#not having a good brain day but I could resist

[whosashan]

hello helloo!!! ♥️♥️ sending you love 💕 i want to ask for a request about lads. yk the tiktok prank where the bf is sleeping and the gf was waking him up, telling him he have to hide bc her "bf" is here? 😂 i know this would ate hard with xavier. anyhow you can make headcanons about it?? <3

thank you and have a nice day 🧚‍♀️

SNEAKYYY

PAIRING: lads men x gn!nonmc!reader (Caleb calls you pipsqueak, though - I just think it's cute:(()

SYNOPSIS: What did you expect when you woke your lover up in a panic, telling him to hide because your “boyfriend” just got home? Are you ready to face the consequences? (a little suggestive, I guess?)

A/N: Thank you for the request. Hope you enjoy!

Stumbling upon a new TikTok trend, you couldn’t resist the temptation. The setup was simple—wake your lover in a panic, tell him he needs to hide because your “boyfriend” just got home, and see how he reacts. A harmless prank, really.

Or so you thought.

With a sly grin and your heart thrumming with anticipation, you turned toward the man peacefully asleep beside you. His breathing was slow, steady, his face relaxed in the dim glow of the bedside lamp. He looked so serene, so blissfully unaware of the chaos you were about to unleash.

But oh, if only you had known.

Xavier

Xavier’s face was peaceful, content in the depths of sleep. His breathing was slow, steady, and every now and then, a soft sigh escaped his lips. From the way his brows twitched ever so slightly, he had to be having a good dream—you wondered what it was about.

And you were about to ruin it.

Suppressing a giggle, you placed your hands on his broad shoulders and started shaking him frantically, your voice laced with urgency.

"Xavier! Wake up!"

He groaned, his face scrunching up in sleepy protest as he buried himself deeper into the pillow. His lips formed the smallest pout, reluctant to part from the dream world. Slowly, his heavy eyelids fluttered open, hazy and unfocused as they met yours.

You took your chance.

"Xavier! My boyfriend's here! You need to hide, quickly!"

Your voice dripped with manufactured panic, and honestly? Your acting was Oscar-worthy.

For a moment, he just stared at you, his brain clearly not catching up yet. He let out another sleepy hum, eyes lazily shutting again. With a huff, you grabbed his face between your hands and pinched his cheeks in an attempt to wake him up faster. But instead of reacting, he only nuzzled into your touch, a content sigh leaving his lips.

Adorable.

And then—his entire body tensed.

His eyes snapped open, sharp and alert, and before you could register it, he bolted upright. His expression had darkened instantly, any trace of sleep now completely erased.

"What—" His voice was rough, hoarse from sleep. His brows furrowed, confusion flashing in his eyes before it was quickly replaced by something else. Something much, much more dangerous. "I'm your boyfriend."

Your heart skipped a beat.

"Hide under the bed!" You insisted, struggling to keep a straight face, though his reaction was making it very difficult.

But Xavier wasn't having it.

Ignoring your words entirely, he grabbed your wrists and, in one swift motion, flipped you beneath him. You gasped, his weight pressing you into the mattress as he hovered over you, his grip unyielding.

"Who are you talking about?" His voice was lower now, edged with something possessive, almost feral. His usual easy-going demeanor was long gone, replaced with something far more intense. His fingers dug into your wrists, firm yet careful, as if he was fighting the urge to squeeze harder.

You blinked at him, momentarily speechless. This was not what you had prepared for. Chaos? Yes. A dramatic reaction? Of course. But this? The way his jaw clenched, his chest rising and falling heavier, his entire body radiating something primal—oh, you had underestimated him.

"Xavier—it was just a prank!" you finally stammered, eyes wide.

He searched your face for a moment, his grip still tight. Then, before you could say another word, he dipped down, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck. A gasp escaped you before you could stop it.

“…Is that so?” he murmured, his warm breath fanning against your pulse. His teeth grazed the spot lightly before sinking in just enough to make your body jolt. "Do you think that was funny?"

A shiver ran down your spine, excitement creeping up your skin at the sheer dominance in his voice. It wasn’t unusual for Xavier to get jealous, but this?

Lord have mercy.

"I'm sorry," you said quickly, your voice slightly breathless. "I just wanted to see how you'd react—"

His rough hands suddenly cupped your face, tilting it up so you had no choice but to look at him. His gaze was unreadable, but the corner of his lips curled just slightly—oh, you knew that smirk.

"I’ll show you real fun," he muttered darkly.

And just like that, his mouth was back on you, his hands traveling lower, as he made sure you understood exactly why no one else could ever take his place.

And… other places, too.

Zayne

Looking over at your boyfriend, you almost felt guilty.

Zayne looked utterly at peace, his face relaxed in deep slumber, the steady rhythm of his breath tickling your skin as he lay half-draped over you. He almost looked angelic, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting golden hues over his features.

Almost.

Because in just a few seconds, you were about to drag him straight down from his heavenly repose.

A devilish grin crept onto your lips as you admired your handiwork. You had rehearsed this moment—every word, every inflection. Zayne was sharp, observant to an almost terrifying degree, and if you wanted this prank to work, you had to be convincing.

Taking a deep breath, you launched into your performance.

“God, Zayne! My boyfriend’s here! Wake up!” you whisper-yelled, lacing your voice with expertly crafted panic. To sell it further, you lightly patted his cheek—not hard enough to hurt, just enough to jolt him from sleep.

His reaction was immediate.

His brows furrowed as he cracked open one hazy eye, the sleep still thick in his expression. For a brief moment, it seemed like he was still lost in his dreams, but then, as if on instinct, he swiftly rolled off you and pushed himself upright.

Without a word, he started toward the door.

Your lips parted in shock. Wait, was he actually leaving?!

But then—he stopped.

His body went unnaturally still, tension creeping into his frame. And then, ever so slowly, he turned his head over his shoulder, pinning you with a sharp, unreadable gaze.

“…Excuse me?”

The sheer offense in his voice nearly made you break character. His brows were slightly raised, his mouth parted just enough to showcase his disbelief.

You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing.

“Zayne, quick! He’ll be here any second now!” you urged, pressing your hands against his back in a futile attempt to move him.

But he didn’t budge.

He turned fully to face you, his towering presence suddenly suffocating. His eyes, darkened by the lingering haze of sleep, now held something far more dangerous beneath their surface.

“…Are you cheating on me?”

The way he asked it—low, slow, as if he could barely force the words past his lips—made your stomach drop.

For a fleeting second, you actually felt guilty. Not because the prank was cruel, but because of how easily your performance had convinced him.

“No!” you blurted out, dropping the act entirely. “It was a prank! A stupid TikTok trend! I swear, I’d never—”

Before you could finish, Zayne moved.

In one smooth motion, he lifted you off the ground, making you gasp as your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. His arms locked around you, holding you effortlessly, his grip firm but controlled.

His eyes darkened in an unfamiliar way.

“I see,” he murmured, voice like silk wrapped around steel. “So, you think deception is funny?”

You swallowed, heart hammering against your ribs as he tilted his head, his breath ghosting against your jaw.

“I-I didn’t mean—”

“I hope you’ve already thought of a way to compensate me for this emotional turmoil,” he mused, his fingers tightening around your thighs just enough to send a shiver down your spine. His tone was teasing, laced with amusement—but there was something else beneath it, something dangerous.

A warning.

Zayne was nothing if not thorough in proving a point.

And by the way he looked at you, you had no doubt that by the end of the night, you would never dare to prank him like this again.

Rafayel

Rafayel lay sprawled across you, his long legs draped over your form as he slept soundly, his soft snores barely audible. His body was heavy with exhaustion—he had been painting non-stop for days, pouring himself into his art until sleep had finally claimed him.

You smiled to yourself, suppressing the giggle threatening to escape. He looked so peaceful, so utterly lost in his dreams.

And you? You were about to ruin it.

Without hesitation, you wiggled his shoulders dramatically, shaking him until his brows furrowed and his lashes fluttered open.

"Rafayel!" you whisper-yelled, gripping his hand in faux urgency. "My boyfriend's here—quick, hide!"

A deep groan rumbled from his chest as he blinked up at you, clearly still tangled in the fog of sleep.

"What nonsense are you spewing now?" His voice was rough, hoarse with sleep, but something in his gaze darkened—not with confusion, but with something else.

Before you could react, his arm wrapped around your waist, effortlessly yanking you back onto the bed. You let out a startled squeak as your body collapsed onto his, your palms pressing against the firm warmth of his chest.

"What—Rafayel! He'll see you!" You struggled to maintain the panic in your voice, but the way his hooded gaze settled on you made it very difficult.

"Good." His response was unexpected, unnervingly calm.

Your breath hitched.

"...Huh?" That was not the reaction you anticipated.

He exhaled slowly, fingers curling around your wrist as he brought it to his lips. His mouth ghosted over your skin before his teeth grazed it, a slow, teasing drag that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Let him see," he murmured, his voice deep, deliberate. "Maybe I could teach him a thing or two."

Your heart skipped a beat.

Your carefully rehearsed act? Gone. Completely obliterated by the way he looked at you, by the way his fingers brushed over your pulse point as if he could feel the way it had started to race.

"W-what?" You stuttered, your mind suddenly blank.

He hummed in amusement, his hands gripping your waist before flipping you beneath him in one smooth, effortless motion. His lips skimmed the sensitive skin along your neck, his breath warm against your pulse.

"Next time," he murmured against your ear, his teeth lightly grazing the shell, "if you plan to prank me, be prepared to deal with the consequences."

Your breath caught as his fingers trailed lower, his tone as smooth as silk yet laced with something undeniably dangerous.

"Waking me from a perfectly good dream just for this?" He clicked his tongue in mock disappointment. "I do believe you owe me proper compensation."

Oh, you were in trouble.

But maybe—just maybe—you didn’t mind one bit.

Sylus

Sylus lay beside you, his breathing steady, his chiseled frame relaxed against the sheets. The dim light from the bedside lamp cast golden shadows across his sharp features, highlighting the smooth lines of his jaw and the way his dark lashes rested against his cheekbones. He looked untouchable like this—serene, at peace.

But not for long.

A mischievous grin curled on your lips as you hovered over him, suppressing a giggle. You had this planned perfectly. Sylus was sharp, calculated—always ten steps ahead—but if you played it right, maybe, just maybe, you’d catch him off guard.

You shook his shoulder dramatically, gasping.

"Sylus! My boyfriend’s here—you need to hide, now!"

His eyes opened immediately, dark irises meeting yours, unbothered, unreadable. A slow blink. Then another.

Silence.

Then, as if waking at his own pace, he stretched, exhaling through his nose. His lips quirked into something between amusement and irritation. "Mm," he hummed, voice still thick with sleep, "interesting."

You pushed his chest, trying to feign urgency. "Sylus, go! He’s gonna be here any second!"

For a fleeting moment, he almost humored you—his body tensing slightly, his gaze flicking to the door as if he were genuinely considering it.

And then, just as quickly, his amusement won.

He tilted his head, lips curling into a slow, knowing smirk. "As if someone else would dare to even look at you."

Your stomach flipped at the certainty in his tone.

Before you could react, his hand wrapped around your wrist, tugging you down until your breath hitched and your body pressed flush against his.

"Nice try," he murmured against your ear, his voice a low, teasing whisper. "But you forget—I know you." His grip tightened, firm but never painful. "And I know you wouldn’t be so careless as to let another man think he could have what’s mine."

Your breath caught, completely thrown off your game.

He chuckled, deep and rich, enjoying the way your face betrayed you. "Mm. What’s wrong?" His fingers trailed down your spine, deliberate, slow. "You were so convincing a moment ago."

You swallowed hard. "It—it was just a prank," you admitted, voice smaller than you intended.

"I know," he murmured, tilting your chin up with two fingers. "But tell me—was it worth the consequences?"

Before you could ask what consequences he meant, he had already flipped you beneath him, his knee pressing between your thighs, his lips ghosting over your pulse point.

"You just love testing me, don’t you, sweetie?" he mused, his breath warm against your skin.

You should have known better.

Playing games with Sylus?

You never really won.

Caleb

Caleb was sprawled out beside you, limbs thrown haphazardly across the bed, his cheek smushed into the pillow, messy hair falling over his closed eyes. His chest rose and fell in an easy rhythm, the steady sound of his breathing almost lulling you to sleep.

He looked so peaceful. Sweet, even.

Too bad you were about to ruin that.

Suppressing a grin, you shook his shoulder frantically. "Caleb! Wake up!"

He groaned, face scrunching up as he tried to burrow deeper into the pillow.

You slapped his arm, urgency laced in your voice. "Caleb! My boyfriend’s here! You have to hide!"

That got his attention.

With a confused grunt, he blinked up at you, eyes bleary with sleep. His lips parted slightly as he took in your panicked expression, still groggy. "Huh?"

"Go! You need to hide!" You tugged at his wrist.

For a second, he seemed to actually consider it. He rubbed his eyes, blinking sluggishly, as if his brain was trying to reboot. Then, suddenly, he stopped.

Something clicked.

And then he smirked.

"Ohhh," he drawled, stretching his arms over his head. "That kind of prank."

Your stomach dropped. Of course he would know.

Oh no.

Before you could react, Caleb grabbed your waist and flipped you onto your back, his weight pressing you into the mattress. His boyish grin was still there, but there was something else beneath it now—something darker, something sharp.

"You really think that’s funny, huh, pipsqueak?" His voice was still light, teasing—but his grip on your waist? Not so much.

You swallowed. "I—I thought you’d freak out more."

He snorted. "That's funny." After all, he knew your every move.

Your breath hitched.

Caleb was the laid-back type, all smiles and easy laughter—but push the right buttons? And suddenly, that warmth turned into something possessive. Something dangerous.

His fingers dug into your waist just enough to make your skin tingle. "But now that I am awake," he murmured, leaning in close, "I think I deserve some kind of payback for my so-called emotional distress and lack of sleep."

"Caleb—"

"Shh," he cooed, lips ghosting over your jaw. "You wanted to see me riled up, didn’t you?" He grinned, but his eyes held a warning. "Congratulations, pipsqueak. You got exactly what you wanted."

His hand trailed lower down your waist.

Oh. You were so screwed.

[nottheemuse]

That soft warning wasn’t lost on her, and Cora heard it, took it, but didn’t need it, just giving a slight nod to confirm her promise. She knew herself well enough to know now (and once again had to push Caleb’s own warning: Don’t end up like mama out and away) that there wasn’t leaving, or turning away from him or any of this anymore. Whether she was ready or not, and she hadn’t really considered if she was, she was all in on this now. All in on them. Their family. Maybe having gone without him for a few days meant that her brain was mush, but the longer she kept close to him, the more he touched her, the easier layer after layer of worry and fear dropped away. All she wanted was right here. Everything else could get figured out, right? 

He let out a rare sound of amusement, and it pulled an automatic little laugh out of her, though it didn’t match that building pressure in her tummy as he traced her lower lip. It was distracting enough, hard to really digest what he was saying even as the words hit her ears. But she knew she needed to listen - because here he was, talking about exactly why she’d left in the first place, so she resisted the very strong pattern of urges - to kiss, lick, bite, suck the thumb that roved her lip. Instead, she kept probably the most still he’d ever seen her, her eyes wide, round and locked on his. 

And she was grateful for the exerted concentration, because had she not been so focused on him, she might have missed the way his eyes warmed as he said exactly what she’d been afraid to hear. Sure, what he said was “you are anything but carefully curated” but what she heard was “you aren’t good enough”, so that depth in his eyes kept her calm, kept her level headed, from devoling back into tears, giving him that time he needed to say exactly what she’d been longing to hear. 

Pressing her cheek to his palm, she nuzzled softly into his touch, bending a bit further than typical to press a small kiss to his palm. She didn’t answer right away, actually considering what she’d been asking for, whether or not she wanted it. “I dunno.” Because she wasn’t sure if she was prepared for that. He always made everything sound so much worse than it was, but she appreciated that he wasn’t willing to just throw her to the wolves. “I’ve always learned on my feet. There’s plenty of reasons to wanna do that stuff with you, and there’s a million more to not but… We’re doing this aren’t we?” Her eyes fluttered open, catching his again, a hand catching his free one, lacing their fingers and giving a gentle squeeze. Once again, a small little tease, “I clean up nice, though,” He’d seen her for Jackson’s event, knew she could pull off a gown, but Cora also knew that was different, that even then her "thrown together best" wouldn't be nearly good enough for his world's exacting standards. “And believe it or not, I know how to talk to people. I make a livin' off of it. Even if you’re not with me, I think I’ll be okay. And if I’m not, who cares? I’m good to experience discomfort in the name of supporting the father of my child.”

Declan's brows rose just a tad, expression otherwise flat, and then he very simply, with factual clarity, said "No. You won't." And to anyone else, it might have sounded like a threat. Maybe it was one, or at least it brushed against the very line of being one, because the truth of the matter was, Declan wasn't going to let her leave him like that ever again. And if she tried, with his child in her belly - or on her arm - she'd get to see a very, very different side of him. He knew this about himself, but he also knew she'd have to push him much farther than she had up until now for that to happen, and right now the certainty that she wouldn't softened the edge of his tone enough that it came out more as a soft command than a threat. She was right though; everything was going to be different now. His lips quirked at her little joke about punishment, and he gave her a subtly amused, knowing little look, but let his silence answer her.

"No?" He repeated the word as a question tainted with mild surprise and maybe a hint of indignation, but his lips lips curled upwards, and he let out a low little grunt of amusement. "Very well, darling." The tip of his thumb brushed against the very tip of her lower lip, the point just before it gave way to her chin. "I've been trying to spare you the pressure of my public life." Probably what he should have told her that evening. "I maintain a very carefully curated image, as you know, and you, my angel, are anything but carefully curated." His smile deepened a little, more so from the warmth in his gaze than from any change on his lips.

"As it appears I rather enjoy that about you, I've had no pressing desire to squeeze you into a box you don't belong in. To tamper your energy, and polish you into a pretty little trophy for me to trot around a party." Marcus' words from a few weeks ago, the last time they'd spoken on this matter - before that night. "And that is what's going to happen, Cora, it is what has to happen, if you'd like to be my - as you put it - 'forever date'." His gaze had grown increasingly intent, a bit of tension surfacing. His hand left her chin in order to seek her jaw, cupping the side of her face gently. "So I suppose the larger question is whether you're prepared for that."

[gutsby]

Bigger in Texas

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Joel won’t fit.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Size kink (seriously, don’t read if you hate big dicks / disgusting descriptions) Penis and pussy pronouns. Virginity loss. Age gap. Praise kink. Daddy kink. Joel ‘hung like a fucking horse’ Miller is a soft dom and also a good teacher. Competence kink (?)

Note: Somebody made a fic challenge to use penis pronouns, and I can’t for the life of me remember who it was. If y’all find them please show them this and tell them I love their brain 🫠

Update: @sp00kymulderr you’re a legend for this. Dick pronouns are engrained in my brain, and I’m forever grateful.

Word count: 2.3k

This wasn’t the life Joel Miller had pictured for himself.

The dead coming back to roam the world and eradicate most of its population, for one. The cold. Finding his baby brother way out here in Wyoming with a wife and a child on the way. The looks he was getting these days. It’s not like he’d asked to get mixed up with a girl your age. It just happened. And since damn near every-fucking-thing that had “happened” to him since outbreak day fifteen years back had been bottom of the barrel, full-blown nightmare territory, the second he saw a good thing fumble across his path, he’d seized it—you.

You, who were young enough to be his daughter.

You, who’d never seen a man fully before meeting him.

You, who hadn’t squeezed so much as a finger in herself.

But much like his past, Joel Miller was a sordid and sick kind of man, and he had the cock to prove it: presently weeping precum at the site of your softest, tightest hole, smearing the pearly-white slick through your folds with a sound so sweet it was nauseating. Begging for entrance.

“Oughta have a boy your age pop your cherry, kid.”

It was simple.

“Ain’t right havin’ a man my age all in your guts.”

And true.

The head of his cock made another wet, sickening noise through your folds, and as though instigated by the sound, your eyes flitted to the source. You smiled.

“Probably. But I want you,” you answered. Soft.

Joel got harder, and he hadn’t thought that was possible. His gaze joined yours, and the sight nearly finished him.

Beneath him, your legs had spread wider, showcasing that perfectly glistening seam alongside the head of his cock. He looked huge. Or you looked small. Or perhaps it was both, and he was old, and he really shouldn’t be doing this at all, but then his hips stuttered a bit and his length pushed in. Joel hissed and seized the headboard.

It wouldn’t even go in. The tip just stretched the rim.

“Baby, fuck—” Joel whimpered.

“He’s so big.”

Three little words from your lips, and it almost did him in.

Again.

You wriggled your hips and flashed another happy grin.

“He wants in, daddy. I can feel him pulsin’ like I am.”

You volleyed a look up to Joel as if to say, ‘So that means we’re ready, right? Will you let me have him?’

And, strangled by guilt as he was, Joel couldn’t resist.

He let his big, bulbous, leaking head sink in the tiniest bit, and he let out a groan. Your walls were so tight. This was him, too—his tip was oversized, just like the rest of him—and when it notched in an inch, Joel could see the pain flash quick in your eyes. His hips moved to retreat.

But then your heels were lifting and digging in his ass, and though strained, your voice made it out, weakly:

“Don’t, daddy. I want him.”

Joel couldn’t dream of refusing.

And his vision blurred more at that word, him.

“I-I know. He wants you too, baby—”

Another quarter-inch.

“—so, so bad.”

“Daddy!”

Joel had to blink to try and wake from his daze. His tip was so warm, hugged so perfect and snug and wet, that he didn’t even realize that was all that fit. He was stuck.

You whimpered again.

“‘S’too big, daddy. Just make him go in.”

Your eyes rolled with indignation and overwhelming pleasure alike, and your hips squirmed again. This time, you tried to nudge him in deeper, but your body simply wouldn’t budge; you’d reached the widest part of him.

“Honey, it’s—”

“Hurtin’! I need you inside me.” you cried, impatient.

“Just takes a little time to get there, darlin’—”

“Well, get to it, then. A tip ain’t enough.”

Joel’s face flushed. He might’ve been forced to bite back a laugh under any other circumstances, but this was your virginity. His bed. Your naked bodies, together, tonight.

He wasn’t about to rush it now and fuck everything up.

“This tip’s about to paint your pretty insides white and make you wait til next week to try again if you keep it up.”

That made you go still.

You shook your head while Joel released the headboard from his grip and took your hip in it instead. He grunted.

“Sweet pea, you gotta see—” he resumed, voice low, “—it won’t feel good for you or me if I just…push right in.”

You sighed, feeling his hold tighten.

“Tongue and fingers only do so much. You gotta learn.”

You whined, digging your feet in deeper when his tip drew back to your entrance. Looking a bit squeamish.

“Be brave…and patient for me.”

From the look in your eyes, Joel could tell you probably hated him right now. That was just fine. He adjusted his hips to a more comfortable place, and then he pinched your hip bone. He nudged you back, and he let you wait.

Then, right when you opened your mouth, he sank in.

Joel thrusted with only his tip, the size of a small lime, and he fucked your hole gently. Back and forth. Shallow.

It did enough. You squeezed both his forearms.

“Oh, daddy.” Your bottom lip trembled as you said it.

With his free hand, Joel smoothed your hair back.

“Yeah, what is it, baby?” he murmured, dulcet as ever, “Thought you said the tip ain’t enough for you, sugar.”

His words came slow. His strokes were delivered quick, though tenderly. Your brain appeared to be in a fog, or a trance, as your chin dipped down toward your chest, and you watched him breach the first inch of you repeatedly.

“Curious little thing.” Joel couldn’t fight the chuckle now.

“He’s so…” you trailed off.

You squeezed his arms, and he squeezed your hip back. He let you watch him fuck you with only his tip, and when your head began to tilt back from the strain, he reached up with his other hand and held the back of your neck. He felt you clench at that, and you both groaned.

“So…big,” you finished, eyes glazed.

“I know.”

This went on for the longest time: Joel stretching the first precious inch of your pussy with the head of himself, you watching and breathing deeply, whimpering occasionally, and him holding at the nape of your neck like a softer touch might lose you to him forever. Was this teaching? When you clenched again, he reckoned it was.

“That’s it, honey. Watch her swallow me.”

“Stretches real pretty for the tip, doesn’t she?”

“Bet she can’t even fit another inch of this cock.”

Suddenly, your head was jerking up under his hold.

Eyes flaring with a hot, juvenile kind of anger: “I can!”

Joel clicked his tongue against the backs of his teeth and pretended not to hear. He also had to feign indifference when your walls tightened and all but choked his head and a wave of new pleasure surged up through his body.

“She can, Joel, I’m serious!”

Another two seconds of this and Joel sensed he might see tears. Though his gaze had trailed up to yours, and the look in his appeared stern, deep down, he was just as quick to want to cave. He just hid it better than you did.

“You think so, sweet pea?”

“I know so. I need it.”

“Need him?”

“Y-Yes.”

How sweet you seemed. How naive you must be.

Joel might’ve been mean, but he wasn’t cruel. He also liked teaching lessons as much as he enjoyed showing you the way, so in the next second, he obliged. He took the last shallow thrust of his tip and sank into your cunt.

As he filled you, you whined. It only took an inch or two.

“Da-a-ddy. Please.”

You must’ve been begging for lenience. Joel retreated.

Then, much to the man’s surprise, you kicked your feet. Not in relief but in protest, shaking your head up at him:

“Put him back. Please. D-Deeper.”

It was as though Joel’s brain had exited through the back of his head and all rational thought escaped him, for the moment. The only voice he heard was yours. It was pleading. And in between your legs, you were soaked.

So drenched to allow him another inch. Then another. Then another. Joel fucked in gently and felt a seismic wave of pleasure seize his limbs—and likely yours, as well. It was as though in two blinks, you’d forgotten the pain altogether. You were suffused with need instead, eyes wincing and lips curling and sounds leaving your throat like an animal in heat. Want him deeper, please.

Joel sawed back and forth with just those five or so inches and made you writhe underneath him. Felt you clamp down on his thick, slippery cock and heard the remnants of your shared arousal making sounds as your body accepted him. Stretching wider. Getting wetter. Bringing him closer to the edge with every breath.

“She’s doin’…so good f’me,” Joel told you, brainless.

His thumb drifted to your clit. He rubbed it gently. No sooner had he finished the first circle around that nub when your hips were stirring again—this time incensed.

“Daddy.”

“I know, baby. I know.”

Joel kissed the top of your head, thumb insistent. When his eyes met yours, he was surprised to find them wet this time. Tears pooling and streaking down to your temples while your body bounced gently beneath his thrusts. A whimper trembled out, and Joel slowed.

He could tell from that look you didn’t want him to stop, though. It just felt so good. So, instead of dropping his pace too much, Joel cupped your chin in one hand, and with the other, he kept thumbing at your clit. Humming.

“Poor thing’s never had something this big in ‘er, huh?”

You shook your head. Cried a little more.

Joel kissed the tears on one side, lips smiling as he did.

“I can tell, baby. But she’s taking it so well.”

“Y-Yeah?”

His hips sped up a little. The thrusts were still shallower than they normally would be, given your state, but they seemed to be working well enough. You winced again.

Joel kissed the other side of your face to take more tears.

“Uh-huh,” he answered, “Openin’ up real nice for daddy.”

It was like his words worked as well as his thumb on your clit. You whimpered again, lips parting a little wider now, and the sound that came out was as desperate and feverish and fuck-drunk as Joel had ever heard it.

“S-Say it again,” you pleaded.

“Say what?”

“That he’s…stretchin’ me open. Makin’ me his.”

The soft, slick resonance between your body and his seemed to amplify even more—you were getting wetter, and Joel’s thrusts all but shook the bed with their force.

His eyes darkened when he felt you tighten again.

“Yeah? You like hearin’ all the filthy fuckin’ things your daddy’s doing? The way he’s breakin’ you in for him?”

You nodded. Your throat constricted with a moan.

And, just when a fresh set of tears seemed to be close on the horizon, Joel lowered himself to you. He held you to his chest, hips working relentlessly, and he watched your face screw up in pleasure. A trace of pain surfaced again, but it was soothed with a kiss. Joel grinned against you.

Between your thighs, his cock was throbbing with a feeling just as big. He knew he couldn’t keep this up much longer. Hurting and aching and needing as you were, he had to make sure that you would cum first.

When his cock grazed a fleshy, sensitive patch inside your walls, he knew it wouldn’t take much. He went on:

“C’mon, sugar. Daddy’s split you open on his cock so nice, least you can do is cum for him. Can you do that?”

His nose brushed yours. His thrusts sped up. You nodded, quickly, and when he shifted in the bed with his thumb still on your clit and his lips and his stubble grazing your mouth with every push of himself, he felt it.

It was a small pulse, at first.

Joel thought you might be adjusting—clenching—again, when the lips that were trembling against his own parted more. Your arms wound around his neck, and suddenly the throb of your walls around his member got tighter and tighter and tighter. One more second and your cunt might’ve squeezed the hot, sticky seed right out of his body and flooded your insides with it, but then came release. The ‘o’ of your mouth let out a shriek, at last, and your body went soft around him, beneath him, whining in turn, ‘Daddy, daddy, please’ while the muscles once taut and unflinching gave him reprieve. Fluttering repeatedly.

Joel fucked you through it. He talked you through it.

He stroked your hair, and he held you tight. Called you his sweetheart, pretty thing, perfect girl, you’re doin’ so good f’me. Keep going. That’s right, cum all over daddy. He told you to take what you needed, and without another word, he felt just that. Your cunt spasmed around him, and you consumed every inch he gave and drank every drop of spend shooting out in thick spurts.

You fell boneless on the bed when all was said and done.

You looked happy, and that made Joel even happier.

He stroked your cheek, and you leaned into it, clearly drained while your gaze held his in a weak sort of look.

It was soft. Loving, even. It could’ve been romantic.

Then Joel’s hand slipped down to the nape of your neck again. Your muscles were limp, like all the rest of you, but somehow, he was able to hold you up. Tilt your chin a bit.

Make you peer down between your shaking legs, where his cock was still sheathed inside you—partly, anyway.

Your eyes widened. Joel grinned.

“You did great, baby. Ready for the other half of him?”

can y’all believe this image is what inspired this fic HA

it’s only Thursday i’m sorry 😔

[roturo]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ OH! SO YOU'RE INTO OLDER MEN?

˚₊·➳❥ JJK MEN SHOWING YOU HOW A REAL MEN FUCKS! satoru gojo, suguru geto, kento nanami, toji fushiguro ✧˚ · .

tags: afab!reader, reader is mentioned as a female, use of nicknames (baby, princess, doll, slut, whore), cheating, degradation, caught cheating, getting caught, unprotected sex, blowjob, pussy slapping, mating press, breeding, age-gaps, virginity loss [...] rbs are appreciated!

satoru gojo (Daddy’s girl)

well, that’s the word he used for the little girl you're babysitting right now. he’s a great dad and husband. there’s just this tiny whiny little thing he couldn’t do right– and that’s loving his wife as he should.

like– it’s not that he doesn’t feel guilty, it’s just… well, you looked really cute in that mini dress, he and his wife have been fighting lately anddd– he could tell his daughter liked you more than her fatality of mother she has these days. she even called you mommy by accident once! and that was the last water drop gojo needed for the glass to break.

“Oh- I bet you’d love to be full of me right now.” His thrusts became messier each time he pounded on you, “Mhh, fill you up ‘n make me a daddy again– you’d like that princess?” you couldn’t even talk anymore with how good he’s making you feel– he had your legs pressed on the bed thanks to his arms, almost bending you in half, he was making sure that mating press works.

“Ffffuckk- You feel s’good baby” He felt your walls clenching again, no matter how many times he made you come, he’s making sure you’re coming again after he does. A not ending cycle for him. “Such a slut for me hm? Coming all nice and pretty to this house just to be ruined at night–” his words made you feel dirty, but the euphoria of it was stronger, “such” slap, “a nasty” slap, “slut” slap– “and all f’me” with those last thrusts your body couldn’t take it anymore, spasming and trembling while your poor hole was filled up again. gojo’s wife didn’t even bothered to break your little encounter, she suspected it long time ago.

all that was left was a wide grinning gojo satoru and some divorce papers.

suguru geto (Daddy’s best-friend)

you didn’t intend this to happen… you always knew your dad’s best-friend was hot. he’s geto, ‘cmon. he brings a new girl every weekend whispering in your dad’s ear swearing she’s the one this time.

he saw you grow up, turn into this beautiful and strong woman. so how he couldn’t love you? you were like a doll for him, so beautiful and radiant in every way. a porcelain doll he needed to protect, he couldn’t lose you to any dangerous or stupid man, he swears he would beat the shit out of the guy who breaks your heart first.

“Shhiiiitt– Heh– I can tell how tight your pussy is princess–” His cock was stretching the living shit out of you, touching places never in a thousand years you could imagine you would feel. “what d’ya think daddy would say if he saw his little girl being fucked by his best-friend huh?” your brain was a fuzzy mess, you couldn’t make coherent words to say, and just feel how good geto is making you feel. you couldn’t remember how many times he had made you cum with his toungue and he’s just starting to fuck your pussy.

“ ‘m such a lucky guy if i'm the first you’re giving this pussy to, don’t ya think so doll? marking it as mine, baby I swear you’ll need no man to ever fuck this pussy of yours again– shit I won’t need another woman for myself, you’re the one baby” those words filled your heart of a tingly feeling, making more butterflies roam around your tummy, touching yourself you could sense geto’s cock coming and leaving with every thrust, your brain full of air and in need of more of his cock.

he couldn’t resist himself anymore when he was next to you, his cock would get hard the minute he enters your house, and thankfully he has a pretty doll to release himself with.

kento nanami (Big Boss)

Nanami thinks he’s a good and mature guy– At least for his wife and kids… He has this aura of a serious and mature guy but inside every time he’s just this close to breaking it, just to say what he really thinks or feels.

the first time he saw you at work with your tiny skirts and tight blouses he didn’t mind any type of attention to it, you were another cute worker, that’s all. One of another– he can think other women are pretty too right? maybe even prettier than his wife… and nicer, and cuter, and more homely feeling to be a mom. but he wouldn't do anything he would later regret right?...

“You’re s’pretty baby, such a dirty whore for my cock mhm?” he had you pounding from behind, his desk becoming even messier than it was before, one of his hands keeping you laid down on the desk arching your back like if he’s trying to break it– a sudden ringing brought you back from your unconsciousness of nanami’s cock– he answered the call, not a single sing of him trying to stop thrusting into you.

“Yeah?” his voice was out of breath, almost sounding like a sigh when he answered the call, “Where am I? Huh– I’m at the office r-right now…?” he wasn’t even sure if he could keep this act, losing himself more in the feeling of your pussy clenching on his cock– “Oh yeah- I’m okay, uhh- the kids? yyeah, yeah, they’re with my mom right now–” the feeling of keeping up a call with his wife while fucking you made his cock twitch inside of you, feeling like a teenager kissing their crush for the first time. it was no surprise for him that his wife was cheating, but he wanted to keep it like that for the sanity of his kids. 

“Quit the act Kento– I know you’re fucking somebody else right now. See ya at home.”

toji fushiguro (Step-Daddy)

you hated when your mother started dating new guys. they just kept breaking her heart– but you just stopped telling her that it's okay to live without a partner, that she had you by her side, but well… this new man was something else i guess and you didn’t say anything for the sake of your own good mother.

you didn’t like him, but for the sake of your mother you pretended like you do– and let’s be honest, toji doesn’t like children, so when he first met you he wasn’t as social as others… your mom was just too good to simply let go– but the way you moved, talked, dressed caught his attention, and as time passes and he spends more time with your mom– he's no longer drawn to your house just to see your mother, but to see you. 

“Sshhiit- You’re making me feel s’good baby” the lack of air was making you feel giddy, but the way his cock twitched inside your mouth made your core get even wetter. “C’mon baby, ride my shoe,” you wasted no time before your hips started moving, trying to gain some friction and release that tingly feeling coming from your core. 

“D’ya think your mother would like to see her daughter being full of his step-daddy’s cum?” he gets one of his arms behind himself trying to gain some support while his other free hand caresses your cheeks while you continue sucking– this same hand moves out your head and frees his cock out of your mouth, a small strand of saliva connecting your mouth with it–

“Fuck– guess i choose the wrong out of you two”

[queenie-the-court-jester]

yandere bunny hybrid x reader

A/n: the Intro was rushed because I got too excited to write the smut. Not proofread 🌺

Tw: noncon turns to dubcon, androgynous breeding kink, little dirty talk, he's a horny bastard. Mommy kink but it can be applied to any gender. Slapping body parts, he has a minor lactation kink. Mdni please!

★you met the little furball while you were out on a evening walk. It was the middle of winter and being cooped up inside the house all day was starting to get a little claustrophobic

★you didn't notice him at first since he blended in with the snow. Stopping mid-walk when you heard a weak little whine coming from behind you. Slowly turning around, you saw a pair of red eyes staring at you from beneath the snow

★approaching them slowly, you could finally see him more clearly. Milky white skin turning a light blue due to hypothermia. He didn't have the strength to run when you picked him up. Patting his head, you headed back home.

★giving him a warm bath and setting him next to the fireplace, you slowly nursed him back to health. He was very reluctant at first, but your touch was too comforting to pull away from. He hasn't felt this safe since he was just a baby bun! He stayed with you nearly the entire winter

★midway he starts to get himself familiar with your home, peeking under furniture and into rooms, he seemed to understand you when you'd ask him questions in English

"what's your name little fella?"

"cotton.."

★eventually you had to let him go back into the wild, just a month before spring arrived. He was reluctant but with enough convincing he finally left. Looking back at you from the forest edge, watching you wave goodbye with that beautiful smile he loves

❣️cotton who goes into heat early because he can't stop thinking of you. Burrying himself in his burrow, humping the air. Nothing is as soft as you and your bed. Nothing can make him feel as safe as your touch does

❣️he shoos any females who wish to mate away. Claiming he already has a mate. Oh he wished you'd come into the forest looking for him, to take care of him again as he fills your tight little hole up with his cum

❣️he spends most of his time shamelessly masturbating to the thought of you. His entire heat cycle has been on loop since he left, so finally gathering the balls he heads back to your cottage. Watching you from a distance, lazily stroking his already sensitive cock.

★just minding your business, you don't notice the certain bunny hybrid approaching slowly. You don't have much time to react before a familiar mop of white hair tackles you to the ground. Desperately humping your clothed sex as he whines and grunts.

"cotton!? What the hell are you doing!?"

"hah- nhg need.. mate.. pretty mate.. need to breed! Ohh!"

★you tried pushing him off, but when did he get so strong!? Pining your arms down and ripping your clothes off, wasting no time in lapping at your genitals. Eating you out like a starved man, sucking and nipping your inner thighs until he's sure you're nice and lubed up

★he carefully pressed the tip in, but he doesn't last long as he slowly sinks deeper into your gummy walls. Letting go of your arms and roughly grabbing your hips, which were sure to bruise later, brutally fucking your brains out. Slapping your chest and privates as he grinds his cock deeper

★he keeps going even after he's ripped multiple orgasms out of you. The pleasure slowly chipping off your resistance. Leaving you a blubbering moaning mess under the bunny. A pool of his cum under where your sexes kept meeting.

★it doesn't matter what gender you are, he's determined to breed you until you're swelling with his children. He couldn't wait to suck and bite your chest once it was swollen with milk!

"gonna be so pretty- mph! So pretty, all swollen 'n fat with my babies.. gonna be a good mate, right? G-gonna give me lots of 'em right? Oh ohhh! Cumming again! 'Yer squeezing all my cum out! Mommy!!"

★let's just say that you should get use to your new roommate husband, because now there's no way of getting rid of him. Ever.

[tattoos-and-ballgowns]

You make some interesting points! Working in an art museum myself and hearing my mom talk extensively about all the facets of working in an art museum (which she did most of my childhood) I do have some points I’d like to make about art museums deciding what goes up and what gets accrued into the collection.

***My brain is fighting me this morning so I’m sorry if what I write has no or little bearing to what you wrote, or if I missed anything important***

-All art museums have a driving mission. Even art museums that seem to be motivated by “we have famous stuff” or “look at all the things this one guy owned” (a not uncommon starting point for some science museums, might I add) need to then ask themselves “how do we make our collection and exhibits interesting to people”

-art curators don’t like it when pieces are up all the time. It’s very important for pieces that they have time to, and I quote, “rest”. Part of the problem is visitors may throw a fit (and they will…) if a piece they came to see or they love seeing whenever they’re in isnt up. Those two reasons are why pieces are given schedules to balance what the artwork needs and what visitors want. That’s why some art museums put on their website “btw this piece of ours is down today”

-art museum curators are fighting the overwhelming number of people (both within organizations and visitors) that say “art museums are srs business so no play allowed” and it’s MUCH better now than it was even 10 years ago. There are also contemporary artists that encourage people to interact with their work, that purpose is just not found in most artworks you see.

-art museums are trying to come up with ways to further engage visitors with their collection, but IMO part of the issue is a lot of art in museums are intended to be engaged with by being looked at and thought about and/or need to rely on not being touched for preservation. Even for artworks that weren’t created specifically for gallery space (like when art museums display quilts) direct interaction is tough because each touch, no matter how small, has a slight degenerative effect. When you were at the Detroit museum of art did they have the donkey statue in the lobby? It was made to be touched, and you can tell from photos how much being touched has changed it!

-it sounds like that Picasso gallery was a missed opportunity, but just because every piece doesn’t have a huge breakdown doesn’t mean it’s not a valued part of the collection. Did you tell the front desk you were interested in learning more on those pieces than the provided information in the gallery space told you?

-Also yeah the curator may not have had time to make more than those placards because writing them takes a lot of time. There is no WAY Detroit’s art museum has enough man power or funds allocated to its actual functional needs but then again what museum does (also a problem at the big boys, so yes I include moma and the met in that statement)

-art museums like Detroit’s (GENUINELY one of my favorite art museums I was actually excited you mentioned them) are in a tough spot because they have to fight against people that go “oh you don’t have a Van Gough? You’re not a real museum” (IT HAPPENS I PROMISE), so in addition to trying to balance the needs of their collection with the wants of their visitors/be engaging with their collection of things you look at/get any money they have to self advocate against that type of hater

Look art museums may be stuck in the past in many many many many many ways but we can all overcome that by supporting museums and galleries that DO the kinds of exhibits and kinds of work that we want to see.

Also if you want something specific tell the front desk! Write an email! Art museums can only give people what they want if they KNOW what people want, and the only people that speak up just want to stare at the same paintings all the time.

Also-

I COMPLETELY agree that we need to do better when it comes to modern art! Art museums have the opportunity to actually show people what makes modern art interesting and they really seem to fall flat a lot of the time

I would be very interested in hearing the museum design rant

by popular demand: Guy That Took One (1) Museum Studies Class Focused On Science Museums Rants About Art Museums. thank u for coming please have a seat

so. background. the concept of the "science museum" grew out of 1) the wunderkammer (cabinet of curiosities), also known as "hey check out all this weird cool shit i have", and 2) academic collections of natural history specimens (usually taxidermied) -- pre-photography these were super important for biological research (see also). early science museums usually grew out of university collections or bequests of some guy's Weird Shit Collection or both, and were focused on utility to researchers rather than educational value to the layperson (picture a room just, full of taxidermy birds with little labels on them and not a lot of curation outside that). eventually i guess they figured they could make more on admission by aiming for a mass audience? or maybe it was the cultural influence of all the world's fairs and shit (many of which also caused science museums to exist), which were aimed at a mass audience. or maybe it was because the research function became much more divorced from the museum function over time. i dunno. ANYWAY, science and technology museums nowadays have basically zero research function; the exhibits are designed more or less solely for educating the layperson (and very frequently the layperson is assumed to be a child, which does honestly irritate me, as an adult who likes to go to science museums). the collections are still there in case someone does need some DNA from one of the preserved bird skins, but items from the collections that are exhibited typically exist in service of the exhibit's conceptual message, rather than the other way around.

meanwhile at art museums they kind of haven't moved on from the "here is my pile of weird shit" paradigm, except it's "here is my pile of Fine Art". as far as i can tell, the thing that curators (and donors!) care about above all is The Collection. what artists are represented in The Collection? rich fucks derive personal prestige from donating their shit to The Collection. in big art museums usually something like 3-5% of the collection is ever on exhibit -- and sometimes they rotate stuff from the vault in and out, but let's be real, only a fraction of an art museum's square footage is temporary exhibits. they're not going to take the scream off display when it's like the only reason anyone who's not a giant nerd ever visits the norwegian national museum of art. most of the stuff in the vault just sits in the vault forever. like -- art museum curators, my dudes, do you think the general public gives a SINGLE FUCK what's in The Collection that isn't on display? no!! but i guarantee you it will never occur, ever, to an art museum curator that they could print-to-scale high-res images of artworks that are NOT in The Collection in order to contextualize the art in an exhibit, because items that are not in The Collection functionally do not exist to them. (and of course there's the deaccessioning discourse -- tumblr collectively has some level of awareness that repatriation is A Whole Kettle of Worms but even just garden-variety selling off parts of The Collection is a huge hairy fucking deal. check out deaccessioning and its discontents; it's a banger read if you're into This Kind Of Thing.)

with the contents of The Collection foregrounded like this, what you wind up with is art museum exhibits where the exhibit's message is kind of downstream of what shit you've got in the collection. often the message is just "here is some art from [century] [location]", or, if someone felt like doing a little exhibit design one fine morning, "here is some art from [century] [location] which is interesting for [reason]". the displays are SOOOOO bad by science museum standards -- if you're lucky you get a little explanatory placard in tiny font relating the art to an art movement or to its historical context or to the artist's career. if you're unlucky you get artist name, date, and medium. fucker most of the people who visit your museum know Jack Shit about art history why are you doing them dirty like this

(if you don't get it you're just not Cultured enough. fuck you, we're the art museum!)

i think i've talked about this before on this blog but the best-exhibited art exhibit i've ever been to was actually at the boston museum of science, in this traveling leonardo da vinci exhibit where they'd done a bunch of historical reconstructions of inventions out of his notebooks, and that was the main Thing, but also they had a whole little exhibit devoted to the mona lisa. obviously they didn't even have the real fucking mona lisa, but they went into a lot of detail on like -- here's some X-ray and UV photos of it, and here's how art experts interpret them. here's a (photo of a) contemporary study of the finished painting, which we've cleaned the yellowed varnish off of, so you can see what the colors looked like before the varnish yellowed. here's why we can't clean the varnish off the actual painting (da vinci used multiple varnish layers and thinned paints to translucency with varnish to create the illusion of depth, which means we now can't remove the yellowed varnish without stripping paint).

even if you don't go into that level of depth about every painting (and how could you? there absolutely wouldn't be space), you could at least talk a little about, like, pigment availability -- pigment availability is an INCREDIBLY useful lens for looking at historical paintings and, unbelievably, never once have i seen an art museum exhibit discuss it (and i've been to a lot of art museums). you know how medieval european religious paintings often have funky skin tones? THEY HADN'T INVENTED CADMIUM PIGMENTS YET. for red pigments you had like... red ochre (a muted earth-based pigment, like all ochres and umbers), vermilion (ESPENSIVE), alizarin crimson (aka madder -- this is one of my favorite reds, but it's cool-toned and NOT good for mixing most skintones), carmine/cochineal (ALSO ESPENSIVE, and purple-ish so you wouldn't want to use it for skintones anyway), red lead/minium (cheaper than vermilion), indian red/various other iron oxide reds, and apparently fucking realgar? sure. whatever. what the hell was i talking about.

oh yeah -- anyway, i'd kill for an art exhibit that's just, like, one or two oil paintings from each century for six centuries, with sample palettes of the pigments they used. but no! if an art museum curator has to put in any level of effort beyond writing up a little placard and maybe a room-level text block, they'll literally keel over and die. dude, every piece of art was made in a material context for a social purpose! it's completely deranged to divorce it from its material context and only mention the social purpose insofar as it matters to art history the field. for god's sake half the time the placard doesn't even tell you if the thing was a commission or not. there's a lot to be said about edo period woodblock prints and mass culture driven by the growing merchant class! the met has a fuckton of edo period prints; they could get a hell of an exhibit out of that!

or, tying back to an earlier thread -- the detroit institute of arts has got a solid like eight picasso paintings. when i went, they were kind of just... hanging out in a room. fuck it, let's make this an exhibit! picasso's an artist who pretty famously had Periods, right? why don't you group the paintings by period, and if you've only got one or two (or even zero!) from a particular period, pad it out with some decent life-size prints so i can compare them and get a better sense for the overarching similarities? and then arrange them all in a timeline, with little summaries of what each Period was ~about~? that'd teach me a hell of a lot more about picasso -- but you'd have to admit you don't have Every Cool Painting Ever in The Collection, which is illegalé.

also thinking about the mit museum temporary exhibit i saw briefly (sorry, i was only there for like 10 minutes because i arrived early for a meeting and didn't get a chance to go through it super thoroughly) of a bunch of ship technical drawings from the Hart nautical collection. if you handed this shit to an art museum curator they'd just stick it on the wall and tell you to stand around and look at it until you Understood. so anyway the mit museum had this enormous room-sized diorama of various hull shapes and how they sat in the water and their benefits and drawbacks, placed below the relevant technical drawings.

tbh i think the main problem is that art museum people and science museum people are completely different sets of people, trained in completely different curatorial traditions. it would not occur to an art museum curator to do anything like this because they're probably from the ~art world~ -- maybe they have experience working at an art gallery, or working as an art buyer for a rich collector, neither of which is in any way pedagogical. nobody thinks an exhibit of historical clothing should work like a clothing store but it's fine when it's art, i guess?

also the experience of going to an art museum is pretty user-hostile, i have to say. there's never enough benches, and if you want a backrest, fuck you. fuck you if going up stairs is painful; use our shitty elevator in the corner that we begrudgingly have for wheelchair accessibility, if you can find it. fuck you if you can't see very well, and need to be closer to the art. fuck you if you need to hydrate or eat food regularly; go to our stupid little overpriced cafeteria, and fuck you if we don't actually sell any food you can eat. (obviously you don't want someone accidentally spilling a smoothie on the art, but there's no reason you couldn't provide little Safe For Eating Rooms where people could just duck in and monch a protein bar, except that then you couldn't sell them a $30 salad at the cafe.) fuck you if you're overwhelmed by noise in echoing rooms with hard surfaces and a lot of people in them. fuck you if you are TOO SHORT and so our overhead illumination generates BRIGHT REFLECTIONS ON THE SHINY VARNISH. we're the art museum! we don't give a shit!!!

[ofbatsandballads]

have this thing I wrote in a flash of pure, unadulterated love for Jason that I felt while doing my hair routine after my shower. never needed a fictional guy more in all my life and honestly this may be my personal favorite thing I’ve ever written.

Thinking about domesticity with Jason Todd. Building a home with him, a life. How ever so gradually mine and yours becomes ours.

You’re brushing your teeth one morning and decide to try out his toothpaste, the one he always buys from the bodega down the block owned by the little abuelita that loves him to death. It’s fresh and it’s minty and you swear it leaves your teeth whiter than the brand name stuff you buy, so you let your tube get used up and never buy toothpaste again. Jason, without question, simply starts buying it twice as often as usual.

You’re fresh from the shower together after a night off for both of you. You’re warm and you’re happy and you’re both so in love it almost hurts. You watch enraptured as he towel dries his hair, roughly scrunching the water from his inky curls. You don’t like how he lacks gentleness with himself, so you take the towel from him and gesture for him to lean down. Ever obedient to you, Jason complies and smiles softly as you dry his hair for him. You think suddenly that while his curls are always soft to the touch, they could do with being a bit more defined. They tend to get really frizzy and poofy by the end of the day. So you grab your curl cream and gel and just absentmindedly do your own routine on him. He raises his eyebrow in question only to quickly relent when he realizes it means you’re playing with his hair for longer. Your hunch is right; once his hair dries, his curls are so pretty you think you could get lost in the waves of them. Jason’s just happy cause now his hair smells like you.

The only clothes Jason has that are his now is his Red Hood gear. The rest of his closet has quickly become co-owned by you. His brain never fails to short circuit when you walk out in his hoodies, or his sweatpants, or his t-shirts, or his boxers. There’s not one piece of his civilian clothing that hasn’t been on both of your bodies at this point. Sometimes seeing you in his clothes has Jason blushing and his heart pounding with how much he loves you, how grateful he is to have this life with you. Other times seeing you in his clothes has him calculating the fastest way he can get them all off of you. You’re just disappointed that it can’t go both ways. But, alas, the struggles of having a massive boyfriend are that he’ll never be able to fit in your clothes. Whatever; it still does something for you when he finally wears the old Gotham Knights shirt that you’d stolen for months.

It’s also kind of funny sometimes. You two own a set of old, dark gray towels affectionately labeled “The Blood Towels”. The Blood Towels are only brought out after a really rough patrol or post-showering when you’re on your period. They came about after you’d nearly slipped while soaking wet from how quickly you’d tried to dry off to avoid bleeding on his good, fluffy towels. Jason just looked at you like you were a little ditzy, a flat “Do ya know how many times I’ve bled on these towels?” coming from his mouth. “I don’t care! I still don’t wanna ruin them!” you’d insisted. And thus, The Blood Towels were born.

Your bookshelf is never going to stop growing. You’ve actually had to go to IKEA more than once to get a larger one with how often you and Jay visit the old bookstore two blocks away from your apartment. Neither of you can resist a pretty cover, or a new annotated edition, or, heaven forbid, those rare, expensive first edition copies. At this point you’re not really sure which of the five copies of Pride and Prejudice first belonged to who, but really what does it matter when you’re both reading them anyways? And it’s always funny when you have to drag home a bigger bookshelf. You can never hold your laughter when Jason inevitably shouts “What the fuck! This wouldn’t be so goddamn hard if they actually gave you coherent instructions!” It’s also always nice to drag the old bookshelves to the apartment of the single mom downstairs whose kid loves reading. You both know she can barely afford the second hand books she gets him, so the shelves are happily given. You’re actually thinking of asking Jay if he’s willing to part with one of your first edition copies of Frankenstein for Christmas; the kid would freak.

All of this comes to a head with a cat. A big, fat, black cat that crawls up on your fire escape one night. You’d both been a little distracted–okay, a lot distracted by the feeling of being lost in each other's touch. You’d been making out for over an hour, just relishing in the intimacy of being together. It was definitely going to go somewhere until you heard the caterwauling of an animal outside your window. “The fuck is that?” Jason had asked as he pulled away from kissing bruises into your neck. “Sounds like a cat.” You’d begged, actually begged, Jason to let him stay. The next morning you came home with a grocery bag full of cat toys and bowls while Jason hauled a value-sized 40 pound bag of cat food on his shoulder. Atticus sits with you both while you watch TV now. Atticus still sometimes ruins the mood when he sees Jason sink his teeth into you and immediately swats his dad on the cheek. But Atticus is also undeniably your boy. And whatever, maybe you do start thinking about what Jason would look like with an actual baby in his arms when he’s cradling Atty as he shuffles around your home. But there’s time for that yet. You both know that. You know that beyond anything else, you’ll always have this life, this home together. It’s the best gift either of you have ever been given.

[mulloey]

hunted • yunho

it’s all a game, he says. you’re desperate to play.

yunho x fem!reader

words: 4.7k

warnings: extremely dark kinks, heavy consensual non consent (cnc), dubcon at some points though you have a safeword, internet hookups (don’t), unprotected sex (don’t), the word ‘rape’ is used, hard dom!yunho, fear play, glove kink, choking, impact play, knife play, under-negotiated kink, size kink, painful sex, sir kink, you’re referred to within the scene as a victim and a sex slave, explicit threats of bodily harm and death in the context of cnc, mind break possibly, aftercare, crying etc

you’ve been appropriately warned of the content ahead. click out if you are uncomfortable. this is not safe to do irl. hate is blocked.

-

You don’t know where else to turn.

It’s been on your mind for a while— this fantasy. This game. You don’t know why, or how, and you’d never, ever admit it, but it plagues your thoughts, day after day, haunting your dreams night after night without respite. You’re too ashamed to even say it.

You never told any of your previous partners; you’d hint, maybe, suggesting weaker, milder things to nudge them the right direction, but they always shied away, got scared about three miles south of what you actually wanted, and ran screaming. You know it’s wrong. If anything, the fact that they ran away should have been a green flag. But it wasn’t. Not to you.

You make the account around 3am. Your username is nondescript, profile photo grainy and blurred, showing just enough to attract someone who might be able to do this for you. You write the post with trembling hands; the words come easier to you than you’ll ever admit.

I want to be forced. I want to be raped. I want to be punished for resisting. I imagine a stranger, maybe one I’d only seen in passing. He can’t get enough of me. He needs me. He’ll have me. He follows me wherever I’m going, lying in wait. It doesn’t matter how much I resist. I’m going to be his. He. Will. Have. Me.

As expected, your phone is blown up by the time you check it. Hundreds of old, gross, sleazy men desperate to get a taste of your — shudder — young pussy, as one called it. You hadn’t given a specific age, just that you’re in your 20s, but they all seem content to run with the idea of you being on the lower end, rather than the higher. Perverts.

You scroll through the messages. each one confirming the rational part of your brain that says this is a stupid, dangerous idea and you should forget you ever even had it.

It’s the one at the bottom that stops you. Sent not long after you’d gone to sleep, but they’d liked the post almost instantly. The profile picture is like yours — grainy, blurred, but suggesting a toned, young-ish, large body — and he too is in his 20s, if he’s telling the truth. His message is short and respectful— a breath of fresh air.

youknowme: Nice post. Do you really want that, or do you just like imagining it?

You bite your lip. You don’t know why, but this person feels… different. Exciting. You want to know more.

rosedepths: i really want it. can you give it to me?

youknowme: I could. Would you take it all?

You chuckle— you know what he means, but you figure you’ll have some fun. See if he’s expecting a sweet, scared little doe who’ll be quick to submit; or if he’s expecting a fight. If he’s expecting you.

rosedepths: nope.

The typing button appears and disappears a few times. You assume he doesn’t like your response, and he’s not as exciting a match as you’d hoped, until his next message comes through.

youknowme: Yes, you will.

Oh, fuck. You feel yourself leaking as you read it over and over. You’re desperate to know more.

rosedepths: have you done this before? raping a stranger?

youknowme: I hope you’re talking about CNC, Rose. If you are, then yes. I have.

rosedepths: you any good at it?

youknowme: I’ve subdued much feistier things than you. I can give you what you’re asking for. Do you want it?

The need in your stomach is so profound you think you could keel over. You’ve never found it easier to type something out.

rosedepths: yes.

You talk until you sleep, and you’re optimistic about this guy. He’s careful and meticulous with your kinks and limits, guiding you through the details while still retaining the mystery and allure you’re craving. Despite your protests, he insists on a safeword, but assures you that that’s ‘the only thing in the world that will stop him.’

As you become more familiar with this site, designed solely for this purpose it seems, you see this man is… popular. To say the least. He even has what looks like a review section from other women he’s fucked and oh, there’s pictures. Not of him— but of the deep bruises and stinging cuts he’s left behind. You click through the reviews, pupils dilating the longer you stare the screen down.

He fucked me so good.

He put me in my place.

He’s brutal.

No one’s ever made me cry like that. Or cum.

When he proposes a meeting, you don’t think twice.

By the time next Friday rolls around, the knot in your stomach is a constant; it follows you around, heavy and aching as it trails behind every step. You know it’s just nerves, excitement, the thrill of knowing you’re about to do something very, very wrong. But some part of you does wonder if it’s doubt— are you being stupid? Is this a bad idea? Well, yes. You are and it is. But is it… too bad? You don’t know. As the clock ticks slowly towards your ‘appointment’, you feel more and more anxious to find out.

You clock out at 5, hurrying down the stairs of your office building to dash home. You’d prepared your bag already, shaved this morning and placed your fanciest, laciest set of lingerie under your work clothes. You take a second to freshen up, touch up your makeup and dump your work bag on your bed before you’re hurrying out the door again.

The hotel he’d booked is downtown, shiny and new and well beyond your price range. You wonder for a moment what this man does for work. Your knowledge of him is very, very limited— by design, of course. This whole game, this whole exercise hinges on him being a total stranger. But still, you can’t help but be curious. The one clue you have is the name the room was booked under— Yunho. You must have said it to yourself a thousand times; trying it out, the sound, the feeling. It tastes tantalising on your tongue and you’re bubbling with need by the time you make it to your room.

You hesitate when you reach the door. He’d told you he’d arrive later, at an undetermined time, but you can’t help but wonder. Is he in there, lying in wait? Will you open the door to find him sat on the bed, or hidden behind a corner, or, your heart races at the thought, right there on the other side? You breathe, in, out, in, out. You can do this. There’s nothing you could find on the other side of the door that you wouldn’t beg for another day.

You’re almost disappointed when you walk into the room to find it totally empty. You check the bathroom, the corners, the cupboards, half hoping to find him looming there, waiting to strike. But you don’t. You sigh, sitting down on the bed and sliding off your shoes. You’re not really sure what to do now. You suppose you could touch yourself, you doubt he’d blame you for being excited, but over the past few days, without realising you’ve found yourself almost saving yourself for him; each time your hands had wandered down there, you’d stopped yourself. He’ll take care of it.

Sighing, you decide to turn on the TV, flicking lazily through the channels until you find something that entertains you until he arrives.

With every unexplained noise, every creaking of a neighbour’s door, you look up eagerly, hoping to see Yunho looming in the doorway. But you don’t. Hours go by, your hope fading more and more, until you accept that he’s just not coming tonight. Tomorrow, maybe. You hope.

By the time you’re ready to sleep, you’ve passed several hours in front of the mindless reality show you ended up settling on. Trying to ignore the crushing disappointment that Yunho hasn’t shown up today, and the fear that he never will, you turn the TV off and settle into the sheets.

He’ll come tomorrow. He has to.

Eyes adjusting to the darkness, you make yourself comfortable in the cool, fresh sheets. The only sounds in the quiet room are your slow, steady breaths and the low hum of the air-conditioning. As your eyes begin to droop, you feel yourself relaxing into the memory foam, wondering and hoping he’ll be there when you wake up…

Click.

There’s a hand on your mouth. The lights are on.

Your eyes snap open and your body jolts, adrenaline flowing instantly. The hand is large, covering your mouth and nose and you can’t breathe.

As you adjust to the light you get a good look at him, and you’re so shocked that for a moment you forget you’re supposed to struggle. Yunho is gorgeous. Fading blue hair, dark enough to seem black from a distance; features gentle, eyes dangerous and all blending perfectly together. He’s wearing a white shirt and pinstripe waistcoat that struggles against a broad, toned chest that seems to be trying to escape and his large hands are covered by a pair of thick, leather gloves.

Fuck. You’d beg for this man any other day, happily and eagerly. But you can’t do that now. You have to fight. You thrash against him, legs flailing but his body holds you down, pinning you in place and oh, he’s large, too. He could incapacitate you now and be done with it, but it seems he wants to play.

“Well, aren’t you sweet.”

His voice is low and rough and addictive, dripping with want and danger. He stares you down, eyes narrowed, blank, burning.

“Gonna be a good girl for me?”

The pressure of his hand has eased enough for you to breathe and you lie still for a moment, gauging your next move. You nod, slowly. I’ll be good.

He smiles, not really believing you, and then his hands are off you. For one second, they’re off of you and you take your chance— you jump up and bolt out of the bed, dashing in the direction of the door. You hear him curse, but you know he’d chosen this room, large enough to practically count as a suite, specifically to give you more room to run. And run you do; you’re still half-asleep — you’re not quite sure if you did fall asleep, in the end, or if he got to you just as you were drifting off — but the adrenaline pumping through your veins is enough to carry your feet towards the exit.

You hear him on your tail but he’s not running— no, his steps are leisurely, like he knows he’s going to catch you and is merely amused by your idea that it would end any other way.

He lets you get to the door and pull it halfway open, just enough to think you’ll make it out into the hall, before it slams shut in your face, only just missing your fingers where they’d lingered in the doorway. Then there’s strong arms on your body, slamming you with full force, your body colliding painfully with the heavy wood. You struggle pitifully in his hold and as the lock clicks shut above you, you hear the barely restrained anger in his voice.

“And where the fuck are you going, bitch?” He growls. He grabs your hair and tugs your head backwards, sending a painful sting through your scalp then slams your head back against the door. “You tryna get away, pretty girl?”

You grunt, pushing back against him as hard as you can, but with his firm grip on you all you manage to do is push your ass back against his crotch. He groans, the grip on your hair tightening. “Fucking tease,” he mutters. “Bet you’re wet already.”

He spins you around, holding you by the neck against the door, his body caging you in as his other hand roams across your breasts, squeezing them just short of painfully. You struggle fruitlessly but you’re completely trapped and you know it.

You feel his knee nudging at your closed legs, clenched together to keep him away from your heat as if it’s not aching for him already. “Open,” he says.

“Never.”

“Fine.” His leg draws back and lands a kick between your knees and you yelp, legs forced apart; he shoves his thigh into the gap, holding your legs open and your pussy exposed as his hand runs up your bare thigh and slips beneath the silk slip you curse yourself for wearing to bed. Could you have made this any easier for him?

His fingers tease the edge of your cotton panties, pulling it back and slapping the elastic against your skin and all you can do is stay in place, held under his weight as he toys with you. But you’re not done and this isn’t over. You’re just biding your time. You just need an opportunity; a moment of carelessness for you to slip away.

He runs a finger softly across your covered pussy, and the smug expression on his face tells you exactly what he finds there.

“For someone who doesn’t want this,” he says, “you’re awfully fucking wet.”

“Fuck you,” you spit.

He’s quick to react; a heavy slap lands on your face, turning your head forcefully to the side and leaving a lingering ache.

“Wet and mouthy,” he says. “I wonder how quickly you’ll break.”

Your stomach twists but you give nothing away; you’re enjoying the back and forth, the game, too much to give up yet, no matter how desperately you want him to just fuck you alrady.

“I’ll never fucking break,” you snap.

“Oh, you’ll break.” He leans in closer, enough for you to feel his breath on your face as he speaks. “They always do.”

You can hear your heart beating wildly, pounding against your ribs and your breath stutters. “And if I don’t?”

“If you don’t…” He lets the words hang in the air, gaze flickering across your shivering form. His mouth curls into a thin smile. “I’ll just have to hurt you real, real bad.”

You swallow thickly, tension caught in your throat. You wish that didn’t sound so enticing.

“Now,” he says. “Open your mouth.”

You force yourself to laugh, amused despite your terror by the notion that you’d just give in and obey. You purse your lips, sealing your mouth shut— directly defiant. His eyes flash and his hand tightens around your throat, cutting off your airflow as he presses down on the sides of your neck. You manage to hold out for a few seconds until you feel your eyes bulge and you gasp, mouth opening in a desperate bid for air. He loosens his grip, grabbing your chin and pushing his thumb in just far enough to hold your mouth open for him to spit into it. The saliva lands on your tongue and he pushes your mouth closed, pressing his hand over your mouth and nose again. “Swallow.”

Knowing he won’t let you breathe until you do, you swallow the spit; it feels disgusting and degrading sliding down your throat but the humiliation burns with pleasure and you’re desperate for more.

“Good girl,” he smiles. “Not that hard to listen, is it?”

You scowl, squirming under his hold. Yes, it is that hard. You manage to wring your arms free enough to grab at his arm, trying to pull his hand off of your face. In the panic one of your nails digs into his forearm and he growls, pulling you forward just to slam you backwards again. Your ears are ringing and his hand is pressed even tighter across your mouth and nose.

“Disobedient little bitch,” he hisses, “you want me to fuck you up?”

Yes, fuck, please, your mind says. But you keep that on the inside, and instead of begging or submitting or doing any of the things your body is screaming and pleading for you to do, you bite down. You bite down hard.

The taste of blood is a small victory as he shouts, snatching his hand away from you but this time he doesn’t give you the chance to get away; you make it a few steps before he grabs your wrists, clutching them easily in his injured hand, forcing them behind you back and twisting them painfully to hold you in place so he can backhand you again— and again, and again. You scream in pain, but if he notices, he doesn’t care. His expression is livid, eyes black and burning with rage. “Fucking. Little. Bitch.” Each word is punctuated by a hard slap, knocking the wind out of you over and over.

“Someone needs to put you in your fucking place,” he growls. “Dumb little sex slave.”

The word hits you somewhere deep, stomach twisting into knots as wetness pools. Slave. Fuck.

“I’m not your fucking sex slave,” you bite back and he laughs.

“You don’t know what the fuck you are. Stop squirming.” He twists your arms a little further, teetering on the edge of too far. You whine, straining against him and he cooes. “Hurts, baby?”

“Yes it fucking hurts,” you snap.

He snorts, amused. His eyes darken again as he leans in closer. “Any more attitude and I’ll fucking break them.”

You can’t help the gasp that escapes you, fear pushing through your veins again. His grip on your arms is iron and you know he could snap them with ease. But would he really? You say nothing, staring up at him with wide, pleading eyes. He grins.

“Don’t think I won’t,” he laughs. “I’ll break every bone in your body if it’ll keep you pliant.”

“I’ll do it one by one,” he continues. His grip on your wrists tightens again but he doesn’t twist any further; still toeing the line. “Nice and slow so you feel it all,” he smiles, and you know he’s imagining it as he speaks. You wish you could say you weren’t. “Let you hear the crack of each bone snapping in half until you’re completely destroyed. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You shake your head, voice quivering. “No.”

“Good.”

You scowl, squirming again to show your displeasure. “Let me go, Yunho.”

He hadn’t told you what to call him, but you decide to take a gamble that he doesn’t want you using his name and you’re right— he grabs your neck, pressing down hard enough to make you dizzy. “Call me that again,” he hisses, “and I’ll slit your fucking throat. Got it?”

You catch the whimper before it leaves your throat but you can’t stop your pussy from leaking even more than it already was. You didn’t know you could be so terrified or so horny. But you’re not giving up yet.

“You call me sir,” he says, “is that clear?”

You smile thinly. “Yes, sir,” you say, so sweet and polite that he sees right through it. He raises an eyebrow, waiting for your next move and it comes in the form of a wad of spit, landing like a bullet between his eyes.

Then you’re on the bed. You��re landing on the bed, shoved down and he’s crawling over you, holding you down with his weight and— there’s a knife on your throat.

Your eyes widen, all your blood rushing to your head at once. A knife… he’d never mentioned a knife. On your profile you’d said you were open to knife play, but he was so meticulous when he went through all the kinks he was planning that you thought… Well, you didn’t think he’d have a knife.

“Oh, that got your attention, didn’t it?” He grins. There’s a fire, a dangerous gleam in his eyes that hadn’t been there before and you feel it in the deepest parts of your body. You feel something else, too, and it burns just as brightly as your arousal. As he presses the knife down just enough to sting, you realise you are genuinely, truly afraid of Yunho. And yet…

Yunho sees it too; “fucking gushing,” he spits. “You’re more sick than I am. Don’t act like a victim now.”

You whine, squirming slightly and he hums thoughtfully.

“Or do,” he decides. “Actually, I’m sort of hoping you don’t do what I tell you. I’d love to watch the light leave your eyes when you finally stop struggling.”

Your breath hitches, caught in your throat. You don’t… you don’t know how you feel about this. You knew he’d be intense; the reviews had painted a clear picture of just how much he feeds off of fear. But there’s a wild, uncontrolled look in his eyes as he threatens your life so casually, so smoothly, that makes you wonder…

No. You know it’s fake. It’s all fake. You know it’s just a game and you know he’d stop if you said the safe word he gave you. But the knife at your neck is real. The darkness in his eyes is real. The fear is real. And he sees it in your eyes, his lips twitching into a small smile as though he can tell the exact moment you accept it. “Good girl,” he purrs. “Are you ready to listen?”

You say nothing, glowering up at him. He smiles, tilting his head.

“Open your mouth.”

Fuck no. This isn’t over. You meet his eyes with your mouth firmly, resoundingly shut. You purse your lips for good measure, determined to disobey.

His hand collides with your face again; the back of it, this time, and the feeling of his knuckles against your cheek makes you cry out before you can stop yourself. He seizes the opportunity of your parted lips and plunges two gloved fingers into your mouth. You choke, spluttering and he tuts, looking disappointed. Even with fingers in your throat, you feel like a naughty, scolded child beneath his firm gaze.

“See,” he says, his voice low, “I could make this so much worse for you. It’s in your best interest to do what I tell you.”

His fingers push in deeper and you feel the bile rising; you thrash and panic in his hold and he snorts, finally easing up. As you gasp for breath, he pulls his fingers away, a string of drool following him from your mouth and coating his fingers. He wipes them down on his pressed pants, looking disgusted. “Fucking mutt,” he spits. “Let’s put you to good use.”

Before you can register what’s happening, his dick is pushing into your mouth and fuck he’s massive. You can hardly hold him in your throat and your vision blurs with tears even before he starts to move— when he does, he wastes no time starting slow; he goes straight to fucking your mouth with hard, deep thrusts and you feel your tears and saliva cascading down onto your chest. You must look disgusting, but you’ve never heard anyone sound as feral as he does.

Just as you’re getting used to the feeling, he pulls out. His cock slaps against your face before he flips you over, bending you painfully over the edge of the bed. He doesn’t waste time prepping you — not that he needs to with the way you’re dripping — before forcing himself into your tight hole. You scream, feeling yourself being torn apart and he laughs, pushing your head into the mattress. “Fucking bitch,” he growls. His low voice is barely heard above the slapping of his skin on yours and the lewd squelching of your sopping pussy. You burn with humiliation but you can hardly think of anything but the pain of being stretched open and the force of his thrusts. You sob into the sheets but he doesn’t care, only getting rougher each time you cry out.

“Take it,” he barks, “you’ve been waiting for this dick your entire fucking life. So fucking take it.”

“S-sir,” you gasp. You thrash as much as you can under his iron grip, dizzy with pain and pleasure.

He snarls, hand landing hard on your ass. “Drop the act, bitch,” he growls. “I know you fucking love this. Clench.”

Still sobbing, you do your best to obey, clenching your pussy around his dick and it sends a jolt of electricity through your body. He groans, movement stuttering slightly under the new pressure on his dick.

“Fuck,” he grunts. “Such a pretty little victim. With a tight fucking hole.”

You feel his orgasm approaching; all the pent-up energy and frustration of fighting and subduing you pulsing through his dick as it pounds against your walls. His grip tightens on your waist, other arm coming to wrap around your neck, holding you in a chokehold as he finally releases inside you.

He grunts and moans through his orgasm and you feel the warmth of his cum filling you up before he finally collapses on top of you, pulling out quickly.

“Good girl,” he breathes. “It’s over, baby.”

The dam breaks. Your low, desperate sobs give way to full blown weeping, your whole body shivering with each cry. A million emotions, previously drowned out by pain and fear and pleasure, are suddenly at the surface, pushing against your skin and desperate to break through. You couldn’t name or number them if you tried but you don’t have to, because Yunho is there— his hands are on your skin, voice in your ear as he soothes you with whispered words you can’t comprehend.

“I’ve got you,” you finally make out. He says it again and again, over and over. It forms a familiar rhythm you can follow and cling to as you come back down to earth.

I’ve got you.

I’ve got you.

I’ve got you.

He’s there when the fog clears, cradling your aching body in his arms. His smile is soft and fond but there’s a concern in his eyes as he looks you up and down. “How do you feel?” He asks.

You open your mouth but no words come; you make a soft, content-sounding noise, the best you can do for now, and he chuckles. “I’ll take that as ‘you’re fine’, then.”

He shifts slightly, adjusting you to hold you closer to his chest. You follow his heartbeat as it thuds lowly in his chest. You hadn’t expected this, really; he’d said aftercare was a non-negotiable for him, so you knew he wasn’t going to just fuck you and dip, but the care and tenderness with which he cradles and soothes you is almost as electric as the brutality of before. It’s as funny as it was, you suppose, inevitable— this man has violated you in every way, and yet you’ve never felt more safe than you do in his arms. Two separate faces; opposing but inseparable.

A while later, he asks if he can give you a bath and you nod. You’re strangely embarrassed as he lowers you into the hot water, quietly soothing you when you hiss as it touches the wounds on your ass and thighs; maybe it’s the tenderness of his care or the knowledge that every mark on your body was put there by him, but you feel oddly exposed.

Still, he’s careful as he holds you still, letting your aching joints soak as he cleanses you of the remnants of what he just did to you. When he lifts you out, wrapping you in a soft towel and carrying you back to bed, you feel like you’re floating on a cloud.

Your voice returns soon enough, and quickly something pushes through to the front of your mind. Still slightly in the haze of subspace as the last drops of adrenaline dissipate, it seems like a reasonable, if not pertinent question.

“Yunho,” you say. He makes a ‘hm?’ noise, squeezing your thigh in recognition. “Would you really have broken my bones?”

He laughs, and you feel his body shaking slightly. It feels… warm. Familiar. “No,” he says. “That’s just part of the game. My favourite part, actually.”

“What part?”

“Making you wonder if it’s really a game.”

Through the aching pain of your pussy, you feel a slight twinge, making you clench unconsciously. Oh.

“You had a safeword,” he says. “So I knew I could push you. But I didn’t do anything I wasn’t sure would make your little pussy throb.”

You can’t help but blush at his words, mewling slightly as you snuggle further into his hold. You could stay like this, wrapped in his strong arms and held securely against his chest, for a long, long time. You wonder if he could, too.

“Yunho,” you say softly.

“Will you stay?”

You glance at him nervously, afraid of his answer. He smiles, holding you closer. “As long as you need,” he says.

-

thank you for reading! comments/feedback/reblogs are appreciated! requests are open! love🖤🖤🖤

taglist open!

[suiana]

yandere! parasite who decides to inhabit your body after observing you from his previous host. you're so cute! you'll definitely be a lot more comfortable to be in over this... fumbling fool that's obsessed with you.

the switch is seamless and you don't even realize that you have a parasite in you until he speaks.

you were stunned, where did this voice come from? you look around you, thinking your boss or coworker had called for you... only for the face of a... translucent and handsome looking man to appear right in front of you.

"hey!"

"what the- where did you come from? wait a minute who even are you?"

"you're so silly. isn't it obvious that i'm a parasite and you're my host?"

"a... parasite?"

you freak out, thinking you have brain eating worms in you as you break down in the middle of your job. fortunately, the lovely parasite in you takes the time to comfort you through your brain.

he tells you that he won't kill you and that he's a symbiotic parasite. that he'll just co-exist with you for as long as you live. that he won't interrupt your life whatsoever, he just needs a place to stay, you know?

at least that's what he tells you and himself.

unbeknownst to him, he had... unfortunately adopted certain characteristics from his previous host. and what did that include? his obsession of course.

he doesn't notice it at first. he was just acting like his normal self, observing your day to day life for about a month or two while interacting happily with you through brain messages. everything was fine and dandy! nothing out of the ordinary for the both of you except for the fact that you now had a parasite in your brain.

and he was quite useful actually! improving your health, boosting your physical strength and stuff... it was so freaking cool! you never knew you could do all these things!

plus, he was so sweet! you two were definitely like a pair of really good friends even if you just met a month or two ago! he's just perfect!

that was, until he saw someone confessing to you.

he didn't understand what was going on. why did his chest tighten up at the sight of some other person confessing their love to you? why does he feel a sudden rush of... anger?

he turns to watch what you do and he swears he only feels more anger at how you react. cheeks flushed, pupils dilated...

no, he couldn't have that.

meanwhile, you were totally flattered by the sudden confession. especially when it was from this cute nerd from the IT department! maybe you'll accept- wait, wait, wait! why was your body moving on its own?!

"you belong to me."

the parasite in your brain mumbles as you lose all control of your body and begin walking away from your admirer. what the?! he's never done this before! why's he taking control of your body?!

"hey! give my body back!"

"how could you do this to me? i am hurt, my dear host."

you couldn't even respond, too shocked to even say anything before you try to resust again. obviously it wouldn't work but it doesn't hurt to try.

"hey cut it out! i thought you said we're just living together? what's this? you totally messed up my chances of getting with someone!"

you were about to snap back when you feel a cold dread creep up your spine. shit, you forgot he could control everything in your body.

you could only watch in horror as he brings your body back to your apartment before he forces your body onto your bed. his translucent body appears in your vision once more, pinning you to the bed. you couldn't even resist even if you tried. he controlled your brain after all.

"you're my host, therefore, you are mine. i do not understand what's so hard to understand."

gritting your teeth, you could only allow this parasitic admirer of yours to stare down at you while grinding his hips into yours. damn, what's he trying to-

"hah... you're so cute... i love you so much... can i explore you? I'm so curious. I've always looked away when you were bare but..."

you couldn't even say no if you tried. your body was responding on its own. damn it! his brain controlling abilities were too good! maybe you should be a parasite in your next life.

"ah... is that a yes? god, i love you. i love you, i love you... i love you so much my darling host."

...

were you about to have mental sex with the parasite living in your body right now?!

[stylesonfilms]

the days are long, the days are hard [h.s]

word count: 4.5k

after a long, excruciating week at work packed with bad news, all you want is your husband, harry.

(inspired by one of my moots that has had a rough few days, hope this brings some comfort!)

warnings: none, just fluff!

Your week started off rough—rougher than most, in fact. The kind of week that clings to your chest like damp fabric, making it hard to breathe and even harder to find the energy to push through.

Monday was everything you’d expect a Monday to be: sluggish, jarring, and unforgiving. Getting back into the groove of things at the office after a much-needed holiday break felt like trying to climb uphill in heels on black ice. Your inbox was flooded, your calendar double-booked, and your brain resistant to the demands of corporate life. The fluorescent lighting overhead seemed brighter than usual, glaring down at you as though it wanted to mock your every misstep.

By Tuesday, the headache that had been brewing since the start of the week blossomed into a full-on throbbing migraine. You powered through with your phone glued to your ear, making calls and leaving voicemails to important individuals who somehow never seemed available. The phone grew slick in your clammy hands, and you found yourself gripping it tighter as though that would keep it from slipping away along with your patience.

Wednesday hit like a freight train. You walked into the office, already dreading the growing to-do list, only to be blindsided by the news that you’d be giving not one, but two speeches at back-to-back meetings. Meetings that you didn’t even know existed until that very moment. You had smiled through clenched teeth and nodded at your boss, silently berating yourself for not anticipating this kind of curveball. The weight of your own expectations pressed heavily on your shoulders, making the simple act of breathing feel like a chore.

Meanwhile, Harry was a ghost in the rhythm of your week. He left before the sun rose, his coffee cup rinsed and drying in the sink by the time you wandered into the kitchen each morning. By the time he returned home, long after the sky had surrendered to darkness, you’d already have dinner waiting—his plate warm, yours half-empty. Conversations were quick and superficial, exchanges of how-was-your-day glossed over in favor of tired smiles and heavy eyelids.

Friday arrived, and with it, the chaos of the city seemed to mirror the storm inside you. Your phone buzzed incessantly in your purse, vibrating against the side of your hip as you weaved through the swarm of New Yorkers hustling to get wherever they needed to be. The cold January air stung your cheeks, and the weight of your tote bag dug into your shoulder as you dodged elbows and briefcases. You muttered an apology to someone who bumped into you, though you couldn’t bring yourself to look up from the sidewalk until you reached the revolving doors of your building.

Once inside, you let out a sharp exhale, your breath fogging up the glass as you took a moment to compose yourself. Tugging at your blazer, you smoothed it over your pencil skirt before running your fingers through your hair, trying to tame the frizz that had been building from the morning’s commute. Your heels clicked sharply against the marble floors as you made your way to the elevator, the sound echoing faintly in the open lobby.

“Hi, Martha!” you chirped at the receptionist, flashing her a smile that felt paper-thin.

“Morning! Good luck today!” she called back cheerfully, though her voice felt like it was coming from underwater.

You loved her, truly. She was one of the few people in the office whose presence didn’t add to your stress, but today, you could barely muster the energy to respond with more than a quick wave. Your nerves had been stretched to the breaking point, and your usual confidence felt like it had been replaced by quicksand.

If it had been any other day, Harry would’ve held you the night before, grounding you in the warmth of his arms as he peppered light kisses across your face. He would’ve whispered words of reassurance into your temple, his voice low and steady as he reminded you of just how capable you were. His hands would have found the curve of your back, his thumb tracing soothing circles into your skin until your worries melted into the sheets.

But last night, you hadn’t let him in. Despite his gentle prodding and his furrowed brows that silently begged you to confide in him, you had brushed him off with excuses of being overtired. You’d told him about your unreasonable bosses, blaming your frustration on the endless pile of work. He didn’t believe you—Harry never did when it came to half-truths. He knew you too well.

He’d pressed his lips into a thin line, his silence carrying the weight of his concern, but he had let it go, probably sensing you didn’t have the energy to delve into your worries. And maybe you should have let him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to add to the weight he was already carrying. With two employees down at his job, he’d been shouldering triple the workload, yet he still came home each night with that same lopsided smile.

You thought about the time, three years ago, when you asked him how he managed to leave the stress of work at the door. His answer had been so simple, yet it had stayed with you ever since.

“Because,” he’d said, pulling you into his arms, “at the end of the day, no matter how bad it gets, I get to come home to you. And that makes everything else feel small.”

The memory brought a faint smile to your lips, even as you stepped into the elevator and prepared yourself for another long day.

You sighed as the elevator dinged softly, floor by floor, the sound seeming to echo in the confined space. It was a rhythmic, monotonous chime, yet it only heightened your sense of dread. Fishing your phone out of your purse, you let the leather strap slide from your shoulder and settle in the crook of your arm. The screen lit up immediately, bathing your face in a cold glow, and a notification blinked persistently at the top. A voicemail.

Your stomach tightened when you saw the name attached: Martin Mayer-Harvey. The name alone carried weight—a man whose influence stretched across six major publishing branches, a figure both revered and feared in the industry. His voice had been a beacon of hope during your one-on-one interview, one you had approached with equal parts trepidation and determination.

Harry had been ecstatic when you first told him about the opportunity. He’d grinned so wide his dimples had cut deep into his cheeks, his enthusiasm bubbling over as he pulled you into a celebratory hug. “This is it,” he’d said, his hands cradling your face. “This is the door opening for you, babe. And you’re going to crush it.” He’d even gone the extra mile to send recommendations on your behalf, his faith in you unwavering.

But now, standing alone in the elevator, the air felt thick with foreboding. With a swipe of your thumb, you tapped the notification, bringing the phone to your ear as you turned the volume up. Another ding. Another floor.

The voicemail played, Martin’s voice smooth and clinical, like velvet stretched too thin.

“Mrs. Y/N, thank you for your time and the professionalism you demonstrated during your interview. I regret to inform you that you have not been selected as an employee for this upcoming year. Nothing personal, it just comes down to the finer things—successes and ethics, and all. Thanks again. Your time was appreciated.”

The words hit you like a gut punch. Your stomach churned, a nauseating wave rolling over you as your breath caught in your throat. Not selected. You repeated the phrase in your mind, the syllables heavy and jagged, cutting deeper with every repetition. Successes and ethics? What did that even mean? Was he saying you weren’t accomplished enough? That you lacked whatever intangible quality he deemed essential?

You swallowed hard, but the lump in your throat refused to go away. When you’d shaken his hand after the interview, his words had brimmed with promise, his smile so genuine you’d dared to believe the position was yours. Yet now, the sterile tone of his voicemail made you feel like just another name crossed off a list.

The elevator dinged again, jolting you out of your spiraling thoughts as the doors slid open with an indifferent hum. The bright fluorescent lights of the seventh floor spilled in, harsh and unforgiving, making you squint as you stepped out into the long hallway. Blinking rapidly, you shoved your phone back into your purse, gripping the strap tightly as if it could somehow anchor you.

Your heels clicked against the polished tiles, the sound sharp and deliberate as you forced yourself to move forward. The walls, painted a dull beige, seemed to close in on you with every step, the air growing heavier as you approached your office.

When you finally stepped inside, the familiar scent of stale coffee and printer ink greeted you, a small comfort in an otherwise dismal moment. Dropping your purse onto the desk with a dull thud, you leaned against the wooden frame, your fingers curling around its edge as if it could keep you upright. Your chest rose and fell in uneven breaths as you closed your eyes, willing yourself to regain control.

The weight of disappointment pressed down on you, a suffocating heaviness that made your fingers tremble as they tightened around the wood. You hated this job. Loathed it, really. What had once been a golden opportunity now felt like a gilded cage. Five years of grunt work had left you disillusioned, the spark of ambition dimmed by endless busywork and little recognition. You had learned, yes, but at what cost?

Your thoughts were interrupted by the creak of the door swinging open, followed by a brisk knock. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

“Let’s go,” your boss grunted, his voice clipped and devoid of warmth. A briefcase dangled from his hand as he nodded toward the hallway. “You’ve got work to do.”

The meetings were as grueling as you’d anticipated. Standing in front of the room, under the scrutinizing gaze of your colleagues, felt like being trapped under a spotlight. The projector whirred faintly as you fumbled with the remote, your palms damp as you flipped through slide after slide. Words stumbled out of your mouth, tangling together as your nerves got the better of you. Every time you glanced at the room, the blank faces staring back only made your stomach twist further.

You kept replaying Martin’s voicemail in your head, the words looping like a broken record, distracting you at every turn. The disappointment, the humiliation—it all burned, settling low in your gut like a stone.

By the time the meetings ended, you could barely muster the energy to exchange handshakes, your smiles forced and brittle as you bid everyone a good day.

You checked the dainty watch on your wrist—a delicate silver piece Harry had gifted you on your one-year anniversary. It read 5:30. You sighed, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you snapped your case closed on the meeting table.

“What happened out there?” your boss asked, his tone sharp and unimpressed. His gaze swept over you, narrowing slightly as though he could see every crack in your armor. “I thought you were prepared.”

You gave me just under two damn days, you thought bitterly, though the words never left your lips.

Instead, you offered a tight-lipped apology. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I let myself get distracted.”

Your boss lingered for a moment, his eyes scanning your face before letting out a quiet “hm.” He turned on his heel and left without another word.

The breath you’d been holding escaped in a shuddering sigh. The weight of the day bore down on you, your muscles aching under the strain. All you wanted was to go home. To take a long, scalding shower and let the steam wash away the tension clinging to your skin. To crawl into bed, pull the covers over your head, and pretend for a moment that the world wasn’t so heavy.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

The hot water cascaded over your skin in steady rivulets, steaming against the cool tiles and filling the bathroom with a dense, comforting warmth. Each droplet hit your shoulders and back with a soothing rhythm, dissolving the tension knotted in your muscles from the week’s troubles. You leaned forward slightly, pressing your palms against the wet shower wall, letting the stream ripple through the strands of your hair and drip down to your toes. The scent of pomegranate and shea butter from the body scrub filled the air, sweet and creamy, wrapping around you like a gentle embrace.

You had gotten home just over half an hour ago. The house had been quiet, the kind of stillness that usually greeted you on Fridays. Harry’s car was absent from the driveway, as expected—he always stayed late at the end of the week, wrapping up whatever loose ends needed his attention. The emptiness of the house had been neither comforting nor unsettling; it simply was. You’d set your bag on the kitchen counter, slipped off your heels, and headed straight for the shower, bypassing the bedroom entirely.

Your clothes lay in a careless heap on the tiled floor, a small pile of the day’s exhaustion. You’d scrubbed at your scalp with your fingernails, washing your hair thoroughly not once, but twice, as if doing so could cleanse not just the grime of the day, but also the weight pressing on your mind. You busied yourself with every task you could—shaving over every inch of skin, exfoliating with the grainy scrub until your arms and legs felt soft and raw, then lathering up with the matching body wash, its silky foam sliding over your skin before being washed away in swirling streams.

When the water finally stopped, you stood for a moment in the silence, the air heavy with steam and the faint aroma of your products. You wrung out your hair with practiced motions, droplets splattering onto the shower floor as you reached for the towel. With a flick of your wrist, you flipped your hair forward and wrapped it into the plush fabric, the soft pink standing out against the misty haze. Another towel—this one a little coarser—was pulled from the rack, and you pressed it to your damp skin, blotting and drying before wrapping it securely around your body.

The bathroom was your sanctuary for the next hour. You took your time moving through your routine, dabbing on lotions and serums, brushing out your hair, and slipping into a pair of soft, oversized pajamas. The familiar scents of lavender and coconut oil mingled with the lingering steam, grounding you as you stared at your reflection in the mirror. Your heart still carried the same heaviness it had since hearing the voicemail, a quiet ache nestled in your chest. But now, it felt distant—muted, like background noise to the slow hum of your movements.

By the time you left the bathroom, the house felt cooler, the air outside the warmth of the shower almost brisk against your skin. You padded down the hallway barefoot, the soft patter of your steps swallowed by the carpet. The living room was dimly lit, the glow from the TV casting flickering shadows against the walls. You curled up on the couch under the throw blanket, its weight comforting as it settled over you. Your comfort show played softly in the background, the familiar voices blending seamlessly into the quiet. A well-loved book rested by your side, its pages slightly worn, ready to pull you in if you felt like retreating further into your own world.

Around seven PM, the sound of the front door opening broke the silence. The subtle click of the latch, followed by the rhythmic clack of Harry’s work shoes against the hardwood floor, was a melody you didn’t realize you’d been waiting for. His keys jingled briefly before landing with a soft clink in the bowl by the door, and the heavier thud of his briefcase settling onto the dining table made your heart lighten just a little.

Relief bubbled in your chest, warm and effervescent, as you shifted under the blanket. Your arm hooked around the back of the couch, your head tilting to look over your shoulder as Harry rounded the corner. The sight of him brought an instant smile to your face.

He was still in his work suit, the sharp lines of his dark grey blazer and slacks softened by the slight dishevelment that came with a long day. The plain black button-up underneath was unbuttoned at the collar, and the sleeves were cuffed up just enough to reveal his wrists. His hair was slightly mussed, a few strands falling across his forehead.

His lips curved into a familiar, easy smile when he saw you, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he lifted a bag of takeout into the air. “I brought takeout,” he said, his voice warm and teasing as he walked over to you. “Figured tonight was one of those nights.”

Your chest swelled with gratitude— he knew you so well. He always had.

You murmured a quiet thank you, your voice soft and a little worn, and let out a contented sigh as he sank onto the couch beside you. His arms wrapped snugly around you, pulling you close as the weight of the day melted away. You leaned into him, your head resting against his chest as his familiar scent— something clean, woodsy, and uniquely him— enveloped you. His nose brushed against your damp hair, and the warmth of his presence grounded you in a way nothing else could.

For the first time all day, you felt like you could finally exhale.

“You smell good, baby.” Harry’s voice was a soft murmur, his accent thick and lingering in the air like honey, each word wrapped in warmth. His large hands splayed across your back, their weight grounding you as they roamed gently over the sleek fabric of your pajama set. His touch was tender, deliberate, as though he was trying to smooth away the burdens of your day. You melted into him, your arms winding around his torso, clinging to him like he was your lifeline. The familiar scent of his cologne wrapped around you, blending seamlessly with the faint aroma of soap lingering on your own skin.

Your face nestled into the crook of his neck, the warmth of his body radiating into yours as you fluttered your eyes shut. His chest rose and fell steadily beneath your cheek, his heartbeat a gentle, soothing rhythm that seemed to lull your own into sync. Being here, in his arms, felt like finally exhaling after holding your breath all day.

Harry’s lips pressed into a small frown, the pinch of his brows betraying his concern. His hands, broad and steady, paused on your back, giving your shoulders a reassuring squeeze before he pulled back slightly to study you. One hand slid beneath your chin, his touch feather-light but firm, guiding your gaze up to meet his.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asked softly, his green eyes searching yours with an intensity that felt like he was looking straight into your soul. His voice was gentle, but the concern etched into his expression made your chest tighten. His thumb brushed over your cheekbone in a slow, comforting stroke, its warmth grounding you even as you struggled to hold his gaze.

You let out a small, weary sigh. “Meetings,” you mumbled, though even to your own ears, the excuse sounded thin. Still, you nuzzled into his touch, seeking comfort as your words trailed off.

Harry’s hand cradled your jaw now, his thumb continuing its soothing path along your skin. His other hand found its way to your bare thigh, his palm warm and steady as it swept up and down, brushing lightly under the hem of your sleep shorts. His touch was instinctive, effortless, but it carried with it a deep well of care that threatened to unravel you.

“You don’t get this worn and torn over meetings, love,” he said quietly, his voice like a low hum of thunder, steady and grounding. “Is there something else?” His green eyes held yours, steady and unyielding, like a comforting fire that wouldn’t burn but would warm you to your core.

Your lips parted, but the words caught in your throat. You sighed again, this time deeper, your shoulders slumping under the weight of it all. His hands never wavered— one cupping your face, the other continuing its soothing rhythm against your thigh.

Finally, you spoke, your voice trembling with a mix of sadness and resignation. “That job at Mayer-Harvey completely fell through,” you admitted, your breath hitching as the words spilled out. “He said... he said I wasn’t qualified enough, not accomplished enough, just… not enough.” The words felt heavier the more you said them, the ache in your chest twisting a little tighter.

Harry’s frown deepened, the lines on his face etched with quiet frustration— not at you, but at the world that had made you feel this way. His thumb stilled for a moment before resuming its gentle sweep across your cheek. When your gaze dropped to your hands, which were busy fiddling with the edge of his blazer, he tipped your chin back up with tender insistence.

“Baby, you know that’s not true, right?” His voice was firm but still soft, his words laced with conviction. “None of it. He doesn’t know an ounce of what he’s talking about.”

You shook your head slightly, your brows furrowing. “H, he owns six different branches. I would say he—.”

“No.” Harry’s voice interrupted gently but firmly, his head shaking in disagreement. “Just because he owns them doesn’t mean he knows how to work them. I can guarantee you, in two months, he’ll realize just how badly he messed up by letting you go. He’ll regret it, love, because no one brings what you do to the table.”

Your lips wavered into a faint pout, sadness glazing over your eyes as you tried to swallow the lump in your throat. “I just… I have to keep looking, I guess. Maybe I wasn’t meant to work there anyway.”

“But you damn sure wanted it,” Harry said, his voice softening, though the conviction in his tone remained. His hand on your thigh paused to squeeze lightly before resuming its gentle strokes. “And you deserved it. Y/N, I’ve seen your work. I’ve seen how dedicated you are, how much effort you put in, even when it’s for a company that doesn’t deserve you. And I know,” he paused, leaning a little closer, his eyes locking onto yours, “I know you’d pack a bigger punch for a company that’s actually worth it.”

His words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, slowly loosening the knot of doubt and hurt in your chest. Maybe he was right.

You nodded slowly, your fingers tracing the lapel of his blazer as you whispered, “I really wanted it, H.”

“I know, baby.” His voice was soft, his lips brushing against your forehead in a kiss that was as much a promise as it was an act of comfort. He kissed the bridge of your nose next, lingering there for a moment. “But don’t worry, darling. We’ll find you something better— something that deserves you. And listen, if you want to leave that job now, I’d be more than happy to support us. All I want is to take care of my girl. That’s it.”

Harry’s hands framed your face, his thumbs stroking softly against your cheeks as he looked at you with an intensity that made you feel seen in a way no one else could make you feel. Then, slowly, he leaned in and captured your lips in a kiss so gentle, so tender, that it made your heart swell and your worries ebb away.

With Harry by your side, it didn’t matter what the world threw at you. His unwavering support, his patience, his love— it was all you needed.

“Now c’mon,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to press another kiss to your forehead. “Let’s have dinner, yeah?”

You spent that night cooped up under his arm, the fabric of his suit soft but slightly wrinkled from your cuddling. Neither of you cared. All that mattered was the comfort of being close, the way his steady heartbeat became your lullaby as the hours ticked by. The movie played quietly in the background, but neither of you was paying much attention. Harry’s fingers absentmindedly traced little patterns along your arm, while you nestled deeper into his side, letting his warmth soak into your skin.

When dinner was done and the plates had been set aside, Harry stood, stretching dramatically before grinning down at you. “Don’t move a muscle,” he teased, his green eyes crinkling with affection as he leaned down to press a kiss to the top of your head.

He took care of the cleanup, tossing the trash and rinsing the dishes with that same effortless grace he did everything else. You watched him from the couch, your heart swelling as he moved around the room, sleeves rolled up, that signature Harry charm shining through even in the simplest of acts. He looked over his shoulder to catch you staring, a cheeky smile tugging at his lips. “What’re you looking at, huh?”

“You,” you said softly, your voice carrying a warmth that made his smile widen.

“Good answer,” he chuckled, before walking over and scooping you up effortlessly. You let out a small squeal, laughing as he carried you bridal style toward the bedroom. “C’mon, love. Time for a proper cuddle.”

Once in bed, Harry wrapped you up in his arms as if he never wanted to let go. The suit jacket had long been tossed to the side, but his tie still hung loosely around his neck, a detail that made you smile. His hand found its way to your hair, fingers combing through the strands with a tenderness that melted away the last of your worries.

“By the way,” he murmured, his voice soft and low, “I took the next few days off.”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him in surprise. “You did?”

“Mmhm,” he confirmed, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips. “Figured my girl needed me more than work did. And honestly, I needed this too. Just you and me for the weekend. Sound good?”

You nodded, your smile spreading as you snuggled closer, your hand resting against his chest. “Sounds perfect.”

Harry’s arms tightened around you, his lips brushing against your temple. “Good. Because I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And as you drifted off to sleep in his embrace, the weight of the world seemed to disappear, replaced by the quiet, unshakable love that only he could give.

[thebestsetter]

Isagi loves your thighs. And even though he isn't the type of guy to answer "personality" when asked "Boobs, thighs or ass?", he doesn't want to outright say how attracted he feels to them, mainly because he doesn't want you to think he only cares about your body (even though you know he doesn't).

So, imagine how heavenly it felt the first time he got to sleep on your lap. He remembers it as if it happened yesterday.

He had come home after a tough day of practice, in which his coach seemed even more angry than usual and just determined to make the whole team's day a living hell. Everything in him was aching, from his back to his feet, and he could swear he had a fever or something, because his head was starting to throb too. All Isagi wanted to do was get home and lay down, even if it means sleeping without showering (which shows just how tired he was).

"Honey? You're home!" he heard you saying from the kitchen "Welcome home!"

He tried to answer your sweet voice welcoming him home. He really did. But his mouth just wouldn't answer his brain's commands. So, he was just standing, staring at you with his mouth wide open, looking like an idiot.

"Isagi? Are you feeling alright?"

He couldn't even register what he was doing, but the next thing he knew, he walked closer to you. His body was just moving on it's own, as if being as close to you as possible was as natural for him as breathing.

"Sweetie, you're starting to scare me. Do you need to go to the doctor? Did something happen today at practice?"

He couldn't resist the urge to hug you anymore, even though he was trying to restrain himself because he was still stinky from practice and he knew just how much you hated it when he hugged or kissed you without showering first. He couldn't explain it, but you looked so huggable at the moment! He took a step closer, hugging you tight and burying his face in the crook of your neck, innaling deeply and letting out a satisfied sigh. One of his hands was travelling your waist while the other was playing with the hem of your shirt.

"Yoichi!" you exclaimed, voice worried yet still not loud enough to make his head ache even more (he doesn't even think your voice will ever be capable of doing him any harm) "You're burning up! You have a fever! I can't believe it, I told you to take better care of yourself!"

Ah. So he was right. He had a fever. That's why training was so hard today.

"Hm" he muttered, still with his head in your neck. He closed his eyes, enjoying the moment you both were having.

"Stay at the couch, I'll go grab some medicine at the bathroom."

"Noooo, don't leave me here" he said, clearly affected by his sickness. It looks like his mouth finally started to work again. "I don't want to be away from youuuu"

"Yoichi, my honey, you're clearly not thinking straight right now. But I won't go away! I'll be back in like 30 seconds. Sit on the couch and count, I swear it won't take long"

He sighed, but complied anyway, sitting at the couch and waiting (im)patiently.

You were right, because in almost no time you came back with pills and a cup of water. If there was a sport where the champion had to be the person who brought a glass of water and medicine to their sick boyfriend the fastest, you would win, Isagi thought (and that thought made him strangely proud).

"Here. Drink it up" he obeyed

"Everything hurts"

"I know it does, love. What you need right now is sleep. Come here" you said, patting your lap. If Yoichi was in his right mind, he would've blushed hard and maybe even denied at first, but he wasn't. He just wanted to rest, and he always dreamed about laying in your lap. So, he quickly grasped the opportunity.

And boy was it as good as he imagined it would be. Even better, actually. Your thighs were fluffier than any other pillows he had ever used before, and he felt like he could hibernate there. And as if it couldn't get any better, you started playing with his hair. He was in heaven. He couldn't even fell the pain anymore, and he was sure it wasn't just the medicine doings.

"I love your thighs" he admitted, a honesty he wouldn't have when he was healthy, which made you chuckle "And I love you too. Thank you." He kissed the inner part of your thigh to show you just how serious he was about it

"I love you too, Yoichi. Now, rest. We don't want the best striker of the world to be sick all week, do we?"

"If it means getting to lay on your lap everyday, I would be sick my whole life"

"You're silly"

"And you're the love of my life"

"Good night, Isagi"

"Good night, my love"

Masterlist

[distantdarlings]

STRAY FROM ROUTINE // m. riddle

RATING: R / 4.5K WORDS

Mattheo Riddle x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* You wake up with an evil plan to ignore Mattheo Riddle until he cracks.

+ WARNINGS - SMUT! (P in V), unprotected, spanking, thigh-hitting, dom!mattheo, sub!reader, mean mattheo, slight breeding kink, controlling mattheo, reader is resisting (but she's doing it on purpose), toxic relationship values, name-calling, degradation, language, not fully proofread (lmk if I missed anything!)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Ride or Die, Pt. 2 - Sevdaliza (I can't get it out of my head :'))

- - -

The inspiration that struck you as soon as you woke up was one of some kind of age-old genius. The motivation that came with it seemed to cloud your mind like some kind of drug, flooding your mind and inhibiting all other thoughts that attempted to enter your brain the rest of the day.

You had always been a bit of a shit-starter when it came to Mattheo Riddle, but today, you were feeling downright sinister.

Your eyes flicked across the room to catch the dark boy’s oaken eyes. His strong hand lifted from the counter to toy with his bottom lip teasingly. Every move was calculated, down to the way his shoulders moved when he took in a breath.

He skirted through his usual routine of tracing his eyes slowly down your body, then flicking them back up to steel his eye contact. For the first few months of your relationship with him—if that’s what you wanted to call it—that whole intimidating facade had worked on you effortlessly. But now, you knew he was more bark than he was bite. That was, as far as you could tell.

You supposed that after sleeping with him so long, he’d have lived up to his whole King Mattheo act, but he'd fallen short. You were disappointed, to say the least. The majority of the entire student body, including some teachers, were terrified of this boy that currently stared you down, but you seemed to be missing something.

Was he good in bed? Hell yes. Could he get mean? Also yes, but where was the difference? As far as you could tell, he didn’t fuck any differently than any other Slytherin boy you’d been with. They were practically all the same. Mean, dominant, and rough. They usually had some kind of ego to keep up—or a tiny dick to compensate for. Whatever it was, Mattheo didn’t seem any different.

He was mean, dominant, and rough. The only thing that had surprised you about him was how gentle he was beneath it all. With every bruising thrust, his fingers cradled your hips gently where others gripped with their nails. With every mark he sucked into your skin, he darted a tongue out to soothe where others let it simmer. He was a rough lover, but he was still a lover. The others were just rough.

That was what had kept you going back to him so many times. But you were getting impatient. It was time for Mattheo to step his game up, or you were going to get bored. You wanted him to prove to you that he was different. But you didn’t want to have to ask for it. You just wanted him to know to do it.

By the time the last of the breakfast crowd had dissipated and the campus prepared for their first periods, Mattheo hadn’t broken eye contact once. Nor had you. If there was one thing you weren’t going to do—for Mattheo or any one else—it was back down from a challenge. If he wanted to tease and stare and frustrate, you’d do the same.

Finally, he stood with the rest of his group of friends. They headed toward the door but his focus remained on you.

The tip of his wand peeked out from the edge of his uniform sleeve and, with a few mumbled words, a small slip of paper had collapsed from the tip of the wooden object. It hit the floor silently, and weaved through the swarm of feet marching through the Great Hall. Once it had reached you, it stopped just before your shoes beneath the table.

At risk of being caught by your friends, you refused to glance down at it. But, just like he always did, Mattheo had thought of everything. With a shiver, you felt the piece of paper slide up your leg like a slithering snake.

It slunk over the curve of your knee and seemed to wait for you to grab it. Ignoring the thought that it seemed to be alive like some sort of bug, you slipped your hand beneath the table and pulled the slip of paper toward you. Discreetly, you opened it up and looked down at it.

How do you want me to take you today? was scrawled in heavy, broad strokes across the sliver of parchment.

You bit back a smirk. That little fucker.

But, no. With the inspiration you had today—the inspiration to push Mattheo Riddle as close to the edge as possible—you weren’t going to allow him the satisfaction.

In fact, you were going to ignore him entirely until he cracked. That was the plan and you were settled with it. While this likely wasn’t the best thing for your own health, you weren’t too concerned. Mattheo Riddle was an asshole, but he wasn’t a murderer. You were pretty sure, anyways.

Satisfied with your decisions, you smiled lightly and pushed the piece of parchment into the first pocket of your school bag. As soon as you returned to your room, it would be placed with all of the other notes he had passed to you. Even though you weren’t wildly impressed with Mattheo’s performance so far, it was still nice to have the dirty, little notes sitting around for a rainy day.

- - -

And throughout the rest of the day, you stuck to your plan like glue. Every stare, every sneaking touch, every whispered word from Mattheo was met with a brick wall. You simply weren’t interested in any aspect of his usual antics, today. He needed to earn what he refused to admit he wanted so badly, which was you.

And by third period, you could tell he was nearly ready to explode. His jaw was clenching and unclenching, his fists were wrapped so tightly together, the knuckles were almost completely white. He was fucking angry—possibly angrier than you had ever seen him. And that was exactly what you had wanted. You wanted him to know that you were a million times different than any of the other girls he’d romanced so far.

He tried once more to entice a little desire from you just toward the end of class. The two of you sat in the last two rows at the very back of the classroom.

The room was elevated with the back rows at the highest point of the room, overlooking the rest of the class. Any secret movements were noticed simply by the backs of heads and a nonchalant teacher.

Mattheo sat directly behind you with one of his unnamed friends to his left, and another to that boy’s left. You were alone on your row. The class was not that big. But this was exactly the kind of environment a sly boy like Mattheo Riddle loved. He would take any opportunity he could to slide his dirty lips against your ear and whisper any deviance that popped into his head at the moment. And that’s what he’d done.

His head had settled just beside yours. You’d heard his breathing before even noticing the heat from his skin radiating onto yours. A shiver passed through your body at his proximity. Annoyed at your body’s involuntary reaction to the dark boy, you slipped your arms beneath the table to hide the chills sprouting across your flesh.

He must have seen them, though, because a small breath of a smirk passed across his face in your peripheral.

“I don’t know what your game is, little girl,” he whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “But you’d better straighten that attitude up, or, I swear, I’ll fix it myself.”

He didn’t say another word before he leaned back against his own seat, leaving you to wonder whether or not this was a good idea. You reminded yourself that intimidation was his shtick. That was the majority of the reason everyone was so frightened of him. You couldn’t even remember the last time he’d actually beaten anyone up or done anything to anyone who’d wronged him. Like you’d said, he was all bark.

Still, despite his threatening words, you simply flipped your hair over your shoulder and completely ignored him. He scoffed, seemingly suppressing a laugh. He was mad. But he wasn’t going to admit that to you right now.

Besides, you were sure you’d never hear the end of it once it was all said and done.

Once the teacher had announced that class was over and recited the homework assignment to a crowd of deaf ears, you gathered all of your things quickly and made a beeline for the door. You hadn’t even given Mattheo a second to gain a bit of awareness before you were out the door and halfway down the hallway.

You didn’t have a fourth period, but Mattheo did. He had Potions for the next hour, giving you just enough time to spruce up your appearance a bit and prepare for the storm that was brewing. You knew Mattheo well enough by this point to know how this evening was going to go. He would threaten your body within an inch of its life, ask if you ‘knew who he was,’ then he’d fuck you. Just like he always did. There was too much of a pattern. Not enough spontaneity to keep you occupied—you needed more. Hopefully, today was what did it for him.

The dormitory you shared with your mates was completely barren due to their schedules. Out of the five of you, you were the only one that had chosen fourth period as your free period. It seemed odd to you that they would rather have a late start to the day, than an early end. In your opinion, you’d wake up as early as you had to, if it meant you did not have to yawn your way through the last classes of the day.

You dropped your bag onto your bed and made for the small desk that was positioned just beside the headboard. It was stocked with all of your personal hygiene products—organized impeccably—and various bits of stationery for schoolwork. It served as both a desk and a vanity for you while you were getting ready in the mornings—or getting ready to see Mattheo.

You hoped he would be desperate all through his class. You hoped his eyes would be flickering around nervously, his knee bouncing rapidly, sweat dripping down his throat. It would be a sight to behold.

Mattheo was gorgeous—there was no denying that. It was just his attitude that needed adjusting. You smirked to yourself before taking a seat at your desk, glancing at your appearance in the small mirror you’d propped up against the stone wall.

And before you were even able to apply a second layer of mascara, the large wooden door in the corner of the room rattled violently. Three aggressive knocks permeated the silence so roughly the dust motes illuminated by the sun shuddered wildly.

A chill of anticipation settled in your stomach. Surely, that couldn’t be him. Fourth period had barely even begun.

You rose from your desk and crossed the length of the room, every step echoing through your body like a cannon. Why were you so nervous? The possibilities of consequences of your own actions were really starting to rattle around in your skull.

Your fingers wrapped around the bronze door handle and pulled.

Sure enough, on the other side, stood Mattheo Riddle. A malicious smirk was printed across his lips. He glanced around a few times, seeming to scan the surroundings of your dorm.

“Hi, is there anyone else here?” he asked, his voice sickly sweet. The courteous role he was playing made you all the more nervous. He never acted this way, even when he’d come to your dorm in the past. He was usually just as brash as he always was, no matter who was in the room.

“No, there’s not,” you said, your voice annoyingly shaking just a bit. “And if you don’t mind, I’m actually pretty busy—”

Just as you started to push the door closed again, Mattheo’s foot slammed against it, completely blocking its path. You tried to push against him, but he was much too strong for you to defend against.

“I’m sure you can spare a few moments for a quick chat,” he nearly growled, never dropping the fake smile planted on his face. His strong arm pushed against the door, rendering your protection of it completely useless. He pushed through and into the room as if you’d never been holding it in the first place.

He kicked the door shut behind him as soon as he stepped through, the door clunking shut with a rough thud. You suppressed a flinch at the loud sound, refusing to show any sign of vulnerability. You couldn’t pull away from your plan now that you were feeling his anger—that was cowardly.

“Mattheo, I’ve asked for you to leave,” you warned.

“Yeah? Just answer one question for me, baby…” he said, stepping directly into your personal space and invading it in every way possible.

As if asking for permission, he raised his hand slowly and let it hover just next to your cheek. When you did nothing, he placed his fingers along your jawline. They stroked gently across a small surface area, insisting that you felt every searing second of contact.

His face came impossibly close against yours. His warm breath fanned slowly across your cheek, hints of fire and cinnamon lingering beneath your nose. The feeling of his lips skirting slightly over your skin on the way to your ear sent a myriad of chills down the length of your arms and a pool of heat between your thighs. You silenced a shudder on its way through your lips.

“Did you act that way on purpose?” he whispered. His lips caressed the curvature of your ear, his hot words curling around the room. “If not, I’ll find a new girl to open her legs when I want. But if you wanted this, I will make you regret ever having turned away from me.”

You swallowed thickly, the sound piercing the blanket of silence that fell around the room the minute Mattheo stopped speaking. It irked you to no end, that the entire world seemed to hold its breath to wait for this boy. This dark, irritatingly impossible to resist boy. It was more than you were able to handle, no matter how determined you were to prove a point.

“What I wanted…,” you trailed off coldly. “Was for you to prove to me that you’re not exactly like every other Slytherin that waltzes in here, comes in ten seconds, and then asks me if I’ve finished. I’ve been waiting for that special something to jump out at me, but it just hasn’t. I’m getting bored of you, Mattheo.” You took a deep breath, gaining enough courage to flatten your face and select your next words perfectly. “Speaking of, I was wondering if your friend, Enzo, was single.”

You struggled not to smirk at his reaction. If you didn’t know Mattheo, you’d have assumed he was going to crash out and leave the room. But you knew him and his destructive tendencies. His rage, though extremely stigmatized, was something to be in awe of, and you were ready to see it. And to be the target of it.

His eyes darkened until they were barely reflecting any of the dim light around the room. His lips parted slightly, just enough for an evil smirk to stretch across his face. He was all dark eyes and sharp canines, and it looked as if he were desperate to sink them into your flesh.

“You’re fucking done,” he whispered menacingly.

Then his hand was around your throat, firm and bruising. He walked you backwards until your back roughly hit the stone wall, the cold rock biting into your shoulder blades. His lips met yours with a fervor you’d never seen before.

His tongue cruelly parted your lips and laid claim to the entirety of your throat. You could hardly breathe with the pressure he was applying around your neck and the force of his kiss. Yet, still, you could not deny the heat building within your stomach and radiating downwards.

His free hand wrapped around your waist, the fingers slipping slyly beneath the waistband of your uniform skirt. Just as always, in the midst of the fiery storm, his fingers were able to imitate some form of softness just long enough for his hand to prepare to rip your skirt away. Despite the roughness he provided everywhere else, his fingers were gentle as they slid along your skin so as not to pinch it against the wall. It was just thoughtful enough to melt your heart down into a broiling golden puddle.

His strong hand gripped the material of your bottoms and pulled them roughly down, revealing the absence of anything beneath, save your blackened tights. When he lifted his hand once more to tear your panties away, he recognized the lack of material within his fingers and growled against your lips.

“You fucking wanted this, you dumb slut,” he spat, his pearlescent teeth sinking down into the flesh of your bottom lip. With a whimper and flash of white across your vision, he finally released you, leaving behind a thin slathering of blood across your teeth.

“You wanted me to tear you to pieces,” he whispered, his hand finally freeing your throat, but only to get to work on ripping your uniform shirt apart. The buttons clattered wildly across the floor, rolling freely each in their own directions.

You moved to protest but Mattheo shoved you back against the wall. He shook his head as if in disbelief you’d even try to get away from him at this point in time. In his mind, this was well-deserved punishment. If you were his girl, you were going to fucking listen to him. You knew what you were getting into when you first laid your lips on his.

With your shirt split down the middle, the only thing standing between his lips and your heaving body were a lacy bra and a pair of tights. The cold, gray air hit your soaked body so aggressively, you thought your teeth might start clacking together.

“All this going to waste because you couldn’t ask me for what you wanted,” he whispered. “I’m going to have to destroy this gorgeous body, when it should be worshiped.”

To your disbelief, he sank down to his knees and placed his hands gently on the back of your thighs. His scorching mouth made contact with your thighs—still covered in the thin material of your pantyhose—and he began to place wet, biting kisses along your flesh. He moved slowly from just above your knee to the top of your thigh. Each mean kiss ached as if they were done by a wild animal, but—just as he always fucking did—he soothed them with his skilled tongue afterwards. Never letting you hurt for too long.

Once he reached your core, fluttering in anticipation, he took a deep breath. The scent of your desire filled his senses as if it was his last meal. Just from how he’d loved in the past, you could tell that he was refraining from devouring you. But this was a punishment. No matter how sweet or caring he so often was, he was never going to let you have what you wanted.

“But that won’t do today…” he whispered against the surface of your tights just above your core, so close that his lips brushed across the sensitive skin. You withheld a whimper.

“Seems like it wasn’t happening any other day, either,” you chuckled breathlessly. You weren’t dropping this fucking routine. You wanted this and every inch of teasing Mattheo wanted to give you.

He laid a biting slap across your left thigh. The sound of it echoed throughout the room, only being interrupted by the cry that left your lips at the sudden abuse.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” he demanded, his hand soothing the sore flesh.

He pressed one more kiss to the blossoming handprint, before sliding a short nail against the hosiery, ripping it instantly.

You gasped at the sensation, watching as he pulled on the material. It shredded down your leg, exposing your bare thighs to the pale light. Flaming red fingerprints bloodied the soft flesh and marked you as his.

Despite your annoyance at his lack of excitement during the last few times you’d fucked, the feeling of possession that he’d laid on you always made an impression. You felt like you belonged to him in every aspect of the word.

Then before you were able to let another smart-ass comment fly, he slipped his hand beneath the large shear in the tights and ripped a hole right across your aching groin, baring your searing cunt to the world.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

Even though he was intending to punish, Mattheo couldn’t help but appreciate your body just a little bit. Though he wouldn’t admit it just yet, he could die happily buried within you.

Seeming to realize his “punishment” was a bit too sweet, he gripped your hips roughly and flipped your body around to face the wall. You helped aloud as the craggy stone bit into the skin of your breasts through your bra. The lace mixed with the cold wall made your nipples prick almost uncomfortably.

“Gonna fuck some manners into you, baby,” he murmured, his gravelly voice echoing against the curve of your spine. His mean fingers traced each nodule of each vertebrae until he reached the dimples imprinted in the small of your back.

His thumbs pressed deep against them, rubbing an easy massage into them for just a second.

“Feel good? You got any other dumbass things to say?”

“Why waste my breath? I’m gonna have to fake my fucking orgasm in a few seconds.”

You bit back a moan as he reached through your legs, gripped the hole he’d ripped in your tights, and widened it between your thighs. He pulled it up and over your ass.

“Yeah? You fake it every time, baby?” he growled into your ear, his heavy bulge pressing into your bare ass.

“Yeah,” you gasped, your voice barely more than a whisper. Your hands were settled against your desk, fingers tightened around the edges, nails scratching into the wood. Your back was arched uncomfortably against his core, begging for every slight thrust he pressed into you. You could practically feel him within you already.

“You fake it every time you cum all over my cock, huh?” he asked. Behind you, you could hear him wrestling his belt out of its loops and dropping his trousers.

“Answer me, bitch,” he demanded, grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling your head back against his chest.

“Fuck, Matty, that hurts!” you whined. It was a good, searing kind of pain but you didn’t want him to know that. Didn’t want him to know that your arousal was dripping down your legs by now.

“Yeah? That hurts?” he taunted. “That’s nothing, baby. You can take it.”

Then suddenly, his hot core was leant against the top of your ass. You were biting back a moan and running your fingers into the desk so hard they were going numb. Still, you weren’t going to give up.

“We’ll see if you can give it—fuck!”

He shut you up by slamming himself into you. The force of his intrusion hit your cervix at a sharp angle, sending stars into your eyes.

“Let me hear you fake it, yeah?” he groaned as he pulled himself out of you all the way to the tip before pushing himself back into you.

You couldn’t hide it anymore. Though you could still force some mean comments out every once and a while, you were unable to repress your moans.

“I’m basically an expert at this point!” you moaned.

“I bet,” he growled, his hips increasing in pace. “I know the way you clench around me everytime I take you from behind—” every sentence was pushed out between deep groans that echoed in your womb— “I’ve memorized every possible way you can scream my name…and I’ve learned every single thing I have to do to make that pretty pussy cum all over me.”

Following his words, his right hand snaked around your hip and pressed directly against your clit. He rubbed perfect circles into the sensitive spot, demanding a finish from you as soon as he could pull it from you.

“You’re a bit too cocky for my liking,” you breathed against his ruthless pounding. “I’d still like Enzo’s number.”

And with one final thrust, he pierced the bubble of pleasure that had bloomed rapidly in your stomach. You came impossibly hard, with the evidence of your high embarrassingly gushing around him. He pulled away from you and let your desire cover his stomach.

He laughed almost maniacally at the way your orgasm stretched out for what felt like hours.

And then, as you were finally coming down, he was pumping himself noisily into his hand and coming all of your lower back, painting the dimples he so loved to touch.

He moaned breathlessly, a slight crack in his voice, as he slowed his movements down and came down from his own high.

A tired laugh left his swollen lips as he trailed his finger through the remnants of his spend on your back and pushed his coated fingers into your sensitive entrance.

The overstimulation sent a flurry of ice up your spine. You cried at the sensation. Your legs fluttered before giving out.

On your way down to the floor, he caught you against his arms. Your knees were impossibly weak, but he was ever so strong.

“You faking this too, baby?” he clicked his tongue before settling you against your bed.

“Fuck you,” you sighed, your eyes fluttering against the ceiling. The lightheaded feeling floating through your skull was nearly too much for you to handle, but you were still high up on your pedestal and refused to come down.

Distantly, you could hear him pulling his pants up and rearranging his clothes.

Gently, he slid the remainder of your hosiery down your legs, unhooked your bra, and lifted you up off of the bed bridal-style. Somehow managing to cradle you with just one hand, he used his left to yank your comforter back, and settle you beneath it.

He leaned down beside your ear and pressed his lips to your temple. Just before he pulled all the way back, he began to whisper.

“The next time you wanna act like that—just remember that I fucked you to sleep, brat.”

- - -

Tag List: @lilymurphy03, @mypolicemanharryyy, @clairesjointshurt, @bunbunbl0gs, @acornacreacure, @niktwazny303, @thestarlithhideout, @sarahskakskskskajakwwnwjw, @yhiiil, @ravenclawprincess33, @xxrougefangxx, @thatblackthorn, @robinyx, @starsval, @jolly4holly, @blvebanisters, @chgrch, @abaker74, @ilovehotmenandwoman, @kissesbyarabella, @synicaljah

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[aspenmissing]

Could you write the Arcane characters interacting with Reader's baby bump? (The male characters in a romantic way and the female characters in a platonic / best friends way)

ʙᴀʙʏ ʙᴜᴍᴘ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx | ᴍᴇʟ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ || 4045 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴄʏ?

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ! ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴛʜɪꜱ!! < 3 <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx | ᴍᴇʟ

JAYCE

Jayce was in his workshop, tinkering with his latest invention, but his thoughts kept drifting back to the warmth of the apartment. Y/N had been radiating this special glow ever since they'd found out she was expecting, and he couldn't help but marvel at how life had changed for them.

He paused his work, glancing toward the door, his face softening as he caught sight of Y/N entering. She walked in with a gentle sway, her baby bump clearly visible beneath her loose-fitting blouse. Jayce smiled, completely distracted by the sight of her.

"You know," he said, his voice a little distracted as he stood from his desk, "you’re glowing even more than usual today."

Y/N chuckled, placing a hand on her belly, a look of playful disbelief crossing her face. "I think you just say that because you’re always trying to get me to smile."

"Well," Jayce took a step closer, gently resting his hand on the curve of her bump, "it's hard not to smile when you're carrying our little one." His voice dropped softly, filled with awe as his fingers lightly traced over her stomach, feeling the little movements of the baby.

Y/N leaned into him, her head resting on his chest as she looked up at him with a smile. "I still can't believe it's happening. Feels like just yesterday I was getting used to being here, and now... we’re here, together, with a baby."

Jayce’s heart swelled as he pulled her into a tender embrace, his hand still resting gently over her bump. "It feels like a dream, doesn’t it?" he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "But it’s our dream, and I couldn’t imagine sharing it with anyone else."

Y/N laughed softly, the sound of it filling the room. "I’m glad it’s you. I’m glad it’s always been you."

Jayce held her tighter, savoring the moment. His mind raced with excitement for the future, for their little family that was already so loved. As he looked down at her, he whispered, "We’re going to be amazing parents, you know."

Y/N smiled, brushing her fingers through his hair. "I know. And I’ll have you by my side through it all."

As Jayce gave her belly one more gentle rub, he couldn’t resist. "Do you think they’ll be as smart as their mom?"

Y/N raised an eyebrow playfully. "As smart? Oh, they’ll definitely have my brains... but they’ll also have your charm and wit, so it’s bound to be a good mix."

Jayce laughed, his hands still lingering on her stomach. "A perfect blend. I can't wait to meet them."

The two of them stood there for a moment, wrapped in the peace and joy of the life growing between them, knowing that whatever came next, they’d face it together.

VIKTOR

The dim light of Viktor's lab flickered softly as he worked on his latest project, the steady hum of machines in the background. Y/N sat nearby, her legs tucked under her as she rested on a plush chair. Her hand gently cradled her baby bump, a soft smile tugging at her lips as she observed Viktor. He had been focused on his work all day, but there was a soft tension in the air as his thoughts would occasionally wander to her.

He looked up from his workbench, meeting her gaze. "Are you comfortable?" he asked, his voice gentle and filled with concern.

Y/N nodded, but her smile grew wider when she saw the subtle way Viktor’s eyes lingered on her bump. She loved the way his face softened whenever he looked at her, especially now. The early months had been a whirlwind of uncertainty, but now, as the pregnancy progressed, Viktor had become a rock for her—steady, calm, and full of quiet affection.

"Are you sure you're not overworking yourself?" Y/N teased, her fingers lightly tracing the curve of her bump.

Viktor hesitated for a moment before walking over to her. His hands were warm as they cupped the sides of her stomach gently, his eyes studying her as if the simple act of touching her was an overwhelming thing. "I’m not overworking," he murmured, his voice low. "But… I do worry." He carefully placed his hand over her belly, letting his fingers rest softly against the growing life within.

Y/N chuckled softly. "I’m fine, Viktor. She’s fine, too," she added, feeling the baby shift slightly beneath her skin. She glanced down at his hand, which was resting on her bump, the moment tender and intimate.

Viktor’s expression softened, and for a brief second, his usually sharp and meticulous demeanor melted away. His eyes lit up with something indescribable, a mix of awe and tenderness as he gazed at the baby bump. He seemed to be holding his breath, waiting for any movement, like he was trying to connect to the tiny life growing inside her.

And then, it happened—a small, subtle kick. Viktor’s eyes widened, and a soft laugh escaped his lips. He placed his hand gently on the spot where the movement had come from, as if trying to reassure himself that it was real. "Did you feel that?" he whispered, his voice barely a breath, full of wonder.

Y/N nodded, her smile widening. "Yes, I did." She reached up to gently touch his cheek, her thumb tracing the line of his jaw. "I think she’s excited to meet her papa."

Viktor’s face flushed slightly at the word. His hand remained on her belly, his thumb moving in slow, careful circles as he leaned in to press a soft kiss to her forehead. "I will be ready when the time comes," he said, his voice a quiet promise. "I’ll be right here, every step of the way."

Y/N’s heart swelled with affection for him, knowing how deeply he meant every word. She leaned into him, closing her eyes and letting the moment envelop them both—together, as a family, anticipating the future they would share.

And as Viktor continued to tenderly touch her belly, Y/N couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of peace, knowing that this tiny life would be surrounded by so much love.

JAYVIK

The soft glow of the morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle warmth across the room. Y/N woke slowly, stretching out on the bed, her body cradled in the comfort of the soft sheets. Her eyes fluttered open to see Viktor beside her, his head resting gently on her shoulder, a peaceful expression on his face. His hand, warm and steady, lay across her belly—his touch so tender, it almost felt like he was holding the life within her in a protective embrace.

For a moment, Y/N simply gazed at him, the sensation of his presence calming and reassuring. She then shifted slightly, turning her head to glance at the space beside the bed. "Where's Jayce?" she murmured softly, her voice still thick with sleep, not wanting to disturb the peaceful moment.

Viktor stirred slightly at her words, his eyes blinking open, his gaze warm but sleepy. "He's probably in the workshop or the kitchen... Where else would he be?" He smiled, but Y/N's eyes were already drawn back to the movement beneath the covers.

Curious, she lifted the edge of the blanket to peek under it. There, to her surprise, was Jayce, his face buried in the side of her baby bump, his large hand gently caressing it. He looked so serene, his eyes closed, and there was a quiet hum of contentment as his fingers traced slow, soft patterns along her skin.

Y/N couldn't help but smile at the sight. The love and care the two of them showed, even in the smallest moments, made her heart swell. Viktor, now fully awake, chuckled softly as he saw the scene. "He's... always been a bit of a morning person," he said, his voice full of affection.

Y/N laughed softly, running a hand through Jayce's hair. "I think he just wanted to get as close to the baby as possible," she teased, her voice light.

Jayce, hearing her, lifted his head slightly, his face still pressed against her belly. His eyes glimmered with affection as he met her gaze. "Couldn't resist," he murmured with a grin, his hand never stopping its gentle motions on her belly.

Viktor leaned in, brushing his lips against Y/N's forehead, his voice soft and filled with warmth. "Looks like we have our own little family morning ritual."

Y/N smiled, feeling the weight of her love for both of them as they shared this intimate moment. The room felt filled with an almost magical peace—a quiet reminder that despite the chaos of the world outside, they had each other, and that was enough.

She placed a hand on Viktor's, the other resting on Jayce's head. "I love you both," she whispered softly, her heart full. The two men, in their own unique ways, both smiled, their love for her and the baby clear in their eyes.

"We love you, too," Viktor replied softly, and Jayce added, "More than anything."

As the three of them lay there, wrapped in each other's embrace, the outside world felt distant, and for that moment, they were content to simply be.

VANDER

It was a typical day in the undercity, the hustle and bustle of Zaun never stopping. But today, there was a special kind of excitement in the air, especially within the small, cozy living space above Vander’s tavern, The Last Drop.

Y/N, now a little further along in her pregnancy, was sitting comfortably in one of the worn-out chairs, her hand resting on her baby bump. She had been feeling the baby kicking for a while now, and every time it happened, she couldn’t help but smile.

Vander, who had been busy with some work around the bar downstairs, glanced over at her with a soft grin. "You look like you're getting ready to pop any day now," he teased lightly, his rough voice betraying the gentle affection he had for her. He leaned against the counter, wiping his hands on a rag, his gaze soft as he looked at her.

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the grin that tugged at the corners of her lips. “I’m not that big, Vander," she said playfully.

Vander chuckled. "Right, sure." He then turned his attention to the door, hearing the familiar sounds of footsteps and laughter. The kids—Vi, Powder, Mylo, and Claggor—had been coming around more often to check on her, always excited about the little one growing inside her.

Vi came barreling in first, the rough-and-tumble girl grinning from ear to ear. “I wanna feel the baby kick! Can I?”

Y/N laughed softly, patting her belly. "You can try."

Vi’s face lit up, and she gently placed her hands on Y/N’s bump, her eyes wide with excitement. "Whoa, I can feel it!" she exclaimed. "It’s so weird but cool!" Her expression softened, and she looked up at Y/N. “You’re gonna be such a good mom.”

Y/N’s heart melted at the sweet sentiment. She hadn’t had the chance to speak much about her plans for motherhood, but hearing Vi’s words made her feel like she was doing something right.

Powder, who had been standing at the door, looking a little shy, approached with her usual curiosity. "Me too! Can I feel?"

Vander, always protective of his "kids," knelt down to Powder’s level, a big hand on her shoulder. "It’s okay, kiddo," he said gently, giving Y/N an encouraging nod.

With a soft giggle, Powder tiptoed over and placed her small hands on Y/N’s baby bump. Her eyes widened when she felt the gentle shift. "It’s moving! I’m gonna be the best big sister ever," she announced, practically bouncing on her heels in excitement.

Mylo and Claggor entered together, following behind their friends. Mylo, always the mischievous one, grinned and raised an eyebrow at the scene. “Looks like you’re already starting a whole army, Y/N,” he teased, crossing his arms.

Claggor, quieter than the others, leaned against the wall, his usual stoic expression softened with a fond smile. “You’ll have a lot of help, that’s for sure,” he said, his voice calm but sincere.

Vander chuckled from his spot across the room, clearly enjoying the scene. He glanced over at Y/N, his expression soft. "You’ll have a whole crew to help you out," he said with a wink. "Just make sure the little one doesn’t end up causing as much trouble as Powder."

Y/N raised an eyebrow at him, her voice teasing. "You mean you didn’t cause trouble when you were younger?"

Vander chuckled, a knowing grin spreading across his face. "Maybe a little, but I’ve learned my lesson. Now I just have to pass on that wisdom."

Vi and Powder giggled at the exchange, while Mylo and Claggor shared an amused look. Y/N leaned back in her chair, basking in the comfort of the moment. The excitement of her growing family surrounded her, and with Vander by her side, she knew everything would be alright.

The kids continued to gather around, asking more questions, offering more excitement, and making Y/N’s heart swell with love. She was going to be a mother, and with Vander, Vi, Powder, Mylo, Claggor, and all of them by her side, she knew her little one would be surrounded by so much love and protection.

"Think we’ll get a little troublemaker in the mix?" Vi asked, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Y/N grinned, her hand gently rubbing her belly. "With you two as role models? I’m sure of it."

Vander’s booming laughter filled the room, and for a moment, all felt right in the world.

And in that moment, surrounded by the kids she’d come to love as her own and Vander’s comforting presence above The Last Drop, Y/N couldn’t help but feel that this new chapter in her life would be full of love, laughter, and the promise of new beginnings.

SILCO

Silco sat at his desk in his dimly lit office, his gaze unwavering as he reviewed the latest plans for Zaun. The ever-present hum of machinery in the background almost seemed to blend into the silence.

Then, the door creaked open, and in stepped Y/N, her baby bump now noticeably prominent as she walked toward him. She smiled softly, her face lighting up with a warmth that seemed to make the cold, grim atmosphere of the room a little more bearable.

"You look like you're deep in thought," she said, her voice gentle.

Silco looked up from his papers, his steely eyes softening when they met hers. He had been through many things in his life—power struggles, betrayal, and the dark underworld of Zaun—but nothing quite compared to the feeling that swept over him whenever he saw her. And now, with the baby bump growing, it was as though something more fragile and precious was growing inside their world.

He pushed back from his desk and stood, a rare softness in his usually sharp features. "And what brings you here?" His voice had an edge, but there was a tenderness underneath it that he reserved only for her.

Y/N placed a hand on her belly and walked closer. "I just thought you might like to feel the baby," she said, her tone teasing. "You've been so focused on work lately, you haven't gotten a chance to see how much they’re growing."

A rare flicker of uncertainty passed through Silco’s eyes. He didn’t know much about babies or pregnancy, but there was a look of fondness in his gaze when he saw how protective and glowing Y/N looked.

She gently guided his hand to her stomach, and for a moment, Silco stood still, the warmth of her body and the tiny life growing inside her bringing an unfamiliar feeling to his chest. The baby kicked softly, a small flutter that made her smile wider.

"Feel that?" she asked, her voice soft but filled with excitement.

Silco’s fingers twitched slightly as he pressed his hand more firmly against her belly, feeling the subtle movements beneath his palm. His lips parted in a small, almost imperceptible smile, the rarest of expressions crossing his usually composed face.

"It’s... strange," he murmured, his voice softer than usual. "But it’s yours. Ours."

Y/N’s smile widened, a warm, loving look passing between them. She nodded, her hand over his as she gave it a gentle squeeze. "Yes, ours."

Silco’s gaze lingered on her for a moment before he allowed himself to lean down slightly, brushing a kiss against the top of her head. "I never thought I’d be here," he said quietly, almost to himself. "Not like this."

Y/N chuckled softly, her eyes shining with affection. "Well, here we are."

"Here we are," he echoed, a rare tenderness in his voice. He couldn’t help but run his fingers across her belly again, feeling the baby move once more, as if marking the beginning of a future he had never imagined.

For a moment, Silco allowed himself to savour the peace, even if it was fleeting in a world that would never be kind to them. But for now, the only thing that mattered was the life growing between them, the one thing that he could protect with everything he had.

JINX/POWDER

Jinx bounced around excitedly, her usual chaotic energy tempered by a rare, gentle excitement. Y/N was sitting on the couch, her hand resting over her growing belly, a soft smile playing on her lips as she watched the madness of Zaun unfold through the window.

Jinx skidded to a halt in front of Y/N, her eyes immediately locking onto her friend’s baby bump. Her grin spread wider than usual, but there was a tenderness in it now, a contrast to her usual manic grin.

"Y/N! Y/N! How’s my little niece or nephew doin’ in there?" Jinx asked, bouncing on her toes as she leaned in close, eyes wide with curiosity. She’d known about the pregnancy for a while now, but it never failed to get her excited whenever she saw Y/N with her baby bump.

Y/N chuckled softly, glancing down at her belly with a soft, protective smile. "They're doing well. Growing every day," she said, her voice filled with warmth as she gently rubbed the bump.

Jinx’s face shifted into one of mock seriousness, her hands immediately cupping the sides of Y/N’s bump as if she was inspecting something fragile. "Whoa, you’re getting huge!" she exclaimed, her voice a mix of awe and playful teasing. "This little one’s gonna be a big deal, huh? So important!"

She paused for a moment, eyes full of determination, before looking up at Y/N with a gaze that was almost protective. "I’m gonna be the best aunt ever! I’ll protect ‘em from all the bad stuff out there!" Jinx gestured dramatically to the world outside, her usual chaotic flair returning. "No one’s gonna mess with my little one! I’ll teach ‘em all the best stuff—like blowing stuff up!"

Y/N laughed, a warm, fond chuckle that filled the room. "You’re gonna be the best aunt, Jinx. The baby’s gonna love you."

Jinx’s grin grew wider, her chest puffing up proudly. "Of course! No one else could be as awesome as Aunt Jinx! I’ll make sure the little one has all the best toys—super explosive ones! And we’ll make a fort out of all the stuff I’ve blown up! It’ll be perfect!"

Y/N smiled, her heart swelling with affection for her unpredictable friend. She knew Jinx had a complicated past, but it was moments like these that showed just how much Jinx cared—and how deeply she was capable of loving in her own wild way.

"You’ll definitely be the best aunt," Y/N agreed, rubbing her belly gently. "But for now, maybe start thinking about ways to entertain the baby when they’re older—something a little less... explosive than your usual brand of fun."

Jinx’s expression turned contemplative as she tilted her head, clearly thinking hard about that suggestion. After a moment, her eyes lit up. "Okay! I’ll tell the baby the best stories. And maybe… just maybe... I’ll make ‘em a secret stash of cookies... and dynamite. Secretly! You know, just in case they need some excitement in their life."

Y/N laughed again, shaking her head fondly. "You’re something else, Jinx. But I think that’s what makes you the best aunt."

Jinx giggled, then without warning, sat down next to Y/N and wrapped her arms around her in a surprisingly gentle hug. "You’ll be the best mom, Y/N. No one’s gonna mess with us. Right? We’re a team."

Y/N returned the hug, a swell of gratitude filling her chest for the unexpected, yet deeply loyal friendship they shared. "We’re a team, Jinx. Always."

And in that moment, surrounded by Jinx’s protectiveness and boundless enthusiasm, Y/N felt a sense of peace, knowing her baby would grow up surrounded by love—no matter how unpredictable the world around them might be.

MEL

Mel had always been the type to care deeply for others, especially those she considered family. Y/N was no different, and seeing her friend in this new light—carrying a child—brought a softness to her heart that she hadn’t expected.

She gently knocked on Y/N’s door, her voice light as she called through, “Y/N, are you awake?”

A muffled response came from inside. “Yeah, just a little tired today.”

Mel smiled, pushing the door open and peeking in to see her friend, who was sitting propped up in bed, a soft blanket tucked around her. Y/N’s baby bump was noticeably round now, a comforting sight after everything she’d been through.

“Need any help getting up?” Mel asked with a slight tilt of her head, her voice soft and warm. She was always so careful around Y/N, ever since the pregnancy had started to show.

Y/N gave her a small, grateful smile. “I can manage, but if you want to help me to the couch, I’d appreciate it.”

Mel immediately moved over, holding out her hands to help steady Y/N as she slowly rose to her feet. “Slow and steady, okay?” she said, guiding her gently to the living room.

Once they were settled, Mel made sure Y/N was comfortable before sitting beside her. She could never shake the worry that Y/N wasn’t eating enough, despite her insistence. “Did you eat today?” she asked, her voice a mix of concern and love.

Y/N sighed but nodded. “I did, just a little light lunch. But I’ll have something more later.”

Mel pursed her lips, her eyes scanning her friend's face, searching for any hint that Y/N might be pushing herself too hard. “You’ve got to take care of yourself, Y/N. The baby needs you to eat, too.” She gently placed a hand on the bump, a soft smile forming as she added, “They’re gonna need their energy to grow big and strong.”

Y/N chuckled lightly, looking down at her belly. “I’m doing my best. But you’re right. Maybe I could eat a little more.”

Mel’s smile brightened, her eyes sparkling with affection. “I’ll make you something. You rest, and I’ll take care of it.”

Y/N’s eyes softened as she leaned back against the cushions. “You’re too good to me, Mel.”

Mel shook her head, her expression warm. “I’m just looking out for you. You’re my family, and that means everything to me.”

As Mel made her way to the kitchen, Y/N watched her, a sense of deep gratitude settling in her chest. Despite everything that had happened, she was surrounded by people who cared for her and the life she was carrying, and that was something worth cherishing.

When Mel returned with a plate of food, she smiled as she set it down in front of Y/N. “I made sure it’s something you’ll enjoy.”

Y/N looked down at the plate and smiled softly, her eyes glistening with appreciation. “You really know how to take care of me.”

Mel sat beside her once again, offering a light hug. “It’s just what I do for family.”

The two of them sat together in the quiet comfort of each other’s company, the bond between them growing even stronger with every passing day.

[spirit-lanterns]

HAVE A SEAT!

synopsis: co.ckwarming various hsr women

featuring: ruan mei, feixiao, lingsha, herta

rating: 18+ smut (men and minors dni)

warnings: sub! afab fem reader, dom character, strap on usage, strapwarming, co.ckwarming, feixiao and lingsha have d.icks, lingsha has two di.cks, lap s.ex, semi-public se.x, pene.tration, unprotected se.x, riding, oral, slight degradation (herta), slight exhbition (lingsha and herta), established relationship, might be ooc.

art credits: superstar rivalry

RUAN MEI

“Subject Delta’s brain waves are normal. Their behaviors are normal. A change in diet may be necessary however, as th— darling will you stop squirming?” 

Ruan Mei sighed and stopped her recording, looking down at you writhing in her lap as you tried to get comfortable. It was a long day in the lab for Ruan Mei, nothing out of the ordinary as she just had to get through the list of reports for the week. Unfortunately, (or fortunately) for you, whenever the biologist was starting to get bored in her office, she would always call for you to soothe her boredom.

And in this case, it seems that Ruan Mei had wanted you to get out the strap she loved using and sit on it while she did her reports. You never pegged your girlfriend as the type to be into something so risqué —especially in her lab of all places— yet she was adamant on you cockwarming her while she worked. 

“R-Ruan Mei I can’t…” your voice cracked as she nestled her strap deeper inside you, the girth of her cock stretching you open as slick pooled at the base of the toy. Ruan Mei had definitely noticed the sticky mess, but rather than being a clean freak and wiping it away, she gathered a bit of the essence on her finger instead. “Please move…I need it…” 

“I am not finished with my recordings. We still have to go over six more stages.” She comments curtly, admiring the consistency of your slickness by seeing how far she could stretch it between her fingers. The eyes behind her reading glasses were fogged in what appeared to be pure lust. She really was lost in the sight of you gripping her strap so needily, tightening around her while your nails dug deeper into her thighs. “…What did I say about your nails?”

“Mmngh…sorry…” you could barely contain the urge to bounce on her. Ruan Mei was just too mean… 

“Apology accepted. I should cut them for you later…” Ruan Mei made a mental note for herself and took one of your hands into hers, gently pressing against your nails —which had grown a bit long— and aimlessly began thrusting. 

At the sharp bounce of Ruan Mei’s strap bulldozing its way in, you resisted the urge to cry out in utter bliss. Ruan Mei ignored your obvious struggle and just stuffed her fingers into your mouth, slathering your precum over your tongue and making you gag.

“I need to start again. Please do be quiet this time.” 

She turns the recorder back on, the red light flashing mockingly in your face while Ruan Mei shoves her fake member deeper into your hole, back to being cold and calculating while your walls spasmed over her toy.

“This is take two.”

FEIXIAO

“Don’t grip me so hard…” 

Feixiao groaned and squeezed your waist as you nestled comfortably in her lap. The General thought it would be a fun idea to have you cockwarm her while she worked out, saying that she needed a “spotter,” but the General forgot to anticipate just how good you’d feel tightly squeezing her member. Maybe you’d be even more of a distraction than she thought…

“But General…you’re the one who asked me to—”

“I know what I said!”

She gave your hips one last squeeze before raising her arms to grab the bar above her, keen on doing a few chest presses while her cock was stuffed inside you. This was definitely unprofessional and dangerous by any means, but Feixiao was a strong woman. You trusted her to be able to handle herself during a workout, even if she might be distracted by your fluttering pussy.

“Alright, don’t move. Let me show you how strong your General is…” Feixiao purred and took the bar off the handles. The weights, intimidatingly massive, posed no threat to Feixiao as she pushed them up and down with no struggle. From where you were sitting, the sight of Feixiao flexing her muscles was just drool-worthy, watching as a thin sheen of sweat made her muscles glisten, the way they rippled with each pump of her arms. Not to mention how with each push of the weights, Feixiao’s cock throbbed inside you, almost as if it were aching to thrust with each rep. 

You felt as if you could get pregnant just by watching her workout.

“Babe, babe…” Feixiao grunted, her teeth gritting together. “You’re squeezing me…” 

You snapped out of your daze and looked down, watching as your pussy was practically clamping down on Feixiao and milking her. Though Feixiao hadn’t come yet, it sure as hell felt like it to her. “Sorry!” You exclaimed, trying to relax, though it was difficult to achieve as you couldn’t stop yourself from bouncing slightly on her dick. 

“It’s…fine…” Feixiao’s chest heaved as she stared down at you squeezing her length, some of your slick pooling at her base and forming a creamy ring. “…Fuck.” 

Your girlfriend suddenly lifted the bar up to the holders and set it there, carefully shimmying down so she can sit up and grab your hips. At the sudden movements, her heavy cock dragged wonderfully against your walls and caused you to let out a whine. “Maybe today should be a leg day instead.”

She chuckled and firmly grabbed your ass before making you bounce up and down on her lap. The sudden propulsion of your pussy getting pistoned by her dick had you throwing your head back sharply. “Feixiao…!” 

Your beloved General simply flashed you a wolfish smile before leaning in to bite your neck, deciding right then and there that fucking you incoherent would be a better workout than chest presses. At least for today.

LINGSHA

“Yes, I’ll get back to you as soon as possible once the results come back. How does an appointment in four weeks sound?” 

“Sounds good! Thank you Miss Lingsha!”

Your girlfriend smiled and waved off another customer coming to her for her remedies. However, despite her calm exterior, her thighs were quivering under the desk, all tension leaving her brow as she exhaled shakily and reached under. There, hiding just below her desk was you, pumping one of Lingsha’s cocks in your hand while your mouth pleasured the other. Just feeling the way you licked and stroked her two members had Lingsha whining and dropping her pen, unable to resist pushing your head down to bob further along her length. 

“You really have no shame, do you?” She sighed, running her fingers across your scalp and moving down to tilt your chin upwards. Your eyes flitted up to meet hers, lips still suckling greedily on her cock as your hand paused its motions. Both of Lingsha’s hemipenes were erect and dripping with precum, spilling onto your lips and fingers as she resisted the urge to just take you on the table. 

“Sawhy…” you said in a muffled voice, mouth too full of cock to respond properly. Lingsha just chuckled at your attempts to apologize, gently pulling you off her length so you could speak. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.” 

You swallowed the saliva and precum that had built up in your mouth and groaned, clearly drunk off Lingsha’s scent now. You tried to go back to sucking her off, opening your mouth to take her in again, but Lingsha playfully pushed you away with a finger to your forehead.

“Ehh?”

“Calm down, I need a break…” Lingsha heaved, her cocks twitching with need while she steadied herself. “I have another appointment soon. I don’t want to make a huge mess under—”

There was a knock at the door, causing Lingsha to groan. “Yes, come in.” She responds, casting a glare towards you so you don’t get any ideas. You simply smile at her and lick your lips, trying to play innocent as the next customer comes inside. As Lingsha is talking however, you knew you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off her, her cocks throbbing tantalizingly in front of you just begging for you to touch her. 

It didn’t take long for you to grasp one of her shafts again and take the other one in your mouth, causing Lingsha to stutter mid sentence.

“Is something wrong Miss Lingsha?”

“N-No— nngh…everything is fine!” 

Her thighs twitched as she felt your mouth engulf her bulbous tip, biting her bottom lip as she shot a messy load down your throat while the other one completely coated your hands in her cum. It was a miracle she even managed to keep quiet as she did, especially in front of another customer.

“Oh, alright then. So, I was looking for a remedy…”

As the customer trailed off, Lingsha subtly shot a glare at you from above the desk, watching as you licked up traces of her cum and cleaned her cocks up. Nevertheless, it was still quite a mess down there, but Lingsha had bigger things to worry about. 

It will be a long day before her lunch break with you under there.

HERTA

“Madame Herta! Are you in there? Madame Herta?”

Furious knocks rapped at Herta’s office door, but the scientist didn’t utter a single peep. Too engrossed in showering you with affection as you sat on your mistress’ lap, all Herta could hear were the cute whines that left your throat and the lewd squelches of your cunt gripping her strap like it was the last one in the universe. 

“Madame Herta! Your meeting is in half an hour!” 

Herta simply rolled her eyes at her assistant’s frantic words. The other society members wouldn’t dare start the meeting without her, they could wait a little while longer while Herta busied herself with you. Yes, there’s no need to rush. Herta is just going to sit right here and have you squirm on her cock until you can't take it anymore. It had been weeks since she finally had the chance to be alone with you, and she wasn’t going to pull out anytime soon. 

“…Herta?”

“Quiet now.” She tsks and drums her fingers against her desk, not even facing you as she was staring directly at the way her strap sucked deeper into your cunt. She chewed her bottom lip and noted how much slick was gathering at the base of her cock, the white ring surrounding the silicone making her imagine you cleaning it off with your mouth. ‘Her lips would look beautiful sucking me off…’ Herta wonders to herself ‘Maybe I can hide her under the table at the meeting…no, too risky. Ruan Mei would notice easily.’

“Herta…” You whine again, wanting her to pay attention to you. She was, technically speaking, but you wanted her to look at you instead of drooling over your pussy. “What is it, you needy girl?” Herta exhaled sharply, finally looking up at you and pinching your cheek. “I’m just admiring you for a second and you’re already complaining. Honestly, I should leave you here right now and not even bother to make you come.”

“No!” You exclaim desperately, clinging to her shoulders and looking up at her with big, teary eyes. Herta could be so mean to you sometimes! You just wanted her attention, and it didn’t help that she kept edging you instead of moving like she promised. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. Now you’re going to make me look like the bad guy.” Herta sighed and cupped your face, giving your cheek a small pinch. “I am merely teasing, little one. But I can see when you’ve had enough.” 

She kissed your pouting, plump lips and shifted her hips, the snuggled strap on starting to plow into you at a shallow pace. The tip of the faux cock pounded relentlessly against that little bundle of nerves that had you arching your back. Oh how pretty you looked whining in front of Herta…your girlfriend had to hold herself back from reaching for her phone and taking a few photos of you bouncing. Tits in her face and your pussy creaming around her cock, Herta was starting to lose her cool. 

“Mm, that’s right…bounce on my cock little one, you need to come don’t you? Come for me…” Herta gave your rear a tiny pat and pulled you in for a kiss, lost in tasting your tongue and swallowing up any moans you let out. 

“Miss Herta!”

“Mmmph…five more minutes!” Herta pulled away from you with a growl in her tone, glaring at her assistant through the door as the string of saliva connecting you broke. “Tell the other members to wait just a little longer, I am finishing something important.” 

Right on top of the papers that Herta needed for her meeting, she grabbed your waist and hoisted you up to sit at her desk, pounding you into the table and soiling her precious reports with your cum. She didn’t care, honestly. So long as she had proof of your private time together, Herta was satisfied. 

[shouyuus]

Hiii, I’m the person screaming crying throwing up every time you post, love ur stuff!

Anyway… I’m thinking mechanic!vi prolonging the time it takes her to fix your car just cause she wants you coming around the shop more and then when she does eventually fix it she kinda worries you’re not gonna stay over at hers as often but u decide to ask her if u can move in or smth like this?!?

Idek tbh my brain is so fried from over consuming Vi content

all you have to do is stay

mentions of sex, but no explicit scenes, car mechanic!vi au oh she absolutely would; there's actually so much stupid domestic bliss in this wow

and sure, the hookup was good in the beginning, but she liked it when you came around, liked it when you'd show up at her shop, all shy and wide-eyed, asking her if you could watch, and who's she to turn down such a pretty girl, right? and honestly, she thought it was kinda cute, how you'd try your best to ask her about this or that, and she'd find herself rambling about her favorite kinds of pinon brackets, or talking you through a chassis restoration for another vintage car that was brought in.

it shouldn't take a whole-ass month to rig a crossflow radiator, especially since the rest of your car's actually in pretty good condition, but she keeps on picking out other things to do, insisting that she's already here anyway, sliding out from under the car with a crooked grin, asking you to pass her another cold beer.

but there's only so many things she can make up before it's obvious, even to you that there's not much else to do. so when the day comes, she's quieter than usual, tallying up the extensive list of repairs that she's both done and made up for herself to do (you'd insisted that you at least pay for the major ones, and if the smaller ones came with a dinner-date and dessert in bed afterwards... well.)

"and... i think that's all of it, sweets."

she hands you the receipt, immediately tucking her hands into the pockets of her light-wash jeans. her shoulders shrug up as you look down the list. it's way less than that she should be charging you for, but you peer up at her, frowning at the pinch between her brows and the tension clear in her muscles.

"vi? what's... wrong?"

"ah -- it's nothin' sweets, don't worry your pretty little head over it."

she teeters forwards and back, as if she can't decide if she wants to move closer or back away. but you're already reaching for her, closing the distance between you with your head cocked, your eyes bright and questioning. and she could never resist it when you looked at her like that, so toe-curlingly trusting. as if there wasn't a thing in the world she could do or say to drive you away or upset you.

sometimes, she'd lay awake and wonder if you knew how dangerous that kind of trust is -- how someone less scrupulous would take it and twist it into something foul. but she'd never let that happen -- at least not while you wanted her around.

"violet... we might not have known each other for very long but... you're not a very good liar," you say, reaching up to cup her cheeks, coaxing her eyes back to yours. she laughs -- it's a tiny, helpless sound; it shakes her open in a way that startles even her, the way her whole body wants to fold over you, into you.

"geez, sweets... that's... that's not really fair of you."

she lifts her hand to press them over yours, hands over hands, petaled around her cheeks, and it occurs to her that perhaps this is what it means to live up to her namesake -- violet. you'd said it was a beautiful name the first the she told you what vi stood for.

"you're not really fair either, vi... but that's never stopped you, has it?" you ask, a mischievous glint in your eyes, your lips twisted up on a fox-hole smile.

vi sucks in a breath. something feels like it's clawing up the length of her ribcage and burrowing through the hollows in her chest till she can taste it pitter-pattering at the back of her throat. it takes her a full three seconds to realize that it's her own traitorous heart, beating so strong she can taste it on her tongue.

"fuck."

and then she's kissing you, pulling you to her, fingers harsh and desperate, her touch lingering like month-old grease-stains the way they dig into your delicate skin. you gasp open for her, against her -- you let her tug you into her till there isn't a part of you she can't reach if she wanted to.

the kiss breaks like a dam bursting open, and a few seconds later, she's got you hoisted up on her workbench, wrenches and old receipts scattering to the floor as she slots herself easily between your legs. it's a familiar place to be, after all -- after all this time.

you hiss, fingers fisting in her hair; it's longer now, than when you first met. and she'd be lying if she said her letting it grow had nothing to do with your offhand comment once (over yet another impossible banana sundae) that you liked it long.

"vi -- vi -- please -- you --"

"hm? what is it, pretty girl?"

"you c-can't just try to distract me w-with sex every time --"

and she can't help the grin that hitches over her lips at the way your chest is heaving, your eyes blown dark, the way your thighs shake on either side of her hips. but she can see the flicker of worry in your eyes and her stomach twists with uncertainty.

"i -- i don't --" she tries, but a breath puffs out of her and she sags against you, "it's... just... now that the repairs are done... there's not really much reason for you to come around... and..."

at her words, you heave a sigh that seems much too big and weary for your body, pulling back to fix her with a surprisingly sharp look.

"you really thought i was coming around here to listen to you talk about my car repairs?"

vi does her level best not to pout; hearing you say it out loud, it does sound... a bit childish. instead, she leans forward and digs her nose into your neck, wrapping both arms around you till she's got you cocooned in her chest.

"what? you weren't interested in the new pressure washer i got just so i could get that really stubborn stain off your back bumper?"

you trail your fingers through her hair, letting your nails graze along her scalp. a shiver washes down the length of her back and you giggle close to her ear.

"sure i did... but you could talk about... dunno... your favorite dish rag, and i think i'd still wanna listen -- because i like listening to you talk about the stuff you like... because..." and its your turn to hesitate, her turn to pull back and fix you with a look -- one that's equal parts pleading and disbelieving.

"because what, pretty girl?" she asks, her voice low and husky, a thumb running across the round of your cheek.

"b-because i -- i like you, vi."

your eyes flicker away and color seeps into your cheeks like dye across clear water -- the shade blooming into you till vi's sure there's no color so beautiful as the one that you are now.

"mm... well, thank god for that cause..." she leans in to press her forehead to yours, "i was starting to wonder, what with all the multiple orgasms and midnight munch sessions and --" she laughs as you squawk indignantly at her, your eyes flashing wild and wide.

"t-that's not what i -- you know that's not --"

"oh? so you don't like those?" she asks, the tease now so obvious in her voice that you flush several shades darker. vi thinks she may have to amend her previous decision on her favorite shade of you. and you're outdoing yourself today.

she lets her free hand wander to the bend of your hips and she gives you a squeeze.

"i --" you steady yourself in the solidness of her, reaching down to lace your hands with hers, "of course i -- i like those things too but i -- i like that you're the one doing them to me and --" you swallow; vi tries not to be to distracted by the hummingbird flutter of your pulse as you struggle to find the words, even though both of you know full well by now exactly what you're trying to say --

sometimes, just sometimes, words speak just as loud as words need to. and the actions are just there to back them up.

sometimes, there are certain things that people just want to -- or need to -- hear said out loud.

"i -- i wanna come over even when there's nothing for you to fix... i..." you steady your breathing and vi nearly drowns in the certainty that settles between the pair of you, an ocean full of of unsaid words (the ones that don't need to be said to be understood), drifting like sunlight over shifting waves -- their brightness made no less real by their shimmering reflections in the water, "i guess i just... wanna be wherever you are. like... all the time."

vi's eyebrows hitch; her breath follows shortly after.

"all the time?"

you bite down on your lips, "yeah but... i know it's only been like... a month or whatever --"

"no, no god -- sweets, i -- i want that too -- more than anything -- it's just --" she motions at the shop, and you nod, catching her hand in yours mid-air.

"it doesn't have to be right now," you say, smiling and giving both her hands a firm squeeze.

"yeah?" she asks, a rare quiver to the shape of her voice.

you nod, "yeah." and your voice is just as solid as she needs it to be. you lean in to kiss her, and she sighs open against you, as you've done so many times for her.

"we'll -- we'll make it work," you say, in between harsh, nipping kisses, even as vi groans and trails her mouth along the line of your jaw. you gasp, letting your head tip back, "w-we'll t-take it s-s-slow -- mmngh -- vi!"

vi hums as she sucks a dark hickey into the side of your neck, feeling savage wanting plume open in her chest. she looks back up at you with darkening eyes and a hunter's smile.

"dunno if i know how to take it slow, sweets --"

"w-what about all those t-times you told me t-to wait --" you keen high in the back of your throat as she drops to pillow her cheek to your thigh, flipping up the bottom of your skirt to dig her nose into the damp triangle of your panties.

vi scoffs, rolling her eyes as she glances back up at you with a playful smirk.

"oh fuck you."

you lick your lips, reaching down to sink your fingers into her hair again, pulling just hard enough for the an ache to gather in her belly.

"thought that's what you were trying to do."

vi stands up, pulling you bodily forward till your ankles are linked at the small of her back, her palms holding up the plush of your ass as she walks the pair of you back into the house and up the thin flight of stairs to her room.

it's a good few hours before either of you are coherent enough to talk about any of this again, but by the time you are, the twilight is budding along the far horizon, and vander's texting to ask vi if he should pick anything up on the way back from the bar for dinner.

"you wanna stay for dinner?" vi asks, twisting to glance at you in bed, her face illuminated by the digital blue of her phone.

your pillow your cheek on your hand, "yeah, i'd love to."

"cool, what do you want?" she asks, her eyes turning back to her phone.

you lick your lips, "how about... you ask vander to pick up some tomatoes? i can make one of my grandma's old soup recipes. you have potatoes and cabbage right? and... i think i saw some pork bones in the freezer the last time i was here."

you cast your eyes up at the ceiling, ticking through a mental list of ingredients.

you only turn to shoot vi a glance when you realize that you can no longer hear the rapid pik-pik-pik of her fingers on her phone.

she's staring at you with what could only be called wonder in the halfway dark.

"you... remember what's in our fridge?"

"well i -- there's not much in there --" you say, almost indignantly.

she laughs, shaking her head, "no, it's just -- i didn't think you'd ever notice something like that, i mean, pardon me for thinking that you've never set foot in a kitchen in your entire life, what with you being daddy's little princess and all," she goads, nudging you with an elbow even as you squirm away from her, pouting.

"i'll have you know that i'm actually a really good cook, okay?" you tell her, "when -- when i was little, and my grandma lived with us, i'd help her in the kitchen all the time. and... after she got too old to make stuff... i was the one who cooked for her, because she said it tasted like stuff she'd eat in her childhood so..."

vi shuffles closer to you under the blankets, nuzzling her nose into your cheek.

"and just when i thought you couldn't get more perfect," she murmurs, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

you giggle, allowing yourself to be tugged back into her chest.

"i told vander to pick up tomatoes... and to invite silco and everyone else he can round up over for dinner."

you squeak, shooting up, "what?!"

vi grins, pushing up with a soft yawn, "you can't just tell me that you've got grandma-level cooking skills and not expect me to invite my whole entire family, right?"

you tumble out of bed, nearly tripping over your panties, still caught around your ankles. you pull them up, scrambling for one of vi's big shirts to toss over your body as she watches you from the bed with an indulgent smile before swinging her legs off and standing up to pull you back into her chest.

"calm down, sweets -- i'll help you, kay? now, tell me what you need."

you nod, pulling on a pair of her jogging shorts and twisting your hair into a haphazard bun out of your face as you start listing off ingredients, hopping the last two steps onto the first floor landing and fluttering into the kitchen.

by the time vi rounds the doorway, it's to find you with vander's massive apron already tied around your waist, an several pots and pans stacked on the countertop.

"i need three onions, and a head of garlic and... a few bay leaves, if you have them. it's okay if you don't --"

vi fights back a grin (it's a losing battle, she thinks, but it's one that she's considering losing for the rest of her goddamn life if it meant doing this every day with you).

"sure, sweets -- whatever you need."

you nod, rolling up the sleeves of your shirt as you set to work peeling the potatoes. a few second later, vi pops up from the fridge, frowning.

"looks like we've only got one onion, but i found some shallots... not sure how good they are though... they were kinda shoved into the back." she holds up the bag with a grimace.

you blink at her, and for a moment, vi thinks that you're going to be angry, or at least a bit frustrated. but then, your face breaks into a sweet, helpless sort of smile, and you reach out to take the shallots from her.

"it's okay," you say, in a voice that sounds just a little too much like coming home, and vi has to swallow passed the peach-pit suddenly caught in her throat.

your fingers brush against hers as you point her towards the half-peeled potatoes, and she gets to work without you even having to ask.

you lean up onto your tiptoes and press a kiss to her cheek, your eyes bright as fallen stars when she turns to look at you.

"it's okay," you repeat, smiling up at her with that smile that just might rhyme with forever, "we'll make it work, okay?"

vi licks her lips; there's an entire ocean of saltwater words caught behind the tombstones of her teeth that she does not know how to say. but she thinks, as she looks at you and you turn back to fussing over the one onion and handful of shallots, that you probably know it all anyway.

"okay," she says, before turning back to the diligent work of peeling the potatoes.

[spookyji]

# his girl !! … nsfw

synopsis. jaemin likes it a little too much when you’re a little dumb,,, after all, you’re his girl to spoil.

tw. minors dni + nsfw !! somewhat bimbo f!reader, cocky jaem, college au, breeding kink, size kink, fingering, dumbification, pet names (his girl, princess)

a/n. my apologies to feminism uM this was a bit out of my control at this point loll it’s been so long since i wrote an actual fic ahaha this took forever

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it wasn’t his really fault. if he tried, he could have prevented your cute little sobbing mess,,, if it wasn’t for the fact that you’re cutest to jaemin when you’re a little useless. fat tears welling up in your pretty eyes, crying into his pillow because you just couldn’t understand anything on that last exam, your muffled whines still audible through your hiccups, it just didn’t make any sense! ’m gonna fail! and sitting at his desk, thighs slightly spread as his arm rests over the back of his desk chair, jaemin watches your little sob fest that inevitably comes around every exam season because it’s just so hard, isn’t it?

it wasn’t really his fault you failed again though… except for the fact that he could’ve had something to do with how you had next to no studying done,, given that you’re just so perfect when you’re preoccupied with jaemin making you feel a little too good, making you conveniently forget about the next day’s tests. and it certainly didn’t have to do with how often he lets you come over, slapping his thigh for your cute ass to come sit down, a hand on your hip slipping a little lower before you can even pick up your pencil. so maybe you couldn’t think straight when you already arrived late to your exam… not if jaemin fucked your cute brain out a little too hard the night before.

and it’s not like he meant to make you fail… it was going to happen either way. jaemin and his straight a’s, flawlessly making his way through his years and charming professors, recruiters, anyone who spoke to him could hardly resist slipping their business card into his hands. he really tried to tutor you at first, his darling girlfriend with a penchant for failure. somewhere mid way through a library tutoring session, your pretty lips pursed in a pout of confused frustration because for some reason, nothing he tried seemed to ever work itself out in your cute head. and maybe it had to do with your pretty lips also wrapped around his big cock and doe eyes looking up at him so sweetly rather than on the papers in front of you, fingers clinging to his thighs and his fingers threaded through your hair. and so maybe your little girlfriend-boyfriend tutoring sessions lost their original purpose, coming over to his apartment saying you’ll really try today,,, but jaemin knows better than that, and it’s not something he minds at all.

“c’mere princess,” jaemin gently murmurs as you peek out from behind his pillows, wet trails down your cheeks only enhancing your pretty features, your glossy eyes fixed on him as he pats his thigh invitingly, as if to beckon over his girl. when you hesitate, swaddled in his sheets, a soft sigh escapes his lips as a faint smile finds its way on his lips before he sits on his bed side. “this way better?” nodding tearily, your cheek resting on his shoulder when you crawl into his lap and arms, warmed by his presence and familiar heartbeat beneath your fingertips. “shhh, don’t worry about a thing, love,” jaemin breathes, tucking your face into the crook into his neck. and a slight smirk crosses his lips when you wrap your arms around his neck. his poor, dumb, sweet girl.

“i– i really t-thought i could do it–!” you whimper, “‘m so d-dumb.” true. “you’re just not meant for this…” jaemin murmurs, his hand resting on the small of your back comfortingly, “you’re meant for me, though.” lips pressed to the crown of your head, a reassuring kiss planted to your mind that’s a little useless for anything important. not that he’s against that.

“r-really?” your pretty eyes meeting his as you tilt your head back to meet his warm gaze, adoration warming his chest at your trust and faith in him, because he can’t help but love your innocence. “more than anything,” his fingers trail over your cheeks before holding your face as delicately as one would hold glass, “you know i love you, no matter what. even if you’re not meant for taking classes that don’t make sense to you. even if you’re always distracting me.” he smiles, unable to suppress the many memories of your cute self being the one obstacle in his life. ever. just as you’re meant to be forever.

“wouldn’t have put this here if i didn’t mean it,” he gently reminds you, fingers holding yours before pressing a delicate kiss to the promise ring sitting prettily on your ring finger, meant to keep his word. and he always means it,,, his sweet girl, can’t do even the slightest thing without him… just the way you’re meant to be. and the little smile that graces your perfectly shaped lips reminds him a little more how much he loves you, useless and all. “you don’t have to worry about a thing, i’ll always be here for you.”

and when his hand rubs your bare thigh slowly, soothing and reassuring, his lips slot against yours in a saccharine kiss, as if time pauses for a brief moment, time locked like your lips pressed to his. whispers exchanged between gasps of air, trapped in his arms against his broad chest, never a thought of hesitation. a string of saliva hanging from your parted lips for a second before his lips find yours once more, unable to bear parting for more than a breath of oxygen. heat pooling in your core, in only the way jaemin can trigger, thighs rubbing together in a weak attempt to alleviate the burning need, feeling warmth race beneath your skin wherever he touches because it feels so right if it’s him.

“j-jaemin,” you whimper, “want you.” your fingers slipping down to rest on his shoulder, because only jaemin can take care of you in the way you need, a smirk playing on his handsome features. “yeah? gonna let me take care of you, princess?” and without bothering to wait for a reply, his fingers deftly slip your top over your head when you obediently lift your arms up for him, turning in his lap to grind down on the prominent bulge in his jeans, skirt pushed up to let him rub your cute panties. thin, soaked fabric offering little resistance as you whimper and shift into his fingers, glistening slick wetting his fingertips.

“open up for me,” he murmurs, spreading your legs, licking his lips at the wet spot forming in your panties just the way he wants against his fingers. “j-jaemin, ‘s embarrassing–!” you whimper, avoiding his gaze as he grins lazily, still trapping you against his broad chest. “yeah?” his hand slips from your panties to discard his shirt, knowing his girl gets shy a little fast, “better now?”

skirt hiked up your thighs, two fingers buried in your soaked cunt, warmth spreading a little too quickly as he curls his fingers at just the right spot, only further encouraged as you whimper and arch into his arms, can’t hide anything from him, can’t you~? but as much as jaemin loves to spoil you,,, wouldn’t be as fun if you got tired from his fingers, would it?

and there’s just something to the way you whine his name when his fingers pull from your folds, tears brimming in your pretty eyes as you try to shove his hands back down, a little weak on deprived pleasure to really have an effect as he smirks and licks your arousal from his fingers, slowly as he makes you watch such a lewd sight. “don’t worry, love, i’ll make it worth it,” jaemin whispers, his voice dropping as his wet fingers lip behind your back to undo his belt. “just need to make sure i fit, yeah?” and in seconds he’ll have you on your back, legs thrown up over his shoulders, tip flushed an angry red as he drips precum over your glistening folds, the lewd squelch of your juices at the intrusion, your whimpers to his deep moans at your pussy taking the stretch of his girth, taking all his sanity to not fuck you full in a second,,,

“fuck…” jaemin groans as he bottoms out, the low sound emanating from his chest as his hands grip your hips a little tighter, teeth grazing his lower lip as he gazes down at the pretty mess he’s made of you. lips bruised from his kisses, remnants of wiped away tears glistening on your cheeks as your pretty eyes clench shut, adjusting to his size as incoherent mumbles fall free from your parted lips, begging just the way he loves to hear. “eyes on me, angel… that’s right,” he smirks as your eyelashes flutter open, so clearly flustered by the sight of your legs thrown over his shoulders, cock buried deep in your cute cunt. “j-jaemin, w-wanna feel you,” you whimper, even feeling so full’s not enough for you, after all,,, not until his fingers link through yours does it feel absolutely right.

lewd squelches of arousal, gasping mewls of flustered pleasure, your pretty voice filling his ears as jaemin roughly grips your waist, hips reading back to meet yours in a hard thrust as you cry out desperately, needing to feel him everywhere. “my pretty girl,” soft swears escaping between heavy panting breaths as jaemin fucks your cute cunt, tip roughly kissing your cervix as he thrusts deep, only for his girl.

“fuck, ‘m all yours, ‘okay? gonna be mine after this, gonna be mine forever, yeah?” “mm–! ‘m yours, j-jaem!” you hiccup, eyes glossy with tears of pleasure as your fingers tighten around his, the one touch keeping you grounded as jaemin roughly thrusts hard, a sheen of sweat on his forehead as his presses to yours. “gonna knock you up, make you mine—“ he groans, his voice cut off as your soaked cunt clenches down hard, “p-please, jaem— w-wanna feel full!” you wail, unable to hide the undeniable rush at the thought of being his, his forever, just meant to be his.

“yea? wanna be knocked up ‘nd let everyone know you’re mine, all mine—“ incoherently words slide off his tongue as if it’s the most natural act, as if he’s thought of knocking you up for so long now,,, what a lie it would be to say jaemin doesn’t regularly think of treating you like his darling, putting a real ring on your delicate finger and taking care of you the way you’re meant to be taken care of,, might as well put his baby in n make you his pretty wife, shouldn’t he? jaemin loves you a little too much, can’t even bear the thought of you lifting a finger when he could do it all for you.

he’ll take care of the rest, leave nothing for your pretty mind to ever worry or concern yourself with except being his,, “c’mon princess, cum for me, yeah?” and god, does it feel heavenly when your cute cunt clenches down as you mewl n cum for him all pretty, wet and warm release gushing around his cock as he fucks you through,,, n the way your fingers cling to his biceps has his head spinning, because fuck, you’re just a little too perfect for him, c’mon love, hold on to him a little tighter, need him.

and jaemin’s lost in another heaven when he fills you up, creamy n warm seed pouring in n painting your insides white with him, fingers gripping your hip hard enough to leave fingertip shaped bruises as you sob n milk his cock so well, hushed, panting swears groaned into your neck, chests heaving against one another, a sheen of sweat coating his skin pressed to yours as if there’s no way to possibly be closer.

“shh, i know, ‘m gonna keep you all full,” jaemin murmurs softly in response to your incoherent mumbles, his hand gently feeling your soft tummy, “feel how deep you take me… that’s my girl,” a light smirk on his lips when you whimper at the slight pressure as he pushes in, must feel so good to be a little too full of jaemin’s presence? and his sweet kiss to your cheekbone,,, sweet as he is, can’t hide the way lovesick grin he can’t hide when you meel at the feeling of his hips reading back again,,, after all, his pretty girl can take another, can’t you~?

reblog to sign up for jaemin’s princess treatment lol u just know he’s into spoiling his girl