration or ridicule. not that it mattered. you weren’t brave enough to ask.

he lifted a hand and traced the edge of your reflection—his knuckles ghosting along your arm, your waist, your lower back. he didn’t speak. just watched you squirm.

“i don’t know if i like how this looks,” you finally whispered.

madara’s expression darkened. not angry, but something sharper, something that pierced through your shame like lightning through silk.

“and yet,” he murmured, his palm flattening against your belly, “i’ve never wanted you more than i do now.”

your breath hitched.

his lips brushed the shell of your ear. “you walk through this compound like you don’t realize what you do to me. to every man who has to look away or bow lower so they don’t offend me. do you not see it?”

you shook your head, too stunned to speak.

he turned you, slowly, until you faced him. his hands slid down your sides, resting firmly at your hips. “i see you hide. i see you shrink yourself, and i hate it.”

he dragged his gaze down your body, taking his time, letting you feel every ounce of that stare. “you are not too much. they are simply not enough.”

heat spread through your cheeks—furious, flustered, undeniable. you tried to turn away.

but he didn’t let you.

“you blush so easily,” he smirked, thumb stroking the edge of your jaw. “i could get drunk off this.”

you opened your mouth to argue, but he was already pulling you flush against him, letting you feel just how much he wasn’t pretending. his arousal pressed hot and heavy against your stomach through the folds of his robes.

“do you still doubt me?” he asked softly.

you couldn’t speak.

he dipped his head, pressing kisses down your throat, hands sliding behind to grip your ass with greedy reverence. “good. then allow me to remind you how divine you are.”

and when he laid you down that night—spreading you open with slow, deliberate care—you didn’t feel small anymore.

you felt seen.

wanted, his.

♡ itachi uchiha

— his quiet admiration is endless. itachi doesn’t compliment you often in public, but his love is written into every glance, every lingering brush of fingers against your sides. he memorizes the dips and curves of your figure like scripture. the quiet, intelligent way he watches you undress—slowly, reverently—leaves no room for doubt. he doesn’t need to say you’re beautiful every second. his silence speaks devotion. when you doubt yourself, it’s always him who steadies you—with a gaze that never wavers, and a voice that reminds you, “you are more than enough. you are everything.”

— he helps you reframe what “too much” means. when you admit you feel too thick, too noticeable, too soft, itachi tilts his head and asks, “too much for whom?” not in sarcasm, but genuine confusion—because in his eyes, your presence is balanced, grounding, magnetic. he tells you with unshakable certainty that strength and softness are not opposites. “the world praises bones and angles,” he’ll murmur as he runs his fingers down your curves, “but i prefer the parts of you i can hold.”

— he adores the way you blush—especially when it’s because of him. you’re so easy to fluster, and itachi lives for it in his own understated way. he’ll whisper something devastatingly suggestive in that low, velvety voice, only to act innocent moments later—like the flush on your cheeks wasn’t entirely his doing. his eyes narrow ever so slightly in satisfaction when you squirm, lips twitching upward in a rare smile. teasing you is one of the few indulgences he allows himself. especially when it ends with you breathless and blushing beneath him.

— he has a nearly spiritual reverence for your body. when itachi touches you, it’s like he’s praying. his hands are slow and sure, mapping every inch of your body with unshakable purpose. he kisses the stretch of your thighs, the softness of your belly, the curve of your breasts, like he’s cataloging all the things the world told you to hide—and telling you, wordlessly, i want all of it. every mark, every swell, every inch.

— he reminds you with his body what his words won’t always say. itachi isn’t verbose, but his actions leave no room for misunderstanding. he’ll lay you out beneath him and take his time worshipping you until your self-loathing melts into nothing. he’s slow, thorough, relentless in his affection. and when you’re gasping his name, tears gathering in your lashes from the overwhelming intimacy of it all, he’ll murmur, “this is how i see you. this is how you should see yourself.”

the fabric of your top clung to your body in all the ways you hated. it was supposed to be a simple night in—no missions, no pressure—but that didn’t stop your reflection from twisting your stomach into knots.

you tugged at the hem. the shirt refused to loosen over your hips. your thighs, warm and plush, touched even when you stood with your feet apart. and the stretch marks creeping along your sides? loud. glaring. you hated how loud your body felt in silence.

“you’re quiet,” came itachi’s voice behind you—soft, inquisitive. he was always so damn perceptive.

“just thinking.”

he approached like he always did. calm. unthreatening. his presence grounded you, but tonight, even he couldn’t stop the shame bubbling up in your throat.

his hands came to rest lightly on your waist, thumbs brushing against your sides in lazy circles.

“you were frowning.”

“i didn’t mean to.”

he paused. then, “you think poorly of yourself again.”

you stiffened. “i’m just… aware.”

“of what?”

you looked down. “of how i look.”

itachi turned you slowly, carefully, his eyes meeting yours. dark and unreadable. but something in them stirred—something warm and focused.

“look again,” he said simply.

you frowned in confusion.

he reached for the hem of your shirt and tugged it up, gently, exposing your stomach inch by inch. you almost protested, but his expression held no room for shame. only awe.

his hand slid over your bare waist, fingers grazing the soft flesh as though it were precious.

“do you think i do not notice you?” he murmured.

you blinked, heat rushing to your face.

“the curve of your hip,” he continued, voice low, reverent. “the dip of your back. the softness of your thighs when you sleep against me. it’s all i think about when you’re not near.”

his words knocked the air from your lungs.

“i know what the world tells women who look like you. i know how cruel the silence of comparison can be.” he leaned in, brushing a kiss just above your navel. “but when i look at you, i do not see lack. i see the kind of beauty that cannot be faked.”

you swallowed hard. “you’re just saying that—”

“no,” he interrupted, eyes sharp. “i don’t lie to you.”

his fingers hooked into the waistband of your pants, easing them down. you trembled.

“may i?” he asked.

hesitantly, you nodded.

his kisses trailed lower, worshipful, slow. over your hips, your inner thighs, your stretch-marked skin. like every part of you was a verse in some sacred text he alone had been granted the right to read.

you whimpered when his mouth reached the place you ached the most, thighs instinctively trying to close. he held them open with firm hands.

“don’t hide,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “not from me.”

your skin burned. your body sang.

he took his time, tongue and lips working you open until you were gasping his name, your fingers tangled in his hair, your shame long since dissolved into pleasure.

when you came, it was with a sob. not just from release, but from the overwhelming weight of being wanted—truly, deeply, seen.

he held you after. silent. strong and you realized something.

in the hands of itachi uchiha, you weren’t too much.

you were just right.

♡ indra ōtsutsuki

— he’s completely unapologetic in his attraction. indra does not believe in hiding desire, and when it comes to you—especially your body—his admiration is borderline primal. the first time he saw you undressing, his gaze locked on your hips, on the softness of your waist, and he stared like a man witnessing divinity. he didn’t say you were beautiful. he said you were glorious. there is no shame in the way he looks at you, and no hesitance in the way he touches you. his attraction is loud, proud, and utterly unshakable.

— he believes softness is strength. to indra, strength is not only in battle—it is in carrying, enduring, and bearing the weight of existence. he sees your curves not as excess, but as the physical embodiment of everything he respects: resilience, warmth, fertility, softness that hasn’t broken under pressure. he traces the fullness of your thighs or the plush of your stomach and says things like, “this body was made to be worshipped. to be held. to be protected.”

— he loves how easily he can get you flustered—and he’s relentless about it. you can’t hide how easily you blush when he flirts or stares too long. it’s in the way your lips part when he praises you, in the shiver that races down your spine when he grips your hips and growls his approval in your ear. indra uses it to his advantage, whispering the filthiest things in the calmest voice until your face is glowing and your legs won’t stop shifting. his smirk only deepens. “you burn so prettily for me, little one.”

— he loathes self-deprecation and shuts it down instantly. the moment you speak negatively about yourself, something cold flares in his eyes. not at you—at the world that made you feel that way. “who told you that nonsense?” he’ll demand, voice like a storm. when you stammer through old insecurities, he pulls you close and speaks with the kind of conviction only a god’s son can carry. “you will never speak of yourself like that again. not in my presence.” and then he’ll make you feel as divine as he believes you are.

— has a worship kink the size of a mountain range. indra loves control, but even more than that, he loves devotion. and with you, devotion becomes worship. he wants to be on his knees. he wants his mouth on every inch of you. he wants to feel your thighs quiver around his face as you sob out his name. he gets off on seeing you unravel, to prove that no one will ever adore your body the way he does. “let me show you what the world should have taught you,” he’ll whisper. “that a goddess like you deserves to be revered.”

you tried to leave your robe on when indra pulled you into his lap. you sat sideways, thighs pressing firmly against his as his arm circled your waist. you felt… exposed. large. not because of him, but because of you. your mind spun in quiet self-loathing. too heavy. too soft. too much. and he was so ethereal—so sharp-jawed and otherworldly—that you felt like an echo beside him.

you tugged the robe closed tighter.

“don’t,” indra said, voice low.

you froze. “don’t what?”

his hand slid up your thigh, slow and firm. “don’t hide from me.”

you looked away. “i’m not.”

his fingers stilled. “do not insult my intelligence.”

your stomach turned. “i just… i’m not sure how this looks on me.”

indra’s hand curled around your waist. in one smooth motion, he shifted you so you straddled him fully, his large hands gripping the softness of your thighs and settling you right against the thick ridge of his clothed cock.

you gasped at the contact.

“this,” he murmured, voice steady, “looks like it was made for me.”

you blinked.

he leaned forward, nose brushing against your neck. “your thighs could crush me. your hips—gods, your hips—you were shaped like this to drive me mad.”

your breath hitched.

his hands explored you like treasure—reverent, firm, worshipful. every time you shifted to cover something, he stopped you. forced you to sit with the feeling of his touch.

“i have taken lands in my name,” he whispered against your jaw, “but none of them compare to the curve of your waist under my hands.”

“indra—”

“you don’t believe me,” he growled, hands tightening.

you shook your head, eyes stinging. “i’m sorry—i just… i’ve always been bigger, and people—”

his mouth crashed into yours before you could finish. not gentle. not soft. desperate. claiming.

when he pulled back, his pupils were blown wide. “you do not apologize for existing. you do not apologize for the way the gods carved you.”

his hands found your ass and gripped it, pulling you closer. “i want every inch of you. every mark. every place you think is unworthy.” he rolled his hips up. “i want to fuck your doubt out of existence.”

you whimpered.

“do i have your permission?”

you nodded, breathless. “yes.”

he laid you down on the furs like he was handling something sacred. stripped the robe from you inch by inch, growling softly when your full breasts spilled free. he kissed down your body slowly, hungrily, spending extra time at your thighs—praising their shape, biting gently at the flesh, whispering, “divine.”

and when he finally pushed inside you, it was overwhelming. he filled you completely, buried to the hilt as he held you still and whispered, “feel that? this is how perfectly we fit.”

he didn’t let you look away. didn’t let you close your eyes. he wanted you to see—to witness what he saw when he looked at you.

a goddess.

his goddess.

and by the time he had you screaming his name, sweat-drenched and trembling beneath him, there wasn’t a single piece of you left that doubted it.

♡ obito uchiha

— he never grew up with softness, so yours ruins him. obito was raised in a world of harshness: war, grief, expectation. but the first time he touched you—your hips, your thighs, your plush little belly—it broke something in him. the softness, the warmth, the way your curves welcomed him instead of rejecting—he became obsessed. you were comfort he never thought he’d deserve. his hands always wander to your waist, to your sides while you sleep, like he’s trying to ground himself in the fact that you’re real, and his.

— your body makes him feral, he doesn’t just like how you look—he craves it. the jiggle of your ass when you walk, the stretch of your chest in a low-cut top, the way your thighs squish when you sit on him—it all makes his brain shut off. obito has absolutely muttered, “fuck, you’re gonna kill me,” into your skin before burying his face between your thighs like a man starved. he gets lost in it. needy, panting, overwhelmed. he’ll tear your clothes if you let him.

— he teases you just to see you squirm. you blush so easily, and obito lives for it. he’ll lean in close when you’re around others, palm low on your waist, and whisper things like, “you know i was thinking about bending you over this morning, right?” just to watch the color bloom in your cheeks. the darker your blush, the smugger he gets. it’s how he distracts himself from the guilt and pain. when you smile shyly and swat at his chest, it’s the only time he feels peace.

— he has deep-rooted insecurities and gets protective when yours show. the moment you start downplaying your looks, obito gets quiet—but not because he agrees. it’s because he knows what it’s like to feel worthless. to hate your reflection and seeing you—his beautiful, thick, brave girl—talk about yourself like that makes him ache. he’ll climb into your lap, cup your cheeks with rough hands, and say, “you think you’re too much? i don’t even think i’m enough for you.” his pain cracks through, raw and real—and it always ends in soft, desperate kisses.

— he always ends up on his knees! whether he’s fucking you or comforting you, obito always ends up on the floor, hands gripping your thighs, face buried where you’re warmest. he’ll murmur confessions between kisses: “you’re perfect,” “i need you,” “don’t hide from me.” he thinks you’re ethereal. a miracle and he’ll prove it—tongue deep, hands firm, eyes full of need—until you believe it, too.

the apartment was dimly lit, the only light coming from the kitchen window where you stood in silence, fingers picking at the hem of your shirt. you’d changed out of your mission gear, and now you were regretting it.

the fabric clung to your hips. your bra strained slightly. your stomach looked too round from this angle. and the worst part? you could feel him watching you.

you turned your head slightly. obito stood leaning in the doorway—messy-haired, shirtless, sweatpants low on his hips.

you hated how beautiful he was. his gaze dropped once again to your thighs.

you crossed your arms. “what?”

he blinked. “nothing.”

“don’t say ‘nothing’ when you’re staring.”

he pushed off the doorframe slowly, the bare soles of his feet soft against the wood as he walked toward you. you could already feel the heat rising in your chest.

“you’re mad that i’m looking at you?” his voice had that teasing tilt. the one that made your knees weak.

“i’m mad that i look like this.”

silence.

then he was in front of you—so close, you could feel his breath fan across your cheeks.

“like what?”

you gestured to your body, flustered. “like this. thick. stretched out. not… shinobi-looking, if that makes sense.”

his brow twitched, then he laughed.

you glared. “don’t laugh—”

“no—fuck, baby.” he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you flush against him. “do you even see what you’re doing to me right now?”

his voice was hot in your ear.

you could feel the hard press of his cock against your belly. thick. demanding.

“you walk around in that tiny shirt,” he growled, hand sliding to cup your ass, “with those thighs that won’t quit, and expect me to just… not stare?”

your whole body flushed, heating up in embarrassment.

“you blush like i haven’t had your legs on my shoulders, sweetheart,” he chuckled darkly, tongue teasing your ear. “should i remind you?”

you opened your mouth to protest, but he dropped to his knees so fast it knocked the air from your lungs.

“obito—!”

“shh.” his hands gripped the backs of your thighs as he pressed slow, wet kisses against the meat of them. “let me prove it.”

you wobbled. he steadied you easily.

he leaned forward, lips brushing the waistband of your shorts. “i’m gonna eat this pretty pussy until you forget how to frown.”

“obito—oh—!”

he yanked the fabric down and buried himself between your legs like a man starved. his tongue was relentless, lapping at your folds, flicking your clit, sucking until your knees buckled and your fingers tangled in his dark, unruly hair. every moan you gave, every desperate grind of your hips, fueled him.

he moaned against you. “that’s it. give it to me.”

your thighs quivered around his face. his hands squeezed them tighter, holding you open, keeping you grounded.

when your orgasm hit, it tore through you in waves. and obito—sweet, messy obito—looked up with a glint in his eye, chin soaked, smirking like a man who knew exactly what he was doing.

he stood slowly, dragging his lips up your body, pressing kisses to your belly, your chest, your flushed face.

“don’t you ever talk shit about my favorite body,” he murmured against your lips.

and you melted, because in obito’s arms, you didn’t feel like too much — you felt like everything.

♡ sasuke uchiha

— he doesn’t say much, but he sees everything, much like madara. sasuke isn’t vocal about your body, but his eyes are impossible to misread. they linger. they burn. when you walk across the room in just a shirt, his gaze drops immediately to your thighs. he notices how your waist dips beneath your clothes, how your chest rises when you sigh. even if you’re insecure, sasuke makes it clear—he isn’t. his stare is possessive. and when you catch him looking, all he says is, “what?” like he hasn’t just undressed you with his eyes three times over.

— his touch is silent reassurance. you might not hear praise from his mouth often, but you’ll feel it. in the way he wraps an arm around your waist in public. in how he pulls you flush against his chest when you lie down. in how his hand always settles on your hip, his thumb stroking absent circles over the skin he once claimed was “perfect for holding onto.” sasuke may be quiet, but his touch is loud with meaning, you are mine, and you are enough.

— he has a weakness for your curves, especially when you ride him. sasuke might be stoic, but when you’re on top, knees pressed into the mattress, your thick thighs caging him in—he loses it. his hands grip your hips hard, guiding your movements while his jaw clenches and his eyes flicker red. he watches your breast bounce, watches the sweat roll down your body, watches every bit of you take him like it was made for it. afterward, he barely speaks—just lays there, hand on your ass, breathing hard. ruined.

— he hates when you talk down about yourself, but he doesn’t argue. he proves you wrong; sasuke isn’t the type to argue with your insecurities. he doesn’t reason or comfort with long speeches. when you mumble something about being too soft or not fitting the shinobi mold, he goes quiet. then, he backs you into a wall, kisses the breath out of your mouth, and fucks you like he’s trying to erase every bad thought from your head. “too soft?” he growls between thrusts, “then why do i keep coming back to this?”

— he’s more vulnerable with you than anyone else, because your softness makes him feel safe. your body isn’t just desirable to sasuke, it’s healing. he finds comfort in your softness. in the way you wrap around him, hold him after nightmares, let him rest his head against your chest like a boy again. sometimes, he touches your curves like he’s checking if you’re real. because you, your warmth, your gentleness, your body, remind him that peace isn’t impossible. that maybe, just maybe, he still deserves something good.

you’d been quiet all evening. the mission hadn’t gone badly. in fact, it had gone smoothly. but still—you felt off. wrong in your own skin. too much.

your shirt felt snug across your chest. your thighs rubbed when you walked, chafed and sore. when you caught your reflection in the window, all you could see were the ways you didn’t look like the women sasuke was probably used to. lean. sleek. cut from kunoichi steel.

you sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at your bare legs.

“stop.”

his voice made you jump. you looked over your shoulder. sasuke stood at the doorway—one hand braced against the frame, eyes narrowed. unreadable.

“stop what?”

“thinking like that.”

your heart skipped. “you don’t know what i’m thinking.”

“i don’t need to.”

he moved toward you. quiet, controlled steps. his chakra pulsed faintly in the air—calm, but unmistakable.

when he reached you, he didn’t kneel. he didn’t speak. he simply lowered his hand to your waist and ran it along the curve of your hip, then down over your thigh.

“you’re upset because of your body,” he said.

you bit your lip.

“you think you’re too much.”

your throat tightened. “sometimes.”

he didn’t answer at first. just stepped closer until he was standing between your legs, your face level with his chest. then his hand curled under your chin, lifting your gaze to meet his.

“you know how many times i’ve come home from missions thinking about this body?” he said, voice low. “about how your thighs feel wrapped around me. about how you smell when you’re wet and writhing on top of me.”

you swallowed hard.

his other hand slid beneath the hem of your shirt, finding the soft skin of your waist. “you think i don’t notice every time you try to hide? you think i don’t watch your eyes when you look at yourself and hate it?”

your vision blurred slightly. you looked away.

he didn’t let you.

“no more hiding,” he whispered.

then he kissed you.

it wasn’t gentle. it wasn’t rushed, either. it was deliberate. a slow press of lips that said, listen to me. that said, believe me. you whimpered into it, hands reaching to grip his arms, steadying yourself.

sasuke walked you backward, lips never leaving yours, until the back of your knees hit the bed.

“take it off,” he said, tugging at your shirt.

you hesitated. he raised a brow. “now.”

so you did. the shirt peeled off slowly, exposing your breasts, your soft stomach, the fullness of your body in the moonlight.

his gaze didn’t waver. he looked hungry.

“lie back.”

you obeyed.

he climbed over you, letting his fingers map every dip and swell like he was relearning you. he pressed kisses to your belly, your inner thighs, the stretch marks painting your sides.

then he moved up—grinding his hips against yours with a quiet growl.

“you think you’re too much?” he whispered against your neck. “then why do i want to lose myself in you every night?”

his cock pressed hot and hard between your legs. you moaned softly.

“sasuke—”

he didn’t let you finish. he slid inside you slowly, deliberately, until you were gasping, your legs trembling.

he fucked you deep. steady. grinding against your sweet spot with every thrust. his hands gripped your waist like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

when you started to fall apart, crying out his name, he leaned down and murmured, “this is mine. you’re mine.”

and when you finally collapsed, ruined and panting, sasuke stayed inside you. buried deep. forehead resting against yours.

“don’t talk about yourself like that again,” he whispered. “not when you’re everything i need.”

and just like that—you believed him.

#naruto x reader #naruto #madara x reader #itachi x reader #madara uchiha #itachi uchiha #indra x reader #obito x reader #indra otsutsuki #itachi uchiha x reader #madara uchiha x reader #sasuke uchiha x reader #sasuke x reader #uchiha x reader #obito uchiha

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chris-hallelujah · 8 months ago

Text

Have You Ever Tried This One? pt. 2 | m.s.

Part One Here!

Warnings: foul language, oral (m and f receiving), alcohol usage

Word Count: 1.8k words

My Master List

Join my tag list : @matthewsroses @lvrsturniolo @sturnzsblog @nickgurl4life

Enter my giveaway!! (closes 11/15)

Divider by: @anitalenia

A/N: Thank you all for the love on part one! I was not expecting it to get the attention it did. Thank you again @delilahsturniolo for the inspo and letting me make your idea my own. I'm sorry if it feels rushed -- I knew you all were waiting for this so I tried to hurry!!

<3 - Billie

The lights in the arena darkened and you disappeared from the view of the crowd's view. "Goodnight Boston, I'll see you soon!" You called into the mic before handing it off to someone on stage crew. Your manager handed you a water bottle which you gladly took. Making your way back to your dressing room, she fussed over your hair and outfit.

"There are a few journalists who want to speak with you and those boys you invited backstage," she said powdering your face. You waved her off.

"I just got done with a concert, they can deal with a little bit of imperfection," you laughed walking out of your dressing room. In the lobby area backstage you saw the triplets with Chris' girlfriend standing against a wall. You waved at them to acknowledge them quickly before you had to deal with the few journalists. After about 10 minutes of interviews and answering questions, you were finally free. You sauntered over to the group with a smile. "Hi! I'm so sorry to keep you all waiting! I'm Billie, it is so nice to meet you all," You exclaimed shaking each of their hands as they introduced themselves. Your hand lingered connected to Matt's for a few seconds longer than the others. He was quiet, shy as you all conversed. Chris and Nick did most of the talking. "I've seen some of your videos. You guys are hilarious," you smiled looking across all of them but then locking eyes with Matt.

"Y-you've seen our videos?" he asked surprised, earning a nod from you.

"I have and I'm really honored you all came tonight. I hope you enjoyed the show." You all chatted for a bit before your manager passed by giving you a look to wrap it up. "It was great to get to meet you all. And, Matt, if you're up for it, I'd love to chat more." You flashed him a confident smile and handed him a paper with your number on it. He took it with a shaky hand, staring at it wide eyed.

"Yea, no, that - yea sounds good," he blurt out earning a laugh from his brothers.

"You might have broke him," Nick teased.

After you all parted ways you made your way back to your hotel room. The hot shower water ran down your body as you felt your muscles relax. The plush bathrobe hugged your body as you climbed out of the shower and, as if on cue, your phone buzzed.

Hey, you put on a great show tonight. Thanks for the handcuffs. Now I just need to put them to use ;)

You're too sweet and a bit more bold when your brothers aren't around to tease you

They're a piece of work lol when can I see you again?

I'm at the four seasons room 311

Matt stared at his phone in shock. He never would have expected you to just give him the information for your hotel room. He quietly snuck out of his bedroom, not wanting to have to deal with telling Nick and Chris that he was going to see you.

You quickly freshened up, enough to look cute but not too much that you looked desperate. About 15 minutes later there was a knock at your hotel room door. Matt's face greeted you as you opened it. He was leaning against the wall with a slight smirk. You could already tell that he was a different Matt than you'd met earlier. "Hey, pretty girl," he spoke smoothly.

A slight blush crept your cheeks as you moved aside to let him in. You took in his all black outfit, noting how nice it looked on him. "Hi Matt," you smiled. Matt looked around, taking in the fancy hotel suite you were in.

"Nice place you got here. All of your tour stops this fancy?" he asked sitting down on the sofa.

You laughed a bit, "I try and make them feel like home a bit. Traveling so much can be exhausting and it's nice to come back to a hotel room that has all that I need in it." Shuffling through the mini fridge, you pulled out some wine. "You want some?" He nodded leading you to pour two glasses. You took a spot next to him on the sofa, not leaving much room between you, but enough for it to not be awkward. "So, tell me about you. What do I need to know about Matt Sturniolo?" you asked.

He took a sip of the wine before turning fully to face you, "Well, as you know I'm a triplet. I'm the middle one. We've been doing YouTube since-"

You cut him off shaking your head. "I don't want to know about your brothers. Tell me about you." This caused Matt's head to spin. He wasn't used to people only wanting to learn about him. People always loved Chris for his looks and Nick for his humor, but sometimes Matt felt swept under the rug. ((I'm crying writing this))

A smile on his face, he took a different approach, "Okay well, I really like nature. I feel so at peace when I'm outside. I also used to be really into reading. Fell outta that for a while, but I'm starting to pick it up again." The two of you chatted getting to know each other and finishing the bottle of wine quicker than either of you had planned.

It had been an hour of just drinking and talking and before you knew it your legs were draped over his lap, hands in his hair. He had his lips attached to yours as he held your hips. You weren't quite sure how you got there, but you weren't complaining. Matt pulled away slightly, earning a whine from you. Both of you breathing heavily, he leaned his forehead against yours. "You sure about this, miss popstar?" he said, teasing you slightly. You giggled and nodded, placing your lips on his neck. He groaned, tilting his head back to give you more access. You trailed down his jawline, then his neck, and to his collarbone leaving bites and kisses in your path. A flash of pink covered your eyes as Matt tugged your shirt off over your head and tossed it to meet his on the floor. He picked you up and tossed you onto the bed. Something caught your eye, peeking out of his back pocket. Something pink. With fur? Oh my god.

A chuckle escaped your lips as you tugged the fuzzy pink handcuffs you had gifted him at the concert out of his back pocket. "I see you wanted to break in your gift," you smirked, twirling them on your finger. He chuckled snatching them from you and tossing them to the side.

"Don't worry, pretty girl, they'll get used soon," he winked. His pants hit the floor and your eyes trailed down his body. Before you knew it, you found yourself on your knees in front of him. "Such a good girl. Didn't even have to tell you," he smirked. You were practically drooling at the sight of him. Your hand wrapped around his length causing him to hiss slightly. As your lips enclosed around his tip, his hand found home in your hair. Your tongue swirled around him slowly before you closed the distance between your lips and his groin. He groaned loudly as you took him in deeper. Impulsively, his hand pushed your head further, causing a choking noise to leave you. "Shhh, you got it, princess. Doin' - ah - doing so well," he moaned as your head bobbed. As you moved your head back and forth, your hand covered what didn't fit in your mouth. It did not take long for Matt's hand to coerce you a bit more forcefully as you noticed his body tense up. "Oh fuck, keep goin," he moaned. A few more pumps later you felt his load shoot into your mouth as he groaned loudly, squeezing his eyes shut. You pulled off of him with a slight 'pop' and sat with a satisfied grin on your face. He let out a deep breath before looking down at you.

Next thing you knew, your back hit the mattress and Matt hovered over you. "Better wipe that smirk off that pretty little face," he chuckled. To your right you heard the sound of metal clinking. Matt's hand gathered your small wrist and cuffed you to the bed. You looked up at the handcuffs and back at him whimpering slightly. Your arms wiggled causing the metal to clank against the headboard. "What? Can't handle what you dish out?" he smirked and trailed kisses down your torso. When he reached your underwear, his eyes met yours again for approval. As you nodded, he discarded your thong onto the floor. Your hips twitched in anticipation as you felt his breath on your core. The wide grin on his face was undeniable as he watched you already writhing beneath him. "So sensitive," he chuckled tracing circles on your thigh, "barely even touched you yet."

"Matty, please," you whined. He ended your suffering licking a stripe up your folds. Your hips lifted at the contact and you gasped loudly. He quickly shoved your hips back down to the bed and held them there with his hands, probably leaving bruises that would show tomorrow. Matt explored you with his tongue, taking note on what made your legs shake. As his tongue circled your clit, he felt your hips try to raise against his hands. "Oh! Matt fuck" you moaned loudly. He smiled against you knowing he figured out your weakness. He continued to work your bundle of nerves until you were a writhing, moaning mess underneath him. The noise of the handcuffs fighting the headboard earned a laugh from Matt's mouth that vibrated against you. Your body tensed as your climax built up. He slipped a finger into you, thrusting quickly as his tongue danced against your clit. You felt pleasure take over your body. "Matt - my god! Don't stop!" you cried out. He continued to ride out your orgasm until your body relaxed and you panted against the bed. He carefully removed his fingers from you and crawled up to meet your eyes. Your lips wrapped around his fingers, tasting yourself as you licked them clean. He removed his fingers from your mouth and unlocked the handcuffs.

A soft kiss landed on your forehead as he pulled his t shirt over your head. You smiled climbing under the covers. Pulling his boxers back on before he climbed into bed with you. The night was spent wrapped in each others' arms.

The morning light showed through the curtains as you woke. After cuddling up to Matt for a few more minutes, you reached for your phone. Your eyes widened as you saw messages from your manager. Attached was an article titled, "YouTube Triplet Seen at Pop Star's Hotel." You knew this was not going to end well with your publicity team but, boy, was it worth it.

#matt sturniolo #Matthew sturniolo #Chris sturniolo #Christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #matt stuniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo smut #Spotify

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anantaru · 1 year ago

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morning sex with diluc <3333

⊹ ‧₊˚ ᰔ synopsis. your husband diluc finds himself craving your warmth first thing in the morning // ꒰ᐢ⸝⸝⸝⸝ᐢ꒱ ♡ cw. very passionate & needy diluc, he's your husband, he calls you wife <3, fem! reader ♡

no precise way of gestures, no fluctuation, instead the way diluc touched you first thing in the morning was a little clumsy, yet it conceded a special sentiment— with a tender light of love in his sleepy eyes, hanging with pieces of lust.

"p-patience, doll, you're so soft," he whispers into the back of your neck as one heavy arm drapes around your waist, keeping your plush ass pressed behind his pulsing erection.

pricelessly enough, telling you to be patient while he had to use every single fiber in his being to hold himself back of climaxing right away, made the master of the dawn winery out to be a teeny tiny amount of hypocritical, but in the nicest, most vulnerable way possible.

he worships you dearly, loving the raw soul of you and loving the ever deepening lust on your changing face as he lines himself up with your entrance, yet not before lazily slipping his length in and out your folds for a couple of times, drawing a soft moan out of you.

you laugh airily, "y-you don't seem patient either," and the flustered tone in your voice had been awfully noticeable.

clearly perceptible, when you called him "husband" right after finishing your welcoming sentence, diluc swore he could've released right about this moment, prodding at your hole before slowly bucking himself inside.

well, he's your husband, yet hearing you say it set his loins on fire, not only that but it made his heart beat faster, stronger and more erratic and archons, he was so grateful, nudging his nose into the space between your neck and ear as he leaves a trail of wet kisses on the skin before silently grinding into your warmth.

he murmurs nothing but sweetness into your flesh, and brands you with his lively trace until your breath hitches when he found the perfect tempo for you both. tense with anticipation, you whine and lean back to feel his arm gloss over your warm breasts as he repeatedly slips into your hole, adding more inches and parting your pussy wider as you took him, all of him.

"I love you... my wife," he gasps, pushing further until his face turns licorice red, immediately after letting his muscles relax against your body.

you squeeze your eyes shut and held in a heavenly whimper, your voice reduced to a sleepy, soft whine and a crumbling moan as you find home in his hold, feeling him greatly bulge and thicken inside your walls.

diluc holds you close to his chest and although he treasured seeing your face switch into a hazy expression whenever he made love to you, he found this position to be very intimate as well.

you whimper as your hole was filled with his warmth and his thick shaft roaming freely inside your drenched walls, clenching at his cock throbbing with each raw drag of his hips. "diluc, baby," you whisper out, your limbs shaking, "i love you too, so much."

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #diluc x reader #diluc smut #diluc x you #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #genshin drabbles #genshin impact drabbles

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scriptseekstories · 25 days ago

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Queen Bee’s Hive

Chapter 11- Wasp in a Beehive

A/N: See what I did there on the title? 😼 it’s not that clever- it’s also been hard to write this chapter because I had a lot of ideas but can’t just cram it all into one chapter, so I had to cherry pick what to put in.

That and writer’s block lmao

You had another nightmare this night. You fell out of your little hammock with tears in your eyes, shaking as whimpers build up in your throat. You frantically searched for your bee plush, hugging it tightly against your chest.

Rain poured down from outside, droplets splashing onto the window, slowly rocking your beehive. Staying in such a tiny room didn’t feel comforting, so you stepped out of the room and crept through the halls.

“A-Alfred…” You whispered to yourself, the dim lights from the walls illuminating your way. Passing the upstairs railing, you could see Dick and Tim downstairs, talking in such a late hour while laughing and smiling.

You wish you could run to them for comfort, but the last time you did you only got an uncomfortable smile from Dick and an annoyed eye roll from Tim. So you only continued to walk until making it to a door, knocking slowly while sniffling.

“Master (Name), why are you out of bed?” The door opened for Alfred to kneel down, worried at your teary face. The thunder outside only made you flinch more, where you shakily opened your mouth.

“M-Mama…” You only choked out before collapsing in his arms weeping. Alfred immediately began to shush you gently, his gentle tone soothing out any of the thunder outside.

“You poor dear,” He whispered, “Had another nightmare, did we?” You nodded before sobbing softly again and hugged the butler’s waist tight. He lifted you up in his arms before setting you on his bed.

“Here’s your bee,” He softly said, handing you your bee plush you dropped. You grabbed it and crawled under his covers, making him chuckle softly as this was a nightly occurrence for you to sleep on his bed.

“I will make a vow to you, Master (Name),” He hummed, sliding into his side of the bed, making sure your Wonder Woman nightlight (he never told Bruce) lit the room to keep you calm.

“I promise you, you will never have another nightmare again,” Reaching to cup your little cheek, you wiped all your tears away and gave a smile, eyes fluttering closed before sleep overtook you.

“G’night Alfred…” You mumbled. His heart ached, his breathing stuttering before smiling warmly at you, his own eyes drifting down to sleep.

“And you will never be alone,”

꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁

“I promised…” Holding your bee plush seemed to be the only thing that’s keeping Alfred from falling onto his knees and letting out another heartbreaking cry. You were alive, truly alive! You may look different, but you’re still his baby!!

Problem is… this changed everything to what the Wayne Family was struggling with. The thing that “killed” you… was really you.

And it was causing chaos.

“I say we just go track them down and bring them back!” Damien demanded, already in his Robin suit and ready to find you.

“We need to find out what caused (Name) to become that thing so we could create a cure!” Tim countered back, glaring at the younger boy.

“Guys…” Duke swallowed hard, “What if… it’s not (Name) anymore…” Alfred didn’t want to believe it, he wanted to deny and insist that you were still you. Yet… he didn’t know who you were, and it seemed like you didn’t know either.

“If that thing is no longer them… then we have to kill it,” Steph managed to choke out. The memory of seeing you dead haunted her, but knowing the thought of killing you again… She definitely took in the fact both times would be because of them.

“You’re wrong,” The voice of Cass made the yelling stop. The vigilante never speaks unless she wants to, so Cass speaks, everyone listens. She had a hardened look on her face, moving over to where Jason was sitting.

“When they broke Jason’s hand,” She lifted Jason’s cast, “They stopped before they could kill him,” The way you looked after you backed away in terror, as if seeing him- albeit his mask covered his face- gave you recognition.

“They called me Jaybird,” That was a name Jason hasn’t heard ever since his death. The one name that made him grin with joy and laugh like he was a kid again. The name that was given to him by the one person who balanced his hero life and his kid life.

“(Name) is still there, somewhere deep down in that beast’s heart,” He continued for Cass, sitting upright from his chair. A spark of hope and determination filled everyone, prepared to do whatever it takes to save you.

Alfred stared down back at your bee plush. Maybe things will be okay, you’ll be in his arms again and everything that happened will be nothing more than a memory. You’ll be his sweet (Name) again.

“I’ll find a cure to whatever they were infected with, to bring them back,” Barbara and Tim immediately got to work in searching for whatever was left in that warehouse they took. They lost the tapes your mother made about Project: Honey, but splashes of pollen and videos from your phone could give them enough time and clues for a cure.

“We’ll have our (Name) back in no time,” Duck reassured everyone, “Don’t celebrate yet Grayson,” Damien hissed, but Dick knew that tone of his brother’s voice that he was also anxious about finding you again.

“The next step is to find Poison Ivy, see if she was behind their accident,” Bruce declared, “The mere mention of her name already gave us many leads and clues as to what happened,” Hunting Ivy down was another hassle, since she usually vanishes for months before appearing for her next spree, and Harley never snitches on her.

“I know how,”

꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁

Selina was a woman of many words through action. She shows her body to save others like her, swings a leg to kick it into a face of bad people, drags a whip to crack it into a neck, speaks to lure others into a trap.

Yet when it came to Bruce, it was a roll of a dice on whether or not her actions will get through to him. She couldn’t get through to him about his No-Kill code, nor did she got through to him when letting Jason go, but now?

Nothing is ever going to get through to him with this.

“Figured it was about time you would come sniffing around us for a certain someone,” She leaned against a railing on a rooftop, admiring the moon as if it was precious jewelry.

The brooding figure of Batsy was always something she was amazed to seeing, yet tonight she could tell he was off his game, that’s how much she knew him well.

"Where’s Poison Ivy?” He gruffed out, skipping the smooth talking he combined his Batman persona with his Brucie Wayne persona.

“You know I don’t rat out my girls, especially if she hasn’t done anything bad in a while,” Selina scoffed while admiring her claws, seemingly uninterested in what he was going to say.

“But even if I did tell you where Ivy was, not like she would say anything to you willingly, not without breaking your bones. I’m all you got right now for any information,” She shrugged, her whip draped along the ground like a tail.

“Then you know the reason I’m here,” Bruce pulled out a photo, taken from a security camera catching your figure, blurred and out of focus. Selina didn’t bother looking at what he was holding.

“We weren't going have the kid to be thrown in Arkham, Bruce,” She snapped, “Whatever you see, they weren't always like that,” She stretched her body and sat up right, already ready to escape whatever interrogation Bruce was initiating.

“They were just a kid. A clumsy yet smart kid who even knew us as criminals, still smiled and greeted us as if we were still human,” She smiled at the memories of you skating along the street while waving to them, before eating shit into a pole.

“You would’ve loved them, they kinda reminded me of you,” She breathed a chuckle. She was tired, and swung her legs over the railing to leave Bats in the dust, but froze when he spoke.

“That was because they are my child,” His breathing was stilted, as Selina slowly turned her head to see Bruce pulling his cowl off, letting her see how… tired he looked. More than usual.

“Holy shit… you’re the neglectful dad?” Selina’s eyes narrowed before letting out a soft chuckle, growing into a bitter laugh, “Should’ve known, your history on loving your kids were a bit iffy, never really thought you had it in you for abandoning one,” She continued laughing as she slid back to sit on the railing.

“I didn’t abandoned them,” He quickly said, though it felt defensive rather than the truth, “Sure seemed like you did,” She scoffed, standing up.

“I mean, talk about broken home! Did you really didn’t do anything when Damien swung his sword at them? Poor baby went to Ivy for it to heal… never got rid of that scar,” Selina pressed her finger on her forehead, informing where you got your scar from Damien.

“Selina, please. I’m begging you to tell me where they are. At least where Ivy is,” Bruce clenched his hands around his cowl, voice more desperate if you recognized the way he spoke. He was trying to stay strong despite it all.

“And why should I? So you could feel better about yourself? So you don’t have that guilt in your heart reminding you that you failed as a father? That you can’t stand the thought of actually failing being what others saw you as?” Selina pressed him, glaring at Bruce as she backed him to the edge of the building.

“You might as well just accepted you never had them as your kid in the first place since you failed to see them!” The venom from her voice made Bruce clench his eyes shut, gritting his teeth before the gates burst open

“Selina please!!” His Batman voice wavered and broke into Bruce Wayne. Selina stayed silent, watching a broken man as he fell onto his knees, not being able to support the emotional wreck he was in.

"I lost them once-!… I-I can't lose them again…” He wasn’t ever going to lose you again. He will make sure that you will be loved till the end of times that you won’t even remember why you were angry at him. You’ll forgive him that he can promise.

“… Fuck, she’s going to kill me…” Selina groaned, rubbing her face seeing the pathetic face of Bruce, yet couldn’t help but soften a little. She opened a little bag on her belt and shuffled around.

“This is all I’m giving you, because despite us together, your mistakes messed that little baby up so bad they became a monster because of you,” She flicked a small card at his feet, avoiding eye contact.

“This is the only thing I’m going to do, it ain’t my place to interfere, nor help you with,” Even if she was involved with Bruce, you were first, always had and always will be.

“And watch out with Ivy finding out that not only you’re their dad, but the reason they were hurt for so many years,” Selina dusted herself off before hopping onto the ledge of the building, stopping for a moment and turning to Bruce.

“Don’t. Make me regret this,” She warned cautiously and dangerously, pointing at him before jumping off the ledge to leave. Bruce stayed silent before slowly crouching down to lift the card to him.

The card didn’t had any other information other than a name with little hexagon patterns splattered across the faded paper. Guess whoever takes card would know their way around the city to find this place.

“The HoneyComb,”

꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁

“Here!” It was easy to pin point the location to this indie club that apparently is easy to join. Barbara zoomed in from security footage that came from an undetected camera perched on a small bakery nearby.

“Oswald Cobblepot paid for the property of the warehouse (Name) spent years in by using an alias to sway any suspicion. Discretely having it under renovation during the night, construction was under wraps for days,” Tim crossed his arms and leaned against the Bat computer’s desk holder, eyes darting around to take in every detail from the footage.

“Now we know why,” Barbara piped in, “(Name) has been using the very place they worked hard in as their new home. Surveillance from other stores showed people enter and exit through the night,” More choppy videos played, yet it was clear as day what, or who they were seeing.

“Look at that…” Duke’s eyes widened when spotting familiar faces. From simple mugging or burglary, they see people that only wanted to survive that they had stopped before, “Glowing eyes… just like-,” Now they’re eyes were just like-

“(Names)’s,” Jason breathed out a laugh, “Guess their little rants about bees to me worked in our favor,” Damien looked up at his brother, confused as Jason began to explain.

“A queen bee can’t survive without drones or worker bees, so instead of laying eggs to larvae, (Name) must’ve used that honey they were so proud of as some sort of mind control to target homeless, muggers, or drug addicts to work for them,” He explained, arms crossed and nodding in realization.

“No one would miss those kinds of people,” It sounded mean, but even the optimistic ones in the Batfamily knew that they were nothing more than thieves.

“W-we can’t just let them continue with this! This isn’t like them!” Dick pleaded. He was sure that whatever you turned into has trapped your mind into a mindless state where you had no idea you were harming others! He’ll save you and bring you back to normal!

“That’s the thing… If it’s too late to bring them back, we have to arrest them…” Bruce’s hand trembled at the thought of taking you away to Arkham. Maybe he’ll pull some strings to stop it from happening.

“But if we catch them… we can’t send them to Arkham. I know that our (Name) is still there, we could rehabilitate them to regain their memory!” Duke looked scared, and rightfully so. This could go wrong in many ways, but the look in the family’s eyes means that they’re willing to risk everything.

Bruce has made many mistakes in the past, but you weren’t going to be another. He will bring you back, he will spend his entire life finding a cure to your beast and throw a big party for you when you’re normal again.

“Question is…” Alfred began, his fingers on his chin in a thoughtful manner. Going in dressed as Batman and the Robins is a huge no-no, despite not knowing how capable you are in your bee form Alfred knows how much you hated them. So in a disguise…

“Who’s going?”

…

“ME!!!”

꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁

“Honeycomb, where all is welcome,” Dick flipped the card over a few times, as if thinking there was some sort of code behind it. Dick, Damien, Steph, Jason, and Duke were chosen (or rather fought) to be disguised as homeless or low citizens.

“Tt, Grayson, why must we wear such rags?” Damien tsked, shoving his hands into his pockets while they turned a corner to see the warehouse from a distance.

“We don’t know if seeing our faces or clothes the hypnotized “drones” will alert (Name), we lay low,” Dick ruffled the assassin’s hair, making him growl. Yet he was more focused on finding you rather than biting Dick’s hand off.

The low vibrations of upbeat music indicated that they were near. Standing at the warehouse, it looked like it was completely run down just like before, but the lights shining through the cracks said otherwise.

“Please! We seek shelter, we seek a home!” Duke banged on the door, before grimacing when he pulled his hand away to see honey sticking onto him.

Jason snickered before the two doors slid open, the glowing lights from inside blinded them for a moment. Duck squinted his eyes and raised his hand as a figure stood at the entrance, a familiar grin on his face.

“Greetings, my fellow outsider bees!” A voice so familiar with memories caused all of them to freeze. A hand quickly grabbed onto Dick’s, Jason tugging at his scarf frantically. Joker stood happily, oblivious at the group’s reaction.

“Looks like we are welcoming more poor little bees who are in dire need of our sanctuary!” He laughed heartily, “But not to worry! Our queen will take you in definitely!” He gave a dramatic bow before the doors slid open, the light from inside pouring out that blinded them for a moment.

“Grayson,” Damien stilled, “That’s the Joker,” Yet those words felt like a lie. It was so clearly that it was the Joker, but he was… different. His outfit consisted on resembling of a fancy jester with strips and pastel colors splashed across, large antennas sticking out of his head, his smile still wide, but lack the insanity behind it.

And his eyes… glowing like everyone else.

“Yeah, I know…” He mumbled, squeezing the hand of Jason, who remained silent but had that look in his eyes, Lazarus green glowing.

“We are happy to take in more of our precious bees!” Joker’s antennas twitched, which caused a few younger bees to offer plates of honey to the new group, to which they declined. Jason grimaced in slight fear when seeing Ben, a young boy he saved from being in the wrong crowd when he spotted him stealing from a car.

He didn’t look malnourished the last time he saw Ben, in fact, he looked better than ever. His clothes were new, his face clean from bruises and blood, but it didn’t felt great when his eyes glowed and antennas twitching.

Dick scanned the area while Joker rambled on about how his “Queen” showed him his wrongdoings and let him in with open arms. “They truly do care about their bees,” He sniffled dramatically, dabbing his fake tears away before laughing softly. It felt unnatural, this place.

Inside had hexagon patterns for the walls and the floors, along with the rails for the three floors she has within it. What appeared to be a waterfall fountain with glowing pink and orange honey where older drones gathered in bowl, still offering them to them.

Damien sure as hell doesn’t like the fact everything felt… too happy. Everyone was safe, yes, but the music, the atmosphere had this… strain, as if it was determined to keep everything in a happy state.

“You’re just in time too! Our queen is about to begin the party!!” Joker clapped his hands with joy, a genuine smile on his face as the lights began to dim. Dick instinctively pushed the others back as the drones and worker bees gasped with excitement, all looking up at the ceiling, where a massive wax covered smaller hive was glowing.

“Party is buzzing tonight!!” A loud, beaming voice echoed throughout the hive, causing your subjects to all cheer. Damien and Duke looked at each other just as a tempo began to drop, and from the ceiling, a bright glow crawled to be revealed.

A bright smile they recognized anywhere, and the voice that no longer stuttered or sounded coarse.

Buzzzzz

“Your Queen Bee makes the sweet stuff, so make me that sweet, sweet honey!!”

A/N: Again, this may be an allegory, but who knows lmao. Anyways, here’s a chapter for you hungry pests because writer’s block actually shot be 47 times then tossed me into a ravine.

Have fun analyzing why things feel fake and too happy, I like when yall analyze things

Taglist: @pix-stuff @jellystar-star @moon0goddess @bad4amficideas @lettucel0ver @lithiumval @degenerates-posts @ryuushou @deathbynarcisstick @silverklaus @artistwithcreativeburnout @middevil465 @jsprien213 @1abi @oliviaewl @redkarmakai @nxdxsworld @the-dumber-scaramouche @sc3n3mo-t3to @tw-om-gi-hs-56387 @bunniotomia @welpthisisboring @rad4bean @ithoughtthinks @reeyy0-2 @ceramic-raven @danart501 @esposadomd @trashlanternfish360 @jjoppees @nervousalpacalady @eyeless-kun @pinkcloudcat @lunamonkeypower @soriansick @your-favorite-god

#yandere batfam #yandere batfamily #batfam x batsis #batfam x reader #yandere bruce wayne #yandere alfred pennyworth #yandere barbara gordon #yandere dick grayson #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake #yandere damian wayne #yandere cassandra cain #yandere stephanie brown #yandere duke thomas #yandere dc #queen bee’s hive

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jerbunni · 4 months ago

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Lycaon x Reader - As You Wish

So, y'know, Lycaon's not exactly human. If you're into that, heyy you're eating well tonight. If not, I'll make it up to you. Hope you enjoy. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MINORS DNI . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ Tags: Anthro, knotting, little plot, vaginal, 18+, smut Summary: Though your guardians hired a bodyguard, his duties often end up extending overtime.

The master of Victoria Housekeeping wanted nothing more than to keep their precious daughter safe. And, of course, with a surplus of wealth came the best bodyguards money could buy. Little did they know their daughter would take a particular interest in one very capable bodyguard-- Von Lycaon.

Never would your guardians have known that keeping you safe included keeping you "company" during lonely nights. Which, of course, entailed...

“L-Lycaon…” you’d whine, sprawled out on your sheets with his cold, wet nose pressed snugly against your clit.

“T-The others… w-we can’t… this is wrong…”

With a soft growl, your bodyguard dismisses your concerns with a long stripe against your entrance, your essence smearing across his tongue.

"Has that stopped you before?"

You shudder in response, sighing out a shaky whine. Your hand reaches for his head, encouraging his licks by ruffling his fur. Your morals conflict with your actions, but you can’t help but give in; he just feels so good.

The closer you get to your release, the tighter your legs cage around his head, his soft tufts of fur tickling your skin and coercing a smile from you. Though he attends to your every need, bodyguard duties or otherwise, tonight’s the first night when he stops right before your sweet release.

“Lycaon…” you huff. You're throbbing with anticipation.

“Apologies,” he murmurs, prying your thighs off him with his large paws, “But I’ve become impatient, master.”

Your brows furrow at the nickname, “S-Since they’re not here… you can call me by my name.”

“Would that make you happy?”

You nod in response, cheeks flushed with red.

His paws curl around your legs once he gets up to position himself at the end of your bed, and with one swift motion, he drags you towards where he stands.

His naked figure is one you always find yourself marveling at. It’s no surprise he’s toned with all the combat he finds himself in, but the tufts of white fur peaking through his humanoid figure accentuates his body to another level.

You watch as his member throbs before you, the moonlight peaking through your window illuminating his snow-like mane. He’s painted oh-so beautifully. And he’s all yours.

Keeping one hand held around your thigh, Lycaon uses his other to direct his length to your core. And, with gentle rubs, he coats himself in your slick.

“Lycaon… please, I need to cum… d-don’t tease me,” you beg, legs shaking with anticipation.

“But of course, my dear.”

He presses the tip of himself against your entrance, and with one slow and steady push, he drives himself past his knot and bottoms out inside you.

You moan out his name, your voice wavering as you emphasize the last few vowels. He hushes you in response, his thumb caressing the skin of your plush thighs, “Yes, yes…”

He stills himself as you adjust to his size, though you feel his patience growing thinner as your walls flutter around his length. Instinctually, his hips buck into you, making your back arch. His length fits within you perfectly.

“Y/N…”

Though his tone indicates a warning, it's laced with need.

With a soft groan, you nod. You're perfect. It's the answer he was looking for-- a silent response to use your body till he's content.

It’s then that he finally lets himself free, his hips crashing against yours with reckless abandon. With each muted plap of skin against fur, his movement becomes more rampant, more wild, more desperate.

Your fingers fold into the blankets below you, bare chest rising and falling in sync with his movements. You’re so dizzy, so lightheaded, so close to cumming.

It's when his padded thumb presses heavy, tight circles against your clit, that you find yourself spilling overboard.

Your pussy gushes around his length, your juices dampening the tufts of fur surrounding the base of his cock. Loud whines escape you as your body becomes overtaken with convulsions and an overwhelming sense of pleasure. You don’t care if you’re loud, you don’t care if the other bodyguards in Victoria Housekeeping hear you, you’re too focused on how wonderful he makes you feel.

It’s now, with your cushy, sopping, walls spasming around his length that he picks up the pace, reminding you of just how powerless you are beneath him despite your status.

“Y/N…” He whines.

His hand unlatches from your thigh, and he leans into you, using his forearms to hold himself steady on the mattress while simultaneously caging you underneath him. His cold, wet snout nudges against your cheek, and it’s here that his heavy breaths become more prevalent than ever. Soft whines and groans escape him, a noise only audible from this distance.

“If I may…”

He doesn’t need to finish his sentence for you to understand his request. You hook your arms over his neck, trapping him just as he did with you. The fur protruding from his collar sticks to you as you nod your head. You’re becoming overstimulated with the way his tip bullies up into your favorite little spongy spot, and it’s not long before you’re close to coming again.

“M-Mhmm! Y-You may…” You squeak out, squeezing your eyes shut.

You didn’t think he'd become any more intense, but his hips move at an unforgiving pace, every thrust resulting in a whine or huff from you.

It doesn’t take long before he’s rutting into you, shaky and inconsistently. Soon enough, you feel strings of hot white spurt inside you. His fur puffs up, and the knot within you swells, preventing his seed from leaking. You belong to him.

His pants are unsteady, meanwhile, you’re trembling, and it takes the two of you a few quiet moments to catch your breath. It’s during the aftermath of your afterglow that your guilt from before finally catches up with you.

“Y-You think the others heard?” You ask in a whisper.

He pries away from your grasp, tired, red eyes gazing into yours, “N-No. The manor’s too grand for them to have heard you.”

Even in moments like these, he’s been able to keep a rational mind. Or, well, you know, semi-rational. Certainly wasn't when he filled you...

“Are you gonna sleep with me tonight?”

“I shouldn’t, Y/N, it’ll draw too much suspicion…”

You can’t help but display your disappointment on your face with furrowed brows and a scrunched nose. As much as he wants to, he knows it’d be too risky.

“Please,” he continues, a placing a tender kiss upon your cheek, “Don’t be upse-”

“No!” You interject, “Safety first, happiness second. And I feel safe enough already, so please…”

He really shouldn’t be doing this… You really shouldn’t be doing this…

With a soft sigh, Lycaon makes himself comfortable beside you, still connected by knot.

“As you wish...”

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