#not so hot now not so easy to care for now not so perfect now huh

[kurosagi-h8r]

My headcanon on the ghouls in bed 🔞

Idk if anyone talked abt this already but as always you can put them in any place, it's just how i imagined them in my head. This is for funsies ☆

Detailed explanation below. Minor DNI!

Jin would almost say no to bottoming unless he's too lazy and you're too needy. But i feel like he's too prideful to go that way so he'll probably force you to nap with him instead. It's likely that you'd wake up to him taking the initiative first. "Didn't you ask for it?" And he doesn't care if you're still in the mood or not. He is now and it's your responsibility too.

TOHMA SKDJFHSKHD definitely a service top when you're good but becomes a sadist when you deserve to be punished. Either way he enjoys playing both roles and is good at them.

I feel like Luca is one of the best when it comes to aftercare. From the beginning to the end he priorities your need above his and will switch depending on your preference. Guy probably takes it like a study when it comes to please you– excited to learn about your body and all.

Kaito is a pathetic bottom. A perfect subject for mindbreaking. Will cry upon first orgasm and a whimpering mess if you're not stopping (yay overstimulation). So much thank you and sorry despite forgetting his name during the whole thing.

To me Alan is more of a service top but would bottom at first bcs Alan is Alan– he would need guidance on what you like and what you don't like and also reassurance that you're enjoying everything. A submissive top, perhaps. The type to put your needs above his. Probably would take too long fingering you bcs he's afraid he wouldn't fit.

Leo mayyyybee secretly wants to film you going down on him. Will act all sadist at first but really he just wants to see how much it'd take to trigger you. If you give in and be submissive he'd lose interest in an instant because you're too easy. I mean come on do you actually believe people who like spicy food is not into pain? If you want him so bad then take him. The fact that he might resist at first shouldn't be an obstacle to you. He's a brat bottom at its finest.

Sho is pretty simple i guess. Top leaning and would take some convincing to let you overpower him. He'd secretly be addicted to it after the first time but it's because you look hot doing it.

Depending on how his day went Haru would either top the entire session or bottom. A service top most days but would say no to a blowjob or handjob when he has no energy left. I hc him being softer with it when he's drunk bc when the two of you do it sober he'd tease you here and there. But at the same time Haru is still Haru, he has some pent up stress and could let it out through you. So please push him as hard as you can– slap the shit out of him if you need to when it gets uncomfortable.

Should I explain about Towa 😩? He seems sweet at first but the second you show no signs of going along with his tune... also he's probably into roleplay. "Let’s reenact those love stories you've told me before, Dandelion ♡~ You'll say yes, won't you?"

Ren would absolutely refuse being the bottom. Even if he's positioned under you his hands would be on your hips controlling all of your movements. Surprisingly can hold himself being cockwarmed– gotta push rank a bit if he doesn't want to get kicked out of the guild. A bit of a masochist, would force you to be quiet as he destroy you from the inside despite knowing that's what gets you being too loud. Pretending to bottom only to tease you and make you realize how pathetic your attempts were.

Taiga is Taiga.

Romeo is meticulous with everything but everything has to be romantic and worth his while. He's secretly kinky and needs to have all the power on his hand but if you play your cards right, you might just see that side of him that he will never show anyone else. Hot top, pretty bottom.

It's tempting to put Ed in each square. Who knows he's probably the creator of this top switch bottom thingy MAYBE HE INVENTED S3X IDK. Like, he's probably had his fair share of doing everything in the bed. Want him to top? He'd love to! Just surrender your whole being and let him become your God. Want him bottom? Sure. Just be careful and don't get too rough, his joints can only take so much (lol). Either way things will likely be memorable with him.

Ritsu is a top if it's for duty and bottom if you provoke him enough. Bully him; call him a momma's boy and he'll lose his mind soon enough. He would take some time to tame but it won’t be an issue if you like the process.

I imagine even when stripping Subaru would want you to look away and when it's your turn he would be too bashful to look at you. Keeping eye contact is important for him, let him know that he is the center of your world and you'll gladly accept him with open arms. Yes, he couldn’t help but look away everytime, but as long as you distract him with your lips on his he'll ease up bit by bit. He'd probably feel bad not taking the lead but his skill lies on the aftercare (despite him being the one that needed it more sometimes) so please let him take care of you as you did for him.

Haku (lord help me again with this man) will become a greedy bastard if you keep indulging him. "No more round? What a shame. I love hearing my name on your lips." To him being with you feels like a guilty pleasure that's far more dangerous than being addicted to nicotine. He tends to be lazy with other things but will gladly take on the invitation to do it with you whenever you want. "You're tired? It's fine princess. Let me get you some water, ok? Stay right here." And if you think he's stopping after that you're dead wrong. He'll do all the work while you just lay there being pretty. Let him take care of you, ok?

Feminist king. Words of affirmation in the air every five seconds. KING OF PRAISE KINK! Everything you do is beautiful; you are simply an art sent from heaven for Zenji to witness, feel, and devour to his hearts content. I feel like he's secretly a pervert but only to the right person... You are an exclusive muse for his creations that he will never share to others. Everything you want to do to him, he'll agree with no questions asked.

Rui despite being flirty and wanting you to think he's kinky, he preferred to be a gentleman on bed. Don't know how he did it back then with the casual flings but after he's no longer cursed he would cherish every second and every inch of you. Worshipping your body with everything he has until you're sick of it. Mouth, hands, whatever and however you want he'll grant it. Just keep using him as you please; make a toy out of him, he doesn't care as long as your eyes and attention stays on him.

A bundle of nerves in the beginning but if it's driven by instinct Lyca won't even stop when you want him to. He would have his way with you bcs he's too impatient, so you have to really bare your fangs if you want to put him in place.

Yuri is a mess of a bottom. Similar to Kaito but unlike him Yuri's mind will resist before fully submitting. How will he finally submit? When you deny him of his own orgasm. The longer you edge him the more he's losing his mind. He would never admit it but he's grateful that you know when to not go all out, especially when he's tired. Even better when you simply go down on him to be his stress reliever in such state.

Doing it with Jiro is a bit embarrassing at first bc he need you to go verbal with how you want him to do things 90% of the time. Don't get him wrong his mind could break at any moment too (or pass out from exhaustion) so if you make it known to him that he can do whatever he wants... oh boy you're in for a ride. He's looking forward to all the expressions you can make with all the positions he'll try with you, and he'll only stop when he pass out.

[yanderes-galore]

Redson (from lmk) oneshot? If I need to be specific the darling maybe attempted to escape or leave ^^

Sure! It may be a bit short... but here you go!

Flash Fire

Yandere! Red Son with Escaping! Darling Short

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Violence, Anger issues, Manipulation, Kidnapping, Isolation, Accidental burning/Just burning, Toxic relationship, Implied punishment near the end, Forced relationship.

Ever since he took you here... heat has been all you've known. Lava lakes surrounded the fortress, always making the building hot. Meanwhile, your captor himself, was a demon of fire...

Your past two months have been suffocating.

You've been spending the past few weeks exploring the fortress's many rooms and hallways. You've had to be careful as you do so, not wanting to make Red Son suspicious. You've seen the demon when he's angry...

It isn't pleasant.

Red Son had done a lot to try and garner your attention. He's given you your own room in the fortress, he's been as patient as he can be. Sure, sometimes you've had... hiccups...

But far as he knows, you've been obedient for the past couple weeks! Lately he's trusted you around the fortress more without supervision. Red Son thinks he's broken you in, made you his perfect lover...

In reality, you've been playing a game the past few weeks... remembering every routine... every room...

Then, today, you finally made your big escape.

Sweat clung to your skin as you run across the heated ground. After running across the bone bridge, you're careful to look around. Lava pools greet your vision... the heat immense.

It's hard to breathe.

You begin to realize you didn't plan well when escaping. You knew the building well, yes... but you have failed when it comes to planning how to navigate the volcanic mountain. You bite your lip... yet are determined to not give up.

Escaping is difficult, nearly impossible as you try not to burn yourself. The heat from the lava pools makes your lungs burn. The smell of heated rock stinging in your nose.

You thought you were doing well despite you feeling your skin flare. If you could just sustain it all a little more... Maybe you can find help. You were running mostly on instinct, not quite thinking of what you'll do next... anywhere is better than here...

Then you feel a rush of heat and fire, like an eruption went off behind you.

You're quickly tackled to the ground, the black ash ground coating your clothes and skin. Heat washes over you... hotter than a summer day. Hands hold you down... it feels as though fire is touching your skin.

"ARE YOU CRAZY?" An unfortunately familiar face roars, making you look up in pained fear. Red Son, your captor and forced love, glares you down. His eyes burn with a bright inferno as he growls down at you.

"What has gotten into you!? I thought you learned by now leaving me is futile! Are you trying to get yourself killed! You can't survive alone on this volcano!" Red Son rants, anger and annoyance in his voice but... you can faintly tell he's distressed.

You failed to realize Red Son no doubt knew you couldn't escape. He was not only used to the heat, but capable of teleportation through fire as a demon. In your desperation... you failed to realize how easy it would be to catch you.

You're not being rational... stuck in isolation for months... you just want to go home.

"Should've known you'd try something...." Red Son scoffs, getting off to pull you up. "You were being way too nice...."

Shame and pain render you silenced. Red Son's grip is burning due to his rage. The heat threatens to harm you more than it already is if you push him too far.

Red Son is dangerous when angry... his rage like that of a flash fire... the tension in the air just needing one spark...

Then you'll be engulfed in flames.

"You get on my nerves, know that?" Red Son growls, preparing a portal back home. His home. "I treat you like royalty in a fortress and you do what? You run! You run and pay me NO mind!"

Fire crackles in his other hand before a portal of flame opens. He glances at you with a frustrated gaze before roughly tossing you in. You yelp, fire singeing your skin and hair as you collapse onto the dark floors of the fortress.

You look up to see Red Son step out of the portal, the flame extinguishing as he glares down at you. You recall you're back in the room he gave you. You flinch under his gaze... the burning pain on your skin is a reminder of your failure...

Along with the burning pain of shame in your gut.

"You're never leaving my sight EVER." Red Son scolds, roughly yanking you to lay on the bed. You hiss in pain, but he ignores it. Reluctantly he ignores your pain... even if you couldn't tell.

"Can I even trust you again after this? It's taken months to get this far!" Red Son rambles, exasperated. "You have been such a pain, why won't you love me?"

His last words sounded almost like a plea. The sound of a child, now man, who has been starved of proper love. It almost ignites pity...

But your new burns, accidental or not, remind you he doesn't deserve that.

"... I will not stand for this." Red Son admits, turning to face you. You ironically freeze upon seeing the burning rage in his eyes.

"Look at me." Red Son threats, fire sparking in a hand as he pulls you closer with the other. "You will not do this again..."

He pulls up your shirt, revealing your skin. He then hovers a burning hand over your stomach. You squirm, know what's to come, but it doesn't stop...

"I'll make sure you never do it again...!"

Red Son's threat is the spark needed to ignite the tension in the air, to ignite his wrath...

A flash fire of pent up rage soon enveloping your skin just as you feared... making your screams ring throughout the room...

You really will never run again after this.

[widevibratobitch]

something about being told im 'the leading person at this whole academy when it comes to interpretation and stage intelligence' by the husband of the woman im trying (not really. but i mean. who knows) to seduce... ok boy you got me. lets make it a polycule.

[like-wuatafauq]

I'm hot until I have to bring up the fact that:

I went manic and got a bunch of tattoos,cut my hair,experienced psychosis, insomnia, and nobody noticed, nobody questioned it. I brought it up to my therapist(I have a new one now cuz I asked to switch after this convo) and specifically asked if how I was acting and doing things was okay only for her to say if I thought it was okay then it's okay. Girl, I need an outside perspective, I can believe it's okay because I'm having racing thoughts, I was having thoughts that things were good. Thank God I managed to even question it and pull myself out so I wouldn't get involved in drugs, alcohol, sex because my parents have a long history of addiction and abuse...it could've definitely been a lot worse.

Anyway, you can decide if I'm still hot after that spill but yeah....

[strwbrymlkshake]

ohh I do want to pass away why am I so stupid

[lovelyghst]

soft-tummy simon riley save me… cause you cannot look at that man and tell me he doesn’t love to eat!! like, a constant snacker. and his heart absolutely swells when you indulge so heavily in his needs.

it’s practically his love language, to scarf down anything you put on the table in front of him, and you can certainly tell since now he’s not nearly in the same shape as he was when you found him.

he likes to think you’ve fixed him in a way; spending his evenings cuddling in bed for hours on end with you, rather than heading to the gym for the second time that day to burn off dinner. thanking you for the savory meal with kisses all over instead of fighting off the impulse to purge his usual bland chicken breast and vegetables every night.

and it all hits him far, far deeper than just his gut; feeling it in his heart more than the soft layer of fat blanketing his tummy he has to see in the mirror every morning. just the fact that a sweet thing like you wants to take care of him, ensure he eats plentiful yet still healthy for his work, has him whipped. showering him with endless i love you’s and praising him all up and down until his cheeks tint a light, flustered pink and his dick gets achingly hard in his pants.

he won’t pretend the change was easy on him, seeing the clean-cut abs and fit appearance that made him feel young fade away the further you got into your relationship, but he’d also be a filthy liar if he said he didn’t prefer the pros to his current build way more.

simon begins wearing shirts less around the house on his lazy days, at your lovely request of course, and it does feel quite freeing. especially when he’s able to come up behind you in the kitchen, cage you in with his burly arms, bend you over the counter and fuck you senseless because part of the deal was that his shirts would go to you, and with nothing but your lace panties on underneath.

he can’t help but get riled up seeing you walk around like that, and you’re no saint either when you catch a glimpse of his broad chest and relaxed, pillowy belly as he reads the morning newspaper. you tend to drop to your knees and tug at his boxers faster than he can even greet you properly, showing him just how much you love him.

he loves eating you out more than anything, especially with a full tummy after a late meal. you’ll take his and your empty plates to the kitchen to clean up, but you’re being bent over the counter before you can even wipe it down!! and squealing his name in surprise won’t stop him, nor will your giggles as he’s lifting the skirt of your dress to reveal your pretty ass, getting down on his knees and delving right in.

dragging his tongue through your drenched seam, grinning softly against your skin when you jolt and whine out of sensitivity. tongue-fucking your pretty, tight hole only for a moment before he’s returning to messily play with your swollen clit.

and you just know it’s entirely selfish, simon not even paying mind to the way your legs shake and relentlessly convulse and you can barely stay still because his stubble is unceasingly tickling your inner thighs. making you cum until you can’t anymore, and he’s happily forced to carry your numbed, twitchy body to bed so you can catch your breath and rest while he finishes up the chores.

would probably send you off by say something cliché about you being his favorite dessert. he’s so stupid when he’s horny.

simon is weak for when you ride his stomach, with both his hands planted firmly on your hips as you rub your bare pussy back and forth on his hard abdomen. his hidden muscles become more apparent the longer you go at it and the harder he holds you down, little whimpers spilling from your puffy lips as the light hairs coating his tummy create just the perfect amount of friction to your poor, little clit for that hot, familiar sensation in your lower belly to bubble up.

your hands clawing at his chest and shoulders, leaving lines and crescent indents in his skin that soon turn red in their wake, and the pain only turns him on more, his cock excruciatingly hard, long hums of pleasure omitting straight from his throat as he grits his teeth.

“yeah, that’s it, sweetheart—there’s my dirty girl. jus’ keep goin’ for me now, don’t stop… make yourself cum without me touchin’ you down there, ‘nd then i’ll fuck you real nicely after. alright, princess?”

and you soon follow through with just that, nodding decorously with tears welling at your eyes’ waterlines before you’re lurching forward, crying out his name. thighs giving out and fighting to ride out your orgasm, where simon then saves you with his attentive grip on your hips, finishing the job for you rather recklessly.

“good fuckin’ girl… y’did so well for me, love,” and every other gruff, dragged word of praise in his vocabulary echos in your fuzzy mind as you come down from your high.

you’re still catching your breath, fulling laying on his chest by the time he’s inching you backwards whilst taking his hard dick out from his boxers. lifting your weak hips for you as he whispers small, reassuring hushes right by your ear, soothing your winces as he fully sheathes you on his thick cock, inch by fucking inch.

he fucks himself up into you, not daring to make you overwork your body anymore, and he handles you so delicately you could almost fall asleep on his mattress of a body. you crumble to pieces with the vibrations of his chest from his unending groaning, the feeling of his veiny and rough cock stretching and filling you to the brim almost becoming minute compared to the sleepiness washing over you.

“there ya go, pretty… don’t have’ta do any work now, jus’ like i promised, eh?” he coos, and he could feel you smiling against his collarbone. one of his large hands cradles the back of your head while the other gropes at your ass lovingly. “takin’ me just fine, sweet girl.”

you bury your heated face into his squishy pectoral, whining at the overstimulation to your clit at the particular angle, left so utterly sensitive from your prior orgasm. you’re limp in his strong hold, securer than ever as he lifts your hips up and down his thick cock.

he uses your tender cunt ‘til he’s satisfied, groaning right up against your ticklish ear when he empties his hot cum in your throbbing pussy, the perfect thing milking him dry and turning you exhausted.

he actually sits in the moment for a peaceful while, coddling you against his rising and falling chest and murmuring sweet praises, until eventually his disciplined brain kicks in despite your protests.

“don’t go passin’ out on me yet, sweetheart.” you grumble out a refusing noise which makes him laugh softly, but apparently it’s not enough to win him over. “let’s go get you cleaned up, yeah?”

(simon and his size difference & free use kinks go CRAZY in this one. also this instagram reel is so him coded ok bye bye <3 cont.)

[hazelfoureyes]

The Radio Demon fucks a Human Sacrifice (part 3)

I deadass wrote part one as a one shot. Is this what peer pressure is? I love it.

It would have been easy to forget you, your soul was his anyways so the real fun had already finished. But that pesky video hit most streamed in 24 hours, he couldn’t even walk to the butcher without hearing you scream his name from errant phones. Surely there was a way, even from hell, to finish what he started and get you out of his system.

⟢ part1♡̶sidestory♡̶part2♡̶part3♡̶part4 ⟣

tags/warnings/promises: Alastor x reader, smut, soft Alastor, unprotected sex (duh?), creampie, edging a little, feelings, Valentino exists, Vox also exists, literally wrote this split screen with part 2 on the right side so I could line it up right like he does hehe, Alastor has a bad time

tag requested: @astraechos , @thekanrojimitsuri2 , @hoeforalbedo , @crazylazybabyk , @oddball08 , @lovingyeet , @just-trash-yeah-thats-it , @random-3455 , @alicehasdrowned , @des-deswain5621 , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @doctorswife221b

When Val released, ‘The Radio Demon fucks a Human Sacrifice’, it immediately went viral. The website crashed, downloads surpassed his wildest, horniest dreams.

It’s scary but also hot? ☆☆☆☆☆

Eat me Mr. Radio Demon!

I’ve never wanted to be a pussy so much in my life.

The reviews were all favorable, the comments rolling in, it was perfect.

Until Vox said it wasn’t. He had seen the video, but figured no one would care about seeing Alastor fuck anything. It wasn’t the success that got under his skin, it was the wave of positive attention it brought Alastor. Suddenly everyone was tuning in to his broadcasts, little miss princess’s hotel was busier than ever.

And it was ubiquitous. Every screen seemed to feature Alastor’s breakout role.

“I said pull it, Val!” Vox slammed his hands on Valentino’s coffee table.

“Vox, baby, you’re being really sensitive about this. I’m literally fucking piles of money right now. Actual piles of money, like, person sized piles.” Val took a drag of his cigarette, “Its good for business.”

“Would you rather fuck money, or me?” Vox’s screen glitched.

Val leaned his elbows on his knees, “That’s a really difficult question for me and I think you know that.”

“Augh! Val! Think of the big picture! That obsolete dickhead gaining attention means gaining power. And that’s bad for business.”

Val’s eyes fluttered, “What if we like, say it wasn’t him?”

Flashes of Alastor’s face fazed in and out of focus across Vox’s screen, your body flipping over, a mess of tentacles writhing.

Val took off his glasses, “Oh yeah, that’s pretty obviously him.”

“What is?” Vox’s face splintered back to the screen.

“Do you—- do you not know you’ve been like,” Val used his cigarette to gesture at Vox’s face, “just straight up playing his porno?”

Vox’s hands flew to his screen, “No! Fucking shit! What the fuck!!” He picked up a vase and threw it across the room, “Wipe it clean off the server! Delete it! Ban it’s fucking streaming! End of discussion!”

Val shrugged, he owned every bootleg distributor in the pride ring. He’d pull it and up the price threefold for illegal downloads. “Whatever you want, amorcito.”

Alastor was quite happy the video went ‘underground’ of sorts. The first month after you left, he was plagued by the sound of your voice. Everywhere he went it seemed you were screaming his name, every phone and television a conduit for you.

What really bothered him though, was the reaction others had to him. Where once sinners leapt from his path and set theirselves on fire to avoid him, now people winked and waved. It made his skin crawl. When alive, at the peak of his radio show fame, it wasn’t uncommon to have fans approach him in jazz clubs. But the decorum of 1930's jazz fans was a far cry from the brazen displays of desire from the citizens of hell.

“Perhaps I should have thought it through?” He mused.

“Ya think?” Rosie put her tea down, “Was it worth it, at least?”

He mulled the question over. Worth it? Well, he had your soul. Which is grand. But you weren’t even in hell to be called upon. What did he really get from the deal? Alastor brought his palm to his face, already feeling the blush spreading. Rosie's chuckle didn't help. He did get something. You'd been gone a month, and each day he woke up having forgot you existed. And every night he lied down to rest and imagined your eyes staring back at him. Did he want to fight you, or surrender, when he saw that look? When the silk tie had fallen from your face, slipping down your nose to reveal your intense stare...He thought his heart had stopped. For every ounce of resilience in your voice he found a pound of fury in your gaze. What poor luck Valentino had been given to receive you as an offering.

"Too soon to tell." He leaned back, finally dropping his hand.

“Well it seemed you had a good time… not that I could see much through the green glow and all that static noise. Really spoiled the climax with that move, Alastor dear."

Alastor’s eyes were saucers, “Rosie. Are you implying-,”

“What?” She drew out the word, “I thought you weren’t into those things so of course I was curious!”

He sighed, “I’m not.”

Rosie pushed the teaspoon around her cup with one finger, “Sure looked like you were.”

He crossed his arms, indignant, “You don’t have to have an appetite to enjoy a meal.”

“Message received loud and clear dear! I won’t bring up the subject again.” She cackled and changed the topic to the latest gossip around the colony.

Another night staring at the ceiling, mind ghosting over the idea of you. He felt like he his sanity was unraveling Leaving his bed, he stepped barefoot onto the grass of the swampy forest he materialized into his room when he moved in to the hotel.

With an outstretched hand, Alastor felt for your connection. He couldn’t see it, but the weight of the chain connecting your soul to him sunk into his palm. Curious, he wrapped his fingers around the invisible links and pulled.

With a soft green glow, you rose from the grass.

His breath hitched, he hadn’t expected that. “It seems our deal really did stick, didn't it?" walking towards you, Alastor dropped to his knees at your feet. You were on your side, unmoving.

His head cocked to the left, ears turned in. Alastor crawled toward you, rolling you onto your back and opening your legs. He slotted himself there, “Hellooo,” He took your face in his both of his hands, elbows resting beside your ears, “Are you… sleeping, dear?”

This is ridiculous.

Alastor inspected your face; peaceful. It was a new sight for him, he'd really only ever seen you in some kind of rage or lost in pleasure. His hand slid down your body, realizing you were in the robe still. He laughed, but realized it was for no one. "Are you really going to sleep, hmm?" He hooked his hands under your knee and brought it up around his hip.

Nothing.

"I'm starting to get offended, dear." He leaned down and whispered into the crook of your neck. "If you don't wake up-" He slid down, the robe open enough to let his breathe ghost over your stomach. He stopped. He couldn't do anything to you while you slept. It was void of any enjoyment for him. Without your reactions, it was just....pointless. While he did enjoy your performance in the studio, he was taught to show respect for those of fairer means. A sleeping partner fell into that category.

He reached beneath you and straightened your robe that had bunched there under your body. Placing your leg back down by your ankle, he began pulling the collar up and closed it snuggly.

He stood there for a second, looking over you. It worked. You're here again. His mother had taught him that the human soul was most vulnerable at night. When asleep, the soul could wander from the body and travel earth and beyond. She even said people could train themselves, and with practice, remember their journeys even after waking.

Kneeling down, Alastor pushed your hair from your face, "Don't forget. What fun is there in that?" The shadow beneath your body shimmered neon green before you were swallowed by inky darkness and Alastor was once again, alone.

After his mother died, Alastor was often alone. Most of his time, really. Well, there were people always around. But they were staff, or hangers-on, or women looking for a comfortable life. They were dancers and bootleggers and musicians. Which was fine and grand. But, they never saw him. He never let them, they never tried. He was the radio host. The great dancer. The southern gentleman. The killer. The cannibal. The deer in the woods. Not a single person ever looked at him on earth and saw him. Which was precisely what he wanted, and manufactured with his wide smile and good manners.

So when your eyes bore into him from that tacky studio set, and he felt suddenly naked in front of you, he knew you were looking at the him. You saw him.

It was worth it. Alastor was willing to admit that to himself.

Over the next couple days, he would randomly try to pull you to him. Through out the day, in different places, he would summon your soul and wait. Nothing. It confirmed his theory, your soul was only able to leave your living body while you were asleep.

In the privacy of his room, Alastor paced the space between grass and carpet. What was this feeling? Nerves? He hadn't felt nervous since he was a child.

But, what was causing him a pause, was if he summoned you and you didn't appear. Maybe it had been a fluke? Maybe for the 7th time in 3 days he would pull on that connection and be left standing there, alone.

Still.

He ran his hands through his hair, trying to regain composure. Finally, he reached out for your ties to him, and pulled you into hell.

He held his breath, unconsciously.

With a glow, you appeared again before him. He was quick this time to approach you, setting beside you and leaning close to your face. Asleep.

"Is this my foreseeable future?" He asked, "Staring at you while you sleep, my doe."

Suddenly, you opened your eyes and met his. Reaching up, you grabbed him with both hands and pulled his face into yours. Your hands ran through his hair as you took him in a frenzied kiss. Alastor froze for a beat, but when your tongue licked at his bottom lip, he was brought back to the moment. He pushed his tongue into your mouth, rolling over yours and reaching as deep as he could. He felt like he could unhinge his jaw and swallow you whole. He really could, if he wanted to.

Alastor swung his leg over your body and straddled your hips. "Mon cher, you've finally joined me." His chest was rising and falling with excited breath.

"Alastor?" You tried to feel your body, but it was nowhere near you.

"Don't worry your pretty little head. You're still alive and well. I've merely borrowed your soul for the evening." He looked down at you, and finally, for the first time in what felt like months, your eyes fell to his face.

But today, they were soft and out of focus.

"Can you see me, my dear?" He leaned down slightly, trying to read the look on your face.

"Am I dreaming?"

He chuckled, "Perhaps we both are." With an exhale he wondered if he had been holding his breath this entire time. "No, this isn't a dream."

"I don't understand...but--," You lifted your arms towards him, "Should I say thank you? It was fucked, what happened." Your voice was slow, words a little slurred, "But, I'm home safe and sound now. You did what you promised me. I don't know if I'll ever see you again so...should I thank you now?"

Your tongue felt fat in your mouth, heavy and delayed.

Alastor leaned down over you, "You don't have to say anything." He used his knees to open your legs, and settled there. "Unfortunately, you've become a little worm in my mind." His hands slid under the silk robe you hadn't stopped wearing yet, "I'm hoping if I finally have you, I can...whet my appetite, and return to my normal self." He felt along your hips, hands stopping when he realized you were naked under the thin piece of fabric.

"I keep remembering," you covered your eyes with your hands, "that big hand of yours. And I realize, you never touched me past that."

He smiled, genuinely, truly, "Exactly! You understand the problem precisely. Shall we both have our fill and be done with it?"

You moved your hands to touch his ears, waiting for him to disappear at any moment, "Please. I'm so tired of missing someone I don't even know." He removed your hands, and you held them to your chest.

"My thoughts exactly, mon cher." He adjusted his hips, letting his crotch rub against your core. This was the closest he had been to you since you'd met. It was dizzying, and it felt like his skin was vibrating everywhere it met yours.

A soft moan left your throat, causing his cock to twitch in his pants. Yes, it was you. This wasn’t his standard response to such sounds. Alastor sat up, his legs bent and knees at either side of your hips. Taking one of your hands from your chest, he placed a kiss on a digit. Then another. He kissed his way down your arm.

“So gentle. Weird.” You tried to focus on him, but your mind was still cloudy. The sensations were here but also so far away, too far away, in another lifetime all together.

“Was I not gentle before, all things considered?,” he continued his way down your arm.

You let your eyes drift to the sky, stars watching you from above, “More than him.”

His mouth went dry at the mention of Val, "I am many things more than him, darling." As his lips found your neck, he took a deep breath. "I can actually take my time now. No audience." He sucked a bruise, and released you with a pop. He presented two fingers to your lips, and without thinking about it you began to suck them. While you were slipping your tongue over and between his fingers, he moved to continue a trail of kisses and nips down your right arm.

"Get them nice and wet." He watched through half lidded eyes as you licked his long fingers. He knew he needed to remove his hips from yours, but the idea pained him. Finally, he took his fingers from you and swiped them over your entrance. Your chest jumped, so he did it again. He tried to push the fingers into you, but the resistance was more than he expected. You were wet, but tight. He let his middle finger slip inside you. So soft. So warm. His shadow tendrils allowed him some feeling but not this, this was something they kept to themselves.

"When was your last time, mon cher?"

Your mind searched for memories still left behind in your body somewhere, "In hell."

"You're in hell now."

"This doesn't feel like hell." You ground your hips onto his palm, trying to get that single digit slowly moving in you to come deeper, to become more. He replied by pushing in his pointer finger, erection becoming painful already as you let out a little moan. Bending them up, he began to make long thrusts past your g-spot. His mouth long stilled on your arm, staring at your face as you whimpered into the sky.

"Look at me."

Your eyes darted to him, half open and wet. Alastor felt his patience snap. Undoing his belt and zipper, he finally freed his cock. He ran his head between your entrance to your clit , gathering your fluids on him to ease his entry. Taking both of your legs, he held them at the ankles and set them on his left shoulder. With your hips slightly raised, he pressed into you.

With a hiss you dug your fingers into the dirt, body tensing instinctively. One of his arms hugged your legs to his chest, the other was now bruising your hips as he continued to push into you. With just his head in, he began fast and shallow thrusts. Every time making more progress into your warmth. The stretch burned, but the feeling of him forcing space into you for himself just made you wetter.

Finally, he bottomed out. He had no sense to still himself, shallow thrusts gave way to long, deep plunges. Alastor's breathing was filling the space around you, mixing with your own. Leaning back, he looked down at where you two were connected.

He withdrew slowly, nearly entirely, and pushed back in. Again. And again. It was intoxicating, how he felt himself melt into you. He'd had lovers in life, but never had he been with someone without a barrier of some sorts. Be that his well placed smile or latex. He'd never fucked anyone raw before. He almost regretted not trying earlier, as the sensation of your walls and arousal sticking to his cock and thighs was breaking him. Watching himself entirely disappear inside you, he closed his eyes. Everything was so hot, so tight, would he disappear entirely? Would he lost in the pleasure your body was so effortlessly giving? Was he the unlucky one?

Alastor pushed your knees up to your chest, using his body weight to hold them down as his paced picked up. You brought your dirtied nails to your own legs, holding on tightly. Desperately you needed something to tether you to the ground, keep you still against the twitches shaking your stomach and chest. You felt with any jolt to your nerves you'd fall off the world and drift into the night.

He felt the build up, his balls tightening and drawing in, he wanted to slow down-- he wanted to bring you there first but he couldn't stop the rutting of his hips. With a whine, Alastor's forehead came to rest on yours, hips smacking into you with a wet slap. "Look at me," He commanded again, and you obeyed. One of his hands came to your chin to hold your head still, "Don't you dare look away."

Struggling to keep your eyes open, he pushed into you with one final, deep thrust. His hands came down now to the ground around you as he pushed you into the grass. Hips stuttering, cock twitching in you. You'd never let anyone cum inside you before, the sensation of heat quickly filling your cunt made you tighten around him. "Good girl", He purred, jaw tight.

He pulled back slowly before bringing his hips down, sweat sticking to his forehead where it met yours. His pace was quickly becoming brutal, a hand finding its way to that little bud of nerves of yours. With rough pressure and hurried speed his thumb drew out your orgasm. When you came, you gasped out his name, craning your neck up to ghost your lips over his open mouth. As the pleasure surged from your center, you could feel your body again. He tried to keep his eyes on your eyes, but the overstimulation of your cunt trying to wring him dry forced him to shut them.

A light shone through his eyelids, startling them open again.

"Wait-!" He watched you get pulled away from beneath him. Before he could react, Alastor was on all fours in the forest, alone. Eyes wide, he pounded his fist against the grass. He tried to summon you back to him, to drag you to him but nothing happened.

He thought he'd gone crazy. Hands came to his head, smile pained as he tried to process what he was feeling.

No.

Not enough.

Too soon.

A growl ripped through his chest. This hadn't satiated him at all. No, he was worse off now. He was starved, he had nourishment ripped from his mouth and he as angry for it. Angry to hell, to Valentino, to the conditions of owning a living soul.

He did not even attempt to rest that night. Taking his time, he had to find composure again. Alastor managed to pull himself together after several hours of self isolation. After his heart stopped racing, after his hands stopped feeling phantom skin beneath them, he calmed his smile and went about his day.

When night returned, he couldn't help but stare into the forest domain. He wanted so badly to bring you to himself, but that want was terrifying. It was overpowering him, and he couldn't accept that.

Another night left, another day passed. Husk found Alastor's cruelty to be growing, his patience giving out at the smallest perceived slight. Angel stopped engaging entirely. Charlie found herself wanting to approach him, find out why it seemed his hair was always standing on end, his eyes sharp. But, she didn't. She couldn't. Alastor would pass through the halls like a raging specter. He wouldn't slow or acknowledge anyone.

He managed a week. Satisfied with his resolve, he waited for when night fell and he was sure you'd be deep asleep, yanked your soul from your body and into him. He felt rabid, like he his brain was catching fire. Finally when you materialized before him, he grabbed your face with his hand.

"My doe?"

Just like before, you stirred, and your hands immediately went for his hair. He pulled back, "Are you awake?"

"Am I dreaming? Alastor?" You looked drunk, mind struggling to process the change in scenery. Your arms wrapped around his neck as he hovered above you, and you pulled him into a kiss. He happily returned it, hands quick to untie the robe you had taken as your own. He wasted now time in getting himself unsheathed and lined up with you, before he could enter you reached out to him, "I wanted to say--- thank you. I don't know if I'll ever really see you again."

The realization made his blood run cold. His mother's stories flooded back to him. It takes training, and time, to remember the travels of the wandering soul.

"You don't have to say anything." Alastor thrust into you, your body tense but not as resistant as before. When he was finally enveloped in you, he could feel himself calm. He didn't feel any need to be gentle this time around. He immediately set a bruising pace, digging his nails into the soft flesh of your ass as he forced your hips to meet his with every thrust. You gasped beneath him, eyes wandering up to the sky just past his head. He'd bring you to climax, wanting to drink in your expression, and to his horror as you choked out his name you were spirited away from him again.

Everyone on the floor heard Alastor's rampage. When Angel ran to get Charlie and Vaggie, they were scared to knock. With a steadying breath Charlie rapped the door, "Al? You okay in there?"

Suddenly, silence.

The door whipped open, Alastor smiling with half lidded eyes, "Why of course. What ever made you think otherwise?"

"The fuckin' sounds of carnage, maybe?" Angel looked past Alastor. The sofa shredded, coffee table in pieces. The wallpaper had been ripped down and torn to shreds. Charlie noticed the dirt under his nails, but Alastor coolly pulled his hands behind his back.

"Can I do something for you?" His tone was cold.

"I guess not, Al...," Charlie took in the damage, "Did something happen?"

Alastor smiled wider, "No," and closed the door. No one saw him the following day, which wasn't entirely unusual but it was weighing on Charlie. When Alastor finally appeared and announced he was going to Cannibal Town, she was elated. A chat with Rosie would surely bring him back to himself.

"I don't see the problem. You've got her soul, you can summon her to you, and you get a little," She searched for the word, "relief. Why do you look so pained, old friend?"

"You know better than most I have no interest in chasing women, Rosie."

"Yet..." She cocked her brow.

"It isn't about the release. I don't particularly need that. I never have." He huffed, the conversation already exhausting him, "When I would kill someone, I was God. Their life was in my hands. I took that power from them."

Rosie clicked her tongue, "And when she's in your hands?" Alastor hunched over his black coffee before remembering himself and straightening his back. "I've never seen you like this before, hun. You've got it bad, huh?"

"Personal connections like this, Rosie, are dangerous. I lost my self restraint entirely. It's a weakness." He fought to regain his smile, never knowing who could be passing by.

She tutted him, "Oh no, that's where you're wrong. The difference between a strong man and an unstoppable man is having something to care about." Rosie leaned over and set her hand on top of his, "Imagine you walked into Val's studio right now and found her like you did a couple months ago. How would you react?"

His stomach wretched forward, if he saw you today, hanging from the ceiling? The stench of Valentino's cigarette smoke clinging to your hair, the marks where his hands had made contact with you? His hand under her's tightened, claws leaving marks into the wooden tabletop. "Do you feel weak right now, Alastor?" The hair on his ears was standing straight up, his now black eyes met hers, "You sure don't look it."

He’d remembered hearing something similar before from Vaggie. Could it be true? It was a precarious ladder. If he let himself be close to someone, then the person is in turn close to him, then that person knows him intimately, and then— they are a walking soft spot. Someone could take them and torture them for information. Or, hurt them to hurt him.

But, who would dare? A fire rose in chest at the thought. What was the point of power if he couldn’t have what he wanted? If he had to answer to others about his desires? To pursue strength and status was what he wanted but if that strength didn’t afford him freedom than what good was it, really?

"I say, not that you asked," Rosie smiled and withdrew her hand, "Could be nice to have a little company now and then. Plus, better than waiting 60 years or something for her to just die." She shrugged, "Now, eat. You look like a shit."

Rosie had a point, while your existence was fragile, it was still available to him.

For awhile, he would call you nightly. Alastor would fuck you into the grass, beneath the trees, under the stars. He learned your orgasm would wake you, and he would draw it out as long as he could. He'd edge you for hours, watching you sob for your release. Slowly, your consciousness became more and more solid during your meetings.

To his relief, his hunger for your presence calmed over time. He could handle a week or even two without sharing your company, and he noticed each time you seemed to recognize him more. You'd participate more, moan louder, scream his name and squirm from the pleasure. He relished trapping you underneath his wide shoulders, pulling you onto his lap as he fucked up into you.

He wasn't fond of the few times he summoned you and you were already wet, or smelling of cologne. He'd tease, "Lonely?" and when he'd fuck his back cum into you before helping you chase your own orgasm, he'd remind you, "You're mine, little doe. No one can replace me." And he'd feel his chest swell. Others had your body for the night, but your soul was his forever. With every meeting, he felt more like himself. And the nights you were screaming his name in the forest, and his horns were looming over you as he marked you over and over as his, he felt powerful.

Some nights, he'd call you to him to just let you rest. He'd enjoy a book, or some jazz over a meal, while you lied quietly in his bed.

The days he pulled you into hell and your hair smelled of the trees, of sweat and dirt, he would be gentler. He could feel the ache in your muscles, the tan on your cheeks, and sent you back.

One such night came, where he of course took your chains in his hand and tugged. But this time, when you arrived, your face was painted with anger. You were asleep still, and even when he whispered to you, you didn't wake. You were having a nightmare, from what he could tell. He took you to his bed, and let you settle.

You stayed there until waking up again in your bed.

And every night that week, he'd bring you to his bed and go about his tasks while you fought some demons in your head. He'd never seen you have a nightmare, and began to wonder if something was happening in the overworld.

Alastor was enjoying a deer carcass in his room, humming softly to himself, when a green light erupted on the floor.

He was well aware it wasn't night anymore, and that he hadn't brought you here. With a soft smile, he left his meal and approached the light. Slowly, your body rose from the darkness there. Not just your soul.

When you looked up at him, a smile on your lips and two small doe ears on your head, he grinned, "Did you miss me terribly, my little doe?" He offered you a hand up, "Welcome home.”

༻Masterlist༺

[getodrools]

Just read every one of your Toji fics.. Mr Krabs I have an idea.. Size kink toji and reader that have been sexting and calling nonstop online finally meet up

໒꒰ྀ ྀིᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ thankuu thehe ! ! i am soo ready to indulge in this idea wink wonk 😼 but toji is old soo expect him to act it in the txts el oh el — i hope u enjoy ! <3 btw i did not proofread this whole thing sob ! !

◜ ⟣ DICK APPOINTMENT! ─── T. FUSHIGURO ‧ ✧ ◞

ᯓ★ warnings. mdni | f! reader | sws, sexting, [n]sfw twt links, size difference/kink, he's HUNG, belly bulge, cervix/womb fucking, overstimulation, he takes vids + pics of reader!, age gap ( reader: early 20s, toji: late 30s ), praising, cunnilingus, fingering, squirting ( x2 ), overstimulation, mindbreak, creampie. ᡣ 𐭩 | wc. 3.6k + |

THE YAWN STRETCHING YOUR mouth wide exhaled pure exhaustion out of you… Tapping at the cluttered papers on your desk with a pretty pink pen, bored out of your mind — until — your phone buzzed in your back pocket.

Fishing for it, your eyes light up brighter than the notification buzzing itself.

[ 🔔 big dick dilf 🫠 3m ago ]

It makes you gleam. Knowing that silly little name you picked out suited him all too well… Always reminding you how he's a rather older man, of course — an older man that was also packing a threat of three dicks in one in those grey sweats he'd always wear…

He was simply a big dick dilf you loved texting!

════════════════════

<– big dick dilf 🫠 > 🎥

Today 6:58 PM

| 🔗 Attachment: Two Videos –> ONE | TWO

| Watching those videos of you playing with yourself right now :)

| Making my dick so hard pretty girl.

tojiiii |

im at worrrk rn dont do this to mee |

| Haha.

| Can't help it. You make me horny.

♡ hehe |

but gossh it takes sooo long to take him out |

…wish i wasnt working today :( |

| Too long sometimes haha.

| But I hope it goes easy today baby 😁

| Want to have some fun with me to pass time then ;) ? Send me some upskirt pics? Show me how hardworking you are.

yes baby but only if u cum to them :(( |

| I promise.

🔗 Attachment: Five Photos + Two Videos |

enjoyy ;p |

| Hot! You look so fucking wet naughty girl.

| Thank you.

| 🔗 Attachment: One Video

| Got me cumming so hard.

yummy >< that was a lot toji! |

i get u that excited? :D |

| All the damn time.

| But don't get caught fingering yourself in the office for me now haha.

i cant stop so no promises 😽 |

| Fuck. I wish I was fucking that pretty pussy instead of those fingers.

| I'd fill you up so much more.

i wish u could fuck me too ♡ |

but aaah exactly!! ur so big!! |

idk if i could handle all that ;(( |

| Let me come over and grant that wish? Haha.

| I’ll take care of you. So don't you worry your pretty little head off, let me do that ;)

gosh toji who could say no >< |

| Why not? It's been long enough and I can't stop thinking about you and that perfect body.

true ☹️ |

every time u txt my pussy just gets so wett :(( |

idk how much longer i can take without u being in me!? :(( |

| Fuck. Making me hard again.

| Then let's do something about that ;) When do you get off tonight? 10 like usual?

mhm! |

u promise youll rlly come over? |

i dont wanna play with myself all alone tonight :( |

| Shit. You're so fucking bad.

| As much as I like those videos you send when you do… I promise you won't be lonely tonight.

yayy! omgg im so excited!! ♡ |

*SHARED LOCATION* |

| Me too 👍🏼

Read 7:04 pm

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No. You were nervous.

It was thirty minutes past ten, and he seemed to have left soon as you sent your address — Toji had mentioned living only just a few towns over from you, three or so hours away, so you thought it'd be a while ‘till then… but soon as you were done trying to recollect and prepare yourself, you were already hearing a hard knock bust at your front door…

You met him through Facebook.

He seemed like a family guy but distant from said family… The obvious sign he was an older man, no less than thirty by the looks of his awkward profile picture; a low angle as if he wasn't aware of the camera pointing at him, yet it caught the scruffy look aging at his chin and the low set of leafy eyes you adored — he was rather handsome.

That haggard look of a tired hunk of a man itched something in you.

Digging deeper, his social profile seemed old and rarely updated, but the little collection in weapons and fishing, random masculine quotes, and scenic views was fitted when he did… but that ‘not in a relationship’ status highlighted right at your own pretty eyes…

You reached out to him day of, curious and intrigued. A rise of fun risk chatting with an older man online coiled something in you — yearning for the attention and he damn sure delivered.

Approximately within 24 hours.

Toji greeted himself quick, and then conversations began to pick up more frequently, from daily pictures of just random things going on in your lives to full-on phone calls within weeks! Hearing him for the first time rumbled a deep pit in your core to erupt. His voice so smooth and husky, like auditory caramel that was pleasant to the ears, and even that slight rasp on some of his syllables he'd drawl out was scratching further into your brain to feen for more.

You didn't need to take anything further from your own hands. He seemed rather lonely yet mysterious, but made it very clear what he wanted.

Toji initiated the flirtatious comments once he figured out how to open your photo gallery on your profile, or once he figured out the FaceTime option to get a full live view of your pretty self some more… You remember it was on the second or so phone call when he started to chuckle out praises of how beautiful you are. Even admiring your intellect or your creativity when you'd show him your hobbies and such...

You were filing something in for him — vice versa too…

You also remember when you first sent a picture of your tits out of craven; fleshy mountains peaked hard at the tips, forcing them to jiggle once you found the courage to make videos for him after the overwhelming praise the first time.

He made you feel… special.

More or so, when you first saw his cock. That's when the button to malfunction clicked.

That day, you swore your jaw was sore the whole evening from how hard it dropped. You could not believe how hung he was — jackpot!

From what you could see through such a simple device, Toji’s dick dangled between his thick thighs like a damn church bell clanging with mighty vigor. When the meaty log slapped from side to side against naked flesh, it had weight—it was heavy and made an audible fleshy clap. In some of his videos, he'd lift his shirt up too — showing more of himself off as if that alone wasn't enough. He knew was sculpted like fine marble chiseled to perfection, he just had to make sure you saw what he worked so hard on…

When the older man first jerked himself off, moaning right into the speaker; lewd groans of your name spewing out, you couldn’t help but admire the way his fingers barely touched when he fucked up into his fist… Usually a collage of your naked self was on his laptop while he recorded himself getting off. It was cute. But fuck, the tan skin gliding over his bulbous tip always swepped that oozing, sappy pre he invariably seemed to drench himself with — practically lubing that nth-inch bitch breaker to full extent...

It was always so pretty even when it was sleeping. When he was really in a mood, he'd call you and let you watch it grow — let you talk filthy to make him twitch into the full hard pole it wakes up in…

His soft was as big as your ex’s hard.

Sighing heavily.

You had plenty of calls and videos shared with him, mostly getting off on each other with zoom-ins on your pretty bits… So, this couldn't be any different… Clearly, it wasn't enough anymore to only tease each other, you ached for the real thing — the real mammoth cock you watched like an addict to get lodged right up your bare pussy...

Damn, why were your hands so clammy.

Reminding yourself, your situation with him was always an annoyingly so close, yet so far annoyance. And this was the time to change that.

Marching up to the door with your head high, a throbbing pang shot right between your legs reminding you exactly what you craved for.

Another knock banged at your door before you could reach the golden knob.

Scratch that.

Feeble like sand falling, “Oh fuck…” Your stomach twists. She was thinking for you! Dammnint he was a monster, think clear! Not even the tip could nudge through.

Relax.

This was your first time ever meeting up with someone on the internet — let alone meeting with them to fuck. Or even just creating a full-blown sexual relationship in the digital world… A sexual relationship with a man twice your age too— twice your damn mass not to mention for the tenth time!

The third knock felt like a punch straight to your gut when the hinges rattled.

His presence was strong. You knew he was standing on the other side of that thin wall barring between you both ever so patiently. This is all that was between you now, not miles of distance or digital love, just a closed door.

You could hear heavy boots click off.

Shit!

Your phone goes off too.

Head spinning like a barrel at each noise that seemed rather louder than they actually were... you catch the notification banner with his name written all over it.

[ 🔔 big dick dilf 🫠 1m ago ]

════════════════════

<– big dick dilf 🫠 > 🎥

Today 10:53 PM

| Hey baby

| I think I'm here. It's 201 right?

| The ice cream is melting 😱 Haha.

Read 10:53 pm

| Hey?

Read 10:54 pm

════════════════════

Toji was holding a container of mixed ice cream, that is in fact melting… but spotting flowers with a small black bag hanging in his other hand, you puckered out your lips in awe, glossing them over with your tongue.

Though as stiff as your neck went as you looked him up and down, you savored that saliva drying up in your mouth. Feeling it run barren only catching half his robust body that seemed to wander off with his own head glued into his phone, seeming to check again for the address.

Attempting to swallow that dry pit clogged in your throat to muster up a pitiful, “Toji… Hi.” Idiot.

When he turned, his body's depth grew tenfold.

He was massive. Now catching sight of a clear view of his full sature, he could be described as one would with a walking goliath… A great abundance of stacked muscles kissed even through his grey sweater; pecs strong and full – round even with long limbs standing tall in a might of mass to settle around bones, and it only takes a few steps for him to reach you.

You audibly gulp.

Throat bobbing as his face drew closer, and as he did, Toji held a simple, small smile. Noticing that notable scar he'd usually lick over and shine the silvery mark lined down those thin, yet full lips. Lips that made your own quiver – aching to drag him in for a full mouth and tongue kiss to fix that, not caring if teeth collide—

“Wow. You look good—amazing…” Toji’s voice resonated a thick rumble as those naturally, pale green eyes hooded, adventuring all around you a few times before, “Really good... Ah, this melted — I hope you like flowers though.” And he presents you the small vase bundled up in a various color of blooming buds.

Clammy hands reach for them, “Hah, they're lovely. Thank you…”

Toji sucks in hot air through his teeth, still hanging right outside your door… “You all right?” He notices the small pearly beads trailing across your hairline.

“Yeah! Yeah, I'm just–– you look good… I knew you were big but, damn.” Saying that forced a clear connotation to spark up. If he's this big in real life — bigger than what you have already seen online, what you've prepared yourself for mentally, but now connecting the dots, all of those angles and views were shot from his eyes. Now in your personal POV, this was a clear difference… and you couldn't help but think about that monster stuffed between his legs that was appointed and waiting for you to be a lot more than you could fathom...

° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .

At least, Toji knew you needed prep first. He could just tell…

So to speak, his tongue was steady lapping around in a winding circle against your slit. Already sappy against his mouth, but the wads of spit he bubbles against puffy lips, swoons you blissfully to a faucet…

He didn't mean to shove his tongue so deep, but the natural nectar your pussy gushes with was utterly mouthwatering, he couldn't stop slurping it up! And he didn't mean to cut you off when you finally invited him in, but his cock was also steering the engines – remembering one second your mouth was full with coherent words, telling him how your day was, small talk and giggles about the ice cream, but now, you could only babble out god knows what… Even — faintly, remembering how he pinched and squeezed at your sides when you finally invited him in your room to get things where they needed to be; letting him take a plop down only to get dragged with him closely, quickly enveloping you with his needs and mass…

Time moved quick, even motions and kisses. Hands too. He was not shy… Could say he had a damn set of paws on him.

Hands shaking, Toji laps “Make sure you get a good angle...” And you try hard to record your pussy being eaten raw.

Something Toji asked about, if he could get some real good photos of you both before he goes back to his place… It was fun at first, but shaky hands recording a video is not a good mix. But, you tried…

Toji delved to get to his destination and he made it clear what this was all for. He let you relax and talk for a bit, enjoying your voice now against his skin, now feeling you for the first time — skin to skin, so smooth and gentle, teasing almost for the entirety… but as soon as you hinted you were ready, he spayled out right between knobbly legs he coveted in with a sort of haste…

Whiffing up your aroma, he groans, “Fuck baby…” His mouth opened wide with an inviting seal – a suction, he rolls out his tongue like a dog in heat; shaking his head gently and sliding that slippery tongue back and forth, Toji keeps hooded eyes on yours. Watching how you looked up into the clouds as heat pressed between your legs.

“Taste so good. I knew you would,” Toji pops your puffy clit in his mouth, sucking with a hard pull ‘till it bobbled out — swollen now.

“Gotta open you up, pretty pussy is so tight.” Mark his words, a digit teases your entrance, handling your quiver; he toys at your little hole, circling and flicking ‘till he could nudge in tight walls.

Hooking soon as gummy walls expand— suck him in, “Greedy girl.” Toji prods against the puffy mounds of your cunt.

Hot mouth raking against the length that he spreads with working hands, he bumps and curls another finger in. Nuzzling deep, his nose suffocates against your pelvis when he plows in, hands doing just the same.

Feeling the older man press around to play at spongy walls, you couldn't help but knot a free hand through his shaggy hair as the other tightened around his phone… The nimble stretch kicked your feet up. Shivering, sheer incredulity warred across your features; your jaw was agape – totally agape. Nothing but strangled noises left your lustrous lips.

Suckling at pert folds and scissoring spongy walls, Toji worked with eager rolls with the tip of his tongue. Flicking across the pretty underside with deft movements that sent the flesh trembling. Trailing along the curving plumpness, his mouth maps your folds and bits that force your legs to tweeze around his shoulders.

He traces patterns into the lush flesh – no random movements, all meticulously and hard… Riding up your slit, never missing the rhythm that forced a kindled roll in your hips, along the ridges—the drawing, you felt a bold, T. O. J. I. trace out teasingly.

The distinguishing mark of the tittle from the “I” pressed right into your puffy hood. And he curled his tongue just right, the little nub puckered out into a spasm.

A sweet spasm too.

Engorged, your face grew tight. Twisting and turning, your tummy coiled ‘till it sprang up, feeling Toji slosh around in your cunt; bullying your walls to clench with a force until they fluttered open all while keeping a working mouth prodded against your thrumming needs.

“Toji!!” Your back lifts up off from the sheets. A perfect arch, he slides a hand beneath, holding you still while you mush shakey hips into his face, drawing out that high spiking through you and out like a geyser.

Fumbling over thoughts, Toji drowns between the sweet heat of your legs. Letting you glisten down the stubble on his chin. Groaning at the treat you spatter against his tongue, almost making his mouth a damn pool itself, he refreshes himself.

His throat bobs as he swallows you up.

A few languorous seconds, he pulls away sloppily. Saliva and messy juices still pearling in streams was sent pattering down his chin. With much of it staining his face – he didn't mind, he relished it, the nectar taste and how it sort of cooled him off was utterly pleasing…

He grabs the phone, smirking how it fumbled down with you.

Your mouth hangs loose. Limp and tingling all throughout.

Only for the tingles to spark into shots of raw lightning, barred hands travel of your sides, “So perfect baby… You think you're ready now? I think you are..?” Still trying to catch robbed breaths, weak eyes manage to flutter open and seize at the sight of the clamoring coming from below your bodies.

Pupils dilating and now snapped wide, you flinch at the presence of something so immense. Instinctively, the tips of your fingers press into the hard ‘v’ tracing down his pelvis in trepidation.

When the hell did he take that out?!

Like a church bell clanging, it swung low. His cock was heavy, the weight couldn't keep his hard pole up no matter how much blood flowed. When the rough-tough cock throbbed, it was the only time stiff dick meat lifted an inch…

“Heh, don’t get shy on me now.” Toji grabs your hand and swipes it away with a feathery kiss, “I told you not to worry that pretty little head off. That's my job.” And he was doing a damn good job!

“You're already so wet, so it'll slide in easy, m’kay?.. But I got this though. Just in case.” That black bag he brought in now answered your questions. The plastic crumbled as he reached for it – hucking it, a bottle of lube rolled in his palm and popped open.

Shaking it up, he dumps out half the bottle into his already soggy palm. Before shining his prize for you, he plops himself right on your rising tummy. Dammnit! He was teasing you out of your mind! Purely showing off how deep he was about to go…

Adorably nervous, the arousal from Toji tonguing you into oblivion excited those fuming hormones on how good he can work your pussy, but now? With a mammoth cock ready for you next, riled up your very engines…

Knobbily legs spread wide.

Biting at your lower lip, “Reach my guts, Toji.” Your hand dips between naked bodies and grabs a handful of thick cock meat. The oozing lube globbing at his base, you stroked it all the way up to his capped tip. Slathering the thin flesh with a twist.

Oh.

His silvery scar stretches, “Mmhm… Someone's worked up the courage.” He chuckles, carefully watching how you cutely try to wrap him whole into your palm.

Barely working out, but you tried.

… You were… ready — jittering with eager excitement, pussy still dribbling in muck, and a heart ready to throb out your chest again. You wanted— needed him in you, reminding yourself all the times you had to finger your pussy to just mere pictures, to a cock you drooled over digitally all alone with only tinkering thoughts. This was the time to finally fixate on fantasies, though Toji’s size still loomed at the back of your mind as he guided himself between sopping folds, prodding against your little entrance when you deemed his cock to be doused enough…

You suck in a deep breath.

Ready.

Yet, the audacity to whisper, “See, you're a big girl.” While half his body shrouded yours as he prepped himself above you; full mass shadowing over your frame with alluring sature, you toiled.

Blowing out a lust-laden breath. Toji soothes at your thighs, holding them in a firm grasp, and angled himself to mush the rubbery pink tip between the tightness of your quim. Any trepidation you had felt was clearly lost in the pressure of his crown plugging in, disappearing slow and methodically; penetrating you with a groan-inducing rush, a sensation of being gently, and nicely filled with the weight of something greater than you immediately expected.

“Oh fuck...” Almost in unison, his body curls forward while yours expands.

Toji felt hard and swollen inside. Having a well-ready, well-prepared cock that was itching for sexual relief, both of you wanted it. So, letting spongy walls stretch in rough accommodation for it; swelling around the girth of the thick slab of cock as he pushed down, sinking an inch, then two, then three, then… inside in a steady rhythm.

“Atta girl…” Aching. He didn't move fast. No hesitation, no waiting, but no real rush, either. But just a firm push that you could catch the first sight of his cock driving down into the tight, slick seal before knocking back, “Look at that.” As Toji pressed further in, a bump—a thick outline bubbled up at your tummy.

Your eyes almost cross. Trying hard to focus on the log settling in the pit of your softest parts — with fail, your head bobbles into sheets, and throat scars with an endless mewl.

Toji took this chance to sink the rest of his cock in. And as he shimmied his hips forward, he got closer, chest hovering over yours almost stroking gently. You take this chance to wrap your arms around his neck as a safe haven. Clawing red trails to sweep the sauntering man who prowled in inches for a kiss – a hot, fast smack of the mouths, far more forceful than earlier; simply locked into a lustful maw as his cock wormed fully in.

Without preamble. Both of you let the moments to adjust to the feeling of his cock inside of you pass before sodden hurls could play out… It was a euphoric phenomenon that made the walls of your pussy flutter, a grinding touch and a friction-filled push that made nerve endings crackle like an active wire.

Walls flexing and expanding to the hilt, Toji felt much, much bigger inside of you than he did outside. Optics or not, the firm drop of the hips, your stomach muscles curled and promoted what was throbbing, deeply in you.

“So fucking tight.” So tight, Toji had to buck his hips with a little force. The pressure of your walls kept sliding him right out, but staying firm, he glides back in.

Sparking up a rhythm, catching how mewls turned into needy wants, and knitted brows softening up for more. He draws out his hips, slowly letting his dick flop out, but never unplugging you completely; quick with driving his pink head down to keep you filled. Utterly filled, to the hilt.

“Toji–fuck–yes, please… please, fuck me.”

That's all he needed to hear.

Truly ready now.

Toji’s lusty lips pop off from yours as he powered himself forward. The first few thrusts gutted you, practically molding a new shape in your insides. Drilling into you with slick, manipulation, he expands wet barriers with working hips. Mushing the mounds ‘till they snapped around him and sucked him right up.

“Yeah, this what I needed.” His words worked up of mostly groans as he rocked back and forth—even dragging the bed with him… “This is what I was dreaming for...”

Barreling now, each swing roughened up. And each time he shoved himself into your weeping pussy, the bulge followed along your pelvis.

Locking your ankles around his waist, Toji leans up, needing to bend his knees to reach balls deep. Lifting your butt from the sheets, he holds your lower half in the air. All that muscle working, half your body was in his vice — Well, your damn head was in the clouds too… Torso splayed flat, the view of your lifted bottom half was exotic; all you could see was his cock head jackhammering ‘till he couldn't get any further than your perk cervix.

He held you tightly, the pads of his fingers dug deep into the soft flesh of your thighs. Knowing bruises were sure to blossom in the morning… Not only surface level, but each bump trudging through you hit at your sensitive womb.

Hard, fast, and brisk, each motion blending into the next rhythm—a forward swing and a backward pull like a damn pendulum. And he was focused on dragging all inches as he did, filling you out in endless repetitions, sending his cockhead through those clenching depths and right up against your perk cervix.

You didn't think you could breathe now, but as his hands glided to the extent of your legs, spreading them by your ankles. Toji was growling as he brought you further up with him; Holding your hips up, all human instincts replaced by feral needs. Positioning himself tall until he was fucking you like a construction worker drilling out cement, forcing your flimsy, fucked out body to be arranged at a downward angle, chin tucked with knobbly legs kept wide.

The camera was catching it all too! A genius, he thought, placing it right below your jiggling ass to catch all pounding movement… Even catching the flyaways of your sap milking out and slobbing down his length—Hard thigh too! The harder he barreled into you, a thicker shine dribbled between your bodies and blurred up the lens of the phone…

Heavy balls splat down against your ass at each hard plow. Balls deep, deeper than you could imagine—hard to, and your mind ogles and short circuits trying to comprehend this.

Gurgling, your tummy coils again… And this time Toji could feel your walls spasming all the more.

Deep, rolling strokes. Strong hips come in fleshy swings and he forcibly fucks out your high, “Yeah! Fuck baby, cum f’me. Cum all over this dick.” Dream dick to be fair.

That's all you could do, and as your pussy squeezed and clenched, leaking with a glisten, Toji drags your ankles towards your head. Pushing his twisting toes into the sheets, practically flattening his heavy orbs into doughy globes, and jamming all nth inches into you, your sappy cum gushes out all around him.

Electricity coursed along your limbs, waking them up again to wail like a damn fish out the sea and crowd around his chest. Squeezing and pulling taut receptively, and even as you cursed the sensations of bliss through a sloppy tongue, Toji followed.

“You feel so–fucck—!” Through an endless wave of pleasure, he pants.

Sending his cock thundering through your soaked channel. His pace was more pronounced ‘till weak. Mounting you; the tightening of his face, the swelling of his shaft, the throbbing of the balls pressed right against your perk ass, he was ready to explode.

Filling out your elastic folds with almost desperate movements, clearly right on the peak of popping. Toji topples into your mouth and shoves in a few more and final wet claps until he lets out a guttural moan.

“Tojii!—” In sync, you both watch each other, gazing so deeply with mouths agape as his cock hiccups and burps out a fresh load of white cum.

… Did you just fall in love?

Toji wiggles into you, “Take it all.” Carefully observing how you nod, breathless and dazed, he keeps you filled with baby batter—Filling you like a damn pastry!

Your body falls in the wreck as he plants his sweating skin across yours. Heaving heavily, the older, bigger man keeps you close. Keeping you beneath him as his cock pumps, moving like an inching worm through patted soil; and spurting out wads of thick ropes. Gooey warmness seeps in deep, filling up your pussy like a personal pool at each throb he pulsates with.

Though as he seemed to have dumped his whole load, balls now empty and less tightened from the flex of swimming cells. He huddles you close, keeping his dick lodged in you...

"I-wow.." Toji breathes, more of a shakey moan, "That was... you were..." He chuckles.

Swiping the sticking hair out of his face, he observes how you try to also recollect yourself too—a lot more of heavy breathing and gasps come from you... But assured, you pant out a bewildered giggle, "Yeah..."

"Yeah..." He repeats after you, agreeing.

… You feel a buzz on your ass..?

“Damn,” Toji easily lifts you to grab that damn phone he propped up thinking he was some cameraman in the making, “Damn again. Your pussy was leaking so much some got on the camera…” He inspects it, “It'd be hot to see when that happened… but hopefully, not for the majority of this perfect moment...”

You tease, “If then, we could just record another…” And Toji licks at his scar, feeling his cock hardening ‘till it stiffened up rock hard like a mighty pole…

° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .

[ 🔔 big dick dilf 🫠 1m ago ]

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<– big dick dilf 🫠 > 🎥

Today 4:33 AM

| Can't stop watching our videos 😉

| 🔗 Attachment: Two Videos –> ONE | TWO

| You're so fucking hot.

| Can't stop thinking of that pretty face moaning.

| When are you free again?

Read 8:09 am

Typing… |

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<– BACK: PINNED ⊹ ࣪ ˖ NEXT: MORE TOJI –>

[teddybeartoji]

18+ mdni; gn!reader

thinking about roomie!suguru, who steps out of the bathroom with just a towel hanging loosely around his waist. it's dangerously low and his happy trail is... leading your eyes to a forbidden place. water droplets cascade down his temple and his neck, his scarred chest and his toned muscles.

he finishes drying his hair with another, smaller towel before slinging it over his shoulder. he gives you a warm smile. there's still a bit of sleep in his tired eyes but he looks fresh, he looks good.

(he looks more than good.)

the morning light shines in through the small window of your shared kitchen and he hums at the smell of coffee. you're an angel leaning on the counter, hands busy with preparing your drink as he steps inside.

he chuckles. he asked you a question but you didn't hear it. he smells so fucking good; the smell of his shampoo and his fancy conditioner wash over your senses and it's easy to forget where you are. his eyes flick behind you before walking over to you with a smug little grin.

he bores his sharp purple eyes into yours – he loves how you react to him. he doesn't shy away from it, he's cockier than he looks. he loves the attention, he loves to be in your spotlight. he wouldn't care so much if you were a stranger, if you were a random person on the street ogling away, ut you're neither of those things, are you? no, you're something else.

he exudes warmth as he towers over you, his head tilted down to keep his eyes on you. he wants to play with you a little – he loves the way you're staring up at him right now. eyes big and wide, lip tucked under between your teeth. he's good with people, he can read them like a book and you're no different. he sees you swallow a dry lump, he sees you grace him with a flustered smile as you try to brush by the fact that he caught you admiring him red handed. he sees the way you're taking deeper breaths than normal, surely just to keep your composure. he can't wait to break you.

his arm reaches behind you to turn off the coffee machine with a small click.

"wouldn't wanna make a mess this early in the morning, now would we?"

melting. crumbling. falling down to your knees. you hate how much he teases (you love it), you hate how patronizing he sounds (it's hot). he's the only one that can get away with it – a charming smile that hides his deepest desires of sinking his teeth into little lambs like you, soft eyes that hide the need to watch them unfold before him.

his gentle hands long to hold, long to keep and covet. he thinks about you a lot; your shared mornings and afternoons, your exhausted naps and bitter rants about your days. shy gazes and lingering touches, stupid jokes and the cute little hidden sounds he keeps hearing from your room in the late hours. he's being patient, he's warming you up.

he's just as infatuated with you as you are with him. he's just more subtle with it.

or is he?

because you've heard him, too.

you don't know whether he's doing it unknowingly or he's actually trying to make you go insane – whichever it is, you are ready to bend at his will. soft groans accompanied by a steady slick pump; you didn't mean to listen in. you just wanted to make sure he's okay!

ear against the wooden door, you listened to him think about you. your name was on the tip of his tongue, but it was too early for that. he wants to smear you with his honey, he wants to drag you in but he needs to wait for it. this is perfect.

he did know you're were there.

he heard the floor creak, he heard the cutest gasp that left your pretty lips. fuck, you're perfect. his head was lolled back as he stroked himself to the thought of your wide, doe-eyes. how flustered you'd be, how flustered you were in that very moment. he imagined your trembling hands and your stuttered words and his dick twitched in his palm.

he thought about inviting you in and just making him watch as a form of punishment, for being a little pervert. he shuddered out a laugh and watched a glob of pre-cum cover his own fingers before mixing with the saliva and spit that's covering him already. he thought about making you sit between his legs so he could jerk off right in front of your beautiful face, he thought about your wobbly lips, your teary eyes. the way your thighs would press together.

your fingers would itch and twitch and he'd make you place them on your legs. he wouldn't want you to touch. yet. maybe he'd make you apologize and maybe he'd make you kiss the tip. he thought about how good you'd smell, how good you'd taste. another raspy groan crawled up his throat and you were about to cum untouched behind his door. like a creep.

he loves it. he's proud of you, he wants to push you even further. he wants to see what else he can make you do. this is exciting and he can't wait to devour you whole as a reward after he's done bullying himself into your body and your mind. utterly loved and corrupted—

— you're meant for him.

[nkogneatho]

𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘'𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐀 𝐖𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐍 𝐀 𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐄- 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐁𝐎𝐘 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎

—cw: fem!reader, male and female masturbating, fingering, fistfucking, pillowfucking (put me in a cage pls), desperate gojo because i'll never shut up about that. not proofread.

—a/n: i wish his seiyuu had an asmr channel just like nanami's so this drabble would've been longer. enjoy though <33

You're used to stalking the social media of people you go out with. It comes naturally. Well you live alone in this city, and you sure as hell don't want to stumble across a creep with no defense. You never know what's crippling it's way across this sinful city at night. The questionable news reports just added the oil to the fire of your anxiety. So it was natural that tonight, you were stalking another one of your dates. Gojo Satoru. You knew he was pretty popular when those hand had to leave yours to dap or fist bump his peers on your first date. It's almost as if fifty percent of the city knew him, like a celebrity. If he was really so popular, it would be easy to dig up info about him.

That's what led to you eagerly scrolling past his Instagram, flipping through each highlight as if you were a child who just found the greatest comic book.

party,

party,

and parties.

it was like his mantra the way his entire feed was just him dancing under the influence, in outfits too expensive and champagne to rich. He bathed in the luxury and the people around him were pleasuring off the drops sprinkling. So perfect that he had everyone wrapped around his finger. But won't he do the same to you? Overpower you. All those riches and he decided to go out with you, just so he could make you one of his whores, you were sure about that.

"Ugh, fuck it." You groaned, tossing your phone away. "Guess i'll have to use my hand again."

You opened your laptop, went incongnito typing the first letter, but your autocorrect knew better. It's like it has memorised what you do at this hour. But autocorrect works on algorithms so you were sure it's your fault that you visit the site so frequently.

The porn website was open and you clicked on search button, specifically typing "hot men jerking off webcam." It was one of your favorite things to watch.

You scrolled through the popular videos you had already watched maybe a million times. There was a reason they were popular. So you just changed the filter and selected "new to old". After rummaging through some of the boring videos, your eyes landed on the preview of one with the most beautiful cock. longest even. Curiously, you click on it. The video starts with the man rubbing his boner through the boxers. You put a hand inside your panties, and all you want right now is for him to take his boxers off. After a few minutes, he does and his long light peach cock springs out. when he leans back, your eyes do a double take.

is that gojo fucking satoru??

And indeed it was. The man who earlier gave you the rich spoiled misogynistic son vibes was now moaning like a slut, begging his viewers to ride their imaginary pussy. He had zero shame. Although...why didn't you log out?? Why did you not switch to some other video?

Because holy shit he is fistfucking his cock like an animal in heat. The chair is shaking and making squeaking noises but fuck who cares about that. Listen to his moans. His fucking whimpers. He changed his placement and now he was on the bed, had the pillow folded in half only to start ramming his dick into it. God! Is this the real Gojo Satoru? Is this what he is? A camboy whoring his body out. Because he has generational wealth so there's no way he is foung that for money. So the only logical answer is because he is such a fucking pussywhore that his exhibitionist cock only cums when there are others watching it.

Your fingers starts vigorously pumping in your cunt. They weren't long enough to reach and you were actually wishing Satoru was fucking you instead of that pillow because look. Look at that long dick. Look at the pretty flushed tip with his precum glistening. Fuck, how'd he taste on your? Sweet? Sour? But you know it would taste warm and filthy for sure.

The man in the screen increases his pace and so do you, imitating him. you want to cum at the same time. you want to see what his cum looks like on the gray pillowcase. your middle finger starts stimulating your clit even more while Satoru in the screen is now snapping his hips rougly against the bed, in the pillow. you imagine yourself in the position. Prone Bone. Never tried it but if it is what he is doing, then you're sure as hell down. It's the way his thrusts can be heard banging against the wood under the mattress even if there's not skin for his to slap against. compared to what other camboys do, talk about how they're going to ruin your dirty little pussy, gojo's is different. he does say he'll ruin your pussy but it's hotter because it is followed by endless pleas.

"fuck—lemme ruin this pussy—anh! please, yeah? gonna make you feel so good, baby please?" almost as if he is actually fucking someone. and you don't think twice before assuming he is talking to you. It's okay to be delusional sometimes. Specially when his words make you cum so hard, that you are whining at the lack of more girth to clench around. you look at the screen and Satoru came too. And he was whimpering. Like actually whimpering because it felt so good. Hot strings of cum now soaked in the pillow. Shit.

When you come back from the bathroom after washing yourself, you hear a notification. you pick up your phone to find a "Free tomorrow night?" from the same man who indirectly made you cum so hard tonight. And after what you saw today, you would be a fucking idiot to miss a chance like this.

"Yeah, Of course. Can't wait to see you tomorrow."

*Sent*

[pucksandpower]

What’s the Worst That Can Happen?

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: Charles convinces his unathletic girlfriend to join him for his annual winter training ski trip … what’s the worst that can happen?

Warnings: description of ski injury and mentions of surgery

Based on this request

“Pretty please?” Charles begs, giving you his best puppy dog eyes.

You let out an exaggerated sigh. “Oh come on, you know I’m hopeless at anything athletic. I’ll just end up faceplanting in the snow the whole time.”

Charles grins, wrapping his arms around your waist. “That’s what I’m here for, to catch you when you fall.”

“Yeah until I drag us both down a mountain,” you retort.

He laughs. “I promise I won’t let that happen. We’ll start nice and easy on the bunny slopes.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Bunny slopes? Mr. Formula 1 driver wants to ski the bunny slopes with his clumsy girlfriend?”

“Hey, everyone has to start somewhere,” Charles protests. “Even the great Charles Leclerc was once a beginner. And the bunny slopes are the perfect place to learn together.”

You snuggle against his chest, still not convinced. “But it’s so cold there. You know I hate being cold.”

Charles kisses the top of your head. “The hotel has an amazing spa with hot tubs and a sauna. We can warm up in there after skiing. I’ll even give you a massage if you’re sore from falling down too much.”

“Gee thanks,” you laugh. “But what if I really am hopeless at it? I don’t want to ruin your trip.”

“Impossible,” Charles declares. “You could never ruin anything. This is about us having fun together, not about expert skiing. Though I have no doubt you’ll be shredding the black diamonds in no time.”

You smack his chest playfully. “Okay now you’re just lying to make me feel better.”

“Never,” Charles gasps in mock offense. “I have complete faith in your yet-to-be-discovered skiing abilities.”

You bite your lip, smiling shyly. His enthusiasm is adorable, even if misplaced. “Well, I guess it could be fun to try something new together ...”

Charles pumps his fist in excitement. “Yes! That’s my girl, up for an adventure!”

You hold up a finger in warning. “But I get to pick my own skis, and a helmet with a cute design on it. If I’m going to be falling a lot, I at least want to look stylish doing it.”

Charles grins. “Of course, whatever you need. I’ll take you to the best ski shops in town. You’ll be the most fashionable beginner skier on the mountain.”

You smile, shaking your head. “You’re crazy, you know that? Most guys wouldn’t want to deal with their girlfriends being accident-prone novices who will just slow them down.”

Charles takes your hands in his, gazing into your eyes earnestly. “Most guys are idiots then. I don’t care if you’re the clumsiest skier ever, I just want to experience new things with you. We’ll take everything slow, stop for plenty of hot chocolate breaks, and I’ll catch you every time you start to slip. The most important thing is being together.”

Your heart flutters at his words. You lean in for a tender kiss. “How did I get so lucky to find a man as sweet and patient as you?”

Charles smiles, pulling you close again. “I’m the lucky one. Now come on, we better start packing if we want to make our flight tomorrow morning!”

You wrinkle your nose. “Tomorrow? As in, the day after today? Don’t you think that’s rushing it a bit?”

“Why wait any longer to start having fun?” Charles counters enthusiastically. “Unless … you’re trying to back out already?” He pouts accusingly.

“No, no, I already agreed!” You insist. “It’s just, my suitcase is a mess and I’ll have to dig through my winter clothes and shop for ski gear and ...” Your protests trail off at the amused look on his face.

“Excuses, excuses,” Charles teases. “Admit it, you’re trying to stall so you can change your mind.”

You smack his shoulder again. “I am not! I promise I’m not backing out. I’m just … nervous. I’ve never skied before, what if I really am a disaster?” You bite your lip anxiously.

Charles tilts your chin up. “Hey, you’re going to do great. I’ll be with you every step of the way. But if you really aren’t comfortable, we can rethink this.” His eyes search yours with concern. “I don’t want you to feel pressured into anything, even from me. We can pick a different winter trip if you would rather do something else.”

You shake your head, smiling softly. “No, it’s okay. You’re right, it’ll be fun to try something new together. I’m just psyching myself out cause I’ve never been skiing before. But with you there supporting me … I can do it.”

Charles’s face lights up. “Yeah?”

You nod, leaning up on your toes for another lingering kiss. “Yeah. I trust you.”

“You’re the best!” Charles shouts gleefully, lifting you up and spinning you around. You cling to his shoulders, laughing.

“Whoa there, save some of that energy for the slopes,” you tease.

Charles sets you down gently, though his eyes still sparkle with exhilaration. “I’m just excited, that’s all. This is going to be such an amazing trip.” He kisses your forehead. “Thank you for agreeing to come. It means the world that you trust me enough to try this with me.”

You smile, running a hand through his hair. “Of course. Any chance to spend time with you is worth facing my fears and clumsiness.”

Charles grins. “Remember you said that when I have to stop every ten feet on the bunny slope to help you up.”

You smack his chest playfully. “Hey! I might not be totally hopeless.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Charles says seriously. “For all I know, you could be a secret skiing prodigy.”

You snort. “Yeah right. But I promise I’ll try my best not to plow into too many innocent bystanders.”

“That’s the spirit!” Charles encourages. “We’re going to have the best time.”

You smile up at him softly. “I know. Anywhere with you feels like an adventure.”

Charles’s eyes shine with adoration. He leans down for one more lingering kiss. “I love you so much. Now come on, we’ve got packing to do!”

He grabs your hand and you let him lead you excitedly down the hall, butterflies swirling in your stomach. You still feel nervous attempting something so out of your comfort zone. But Charles’s childlike enthusiasm is contagious. And you know without a doubt that by his side, you’re ready to try anything.

What’s the worst that can happen?

***

Famous last words.

This is the only thought running through your head as you stand at the top of the beginner ski slope, knees knocking together nervously. Charles had seemed so confident about this yesterday. But now, staring down the gentle incline covered in packed snow, you’re starting to realize how insane it is to strap slippery sticks to your feet and careen down a mountain.

Beginner slope or not, you’re certain to make a fool of yourself.

Charles must notice your trepidation, because he squeezes your mittened hand gently. “You’ve got this, mon amour. I’ll be right by your side the whole time.”

You smile weakly, comforted by his presence. At least when you inevitably crash and burn, it will be into his strong, steady arms.

Charles grins at you eagerly. “Ready to give it a try?”

You take a deep breath, willing your knees to stop quaking. “As I’ll ever be.”

“That’s the spirit!” Charles says brightly. He turns to address the small crowd behind you — his performance coach Andrea, best friend Joris, photographer Antoine, trainer Nico, and friend Antonio. “Okay guys, let’s start nice and easy so she can get the hang of it. We’ll take turns skiing slowly beside her.”

You feel a rush of gratitude for Charles’ patience and consideration. The other men cheerfully voice their agreement. With so many experienced skiers guiding you, surely you can handle gently sliding down this minor incline.

Charles volunteers to go first, expertly snapping into his skis and gliding to your side. “Just stay relaxed, bend your knees, and focus on keeping your tips pointing forward. The snow will do most of the work, you just have to guide the direction. I’ll stay right here if you need me.”

You wobble forward, mimicking Charles’ athletic stance as best you can. The slope doesn’t look nearly as gentle anymore now that you’re staring down it. But with Charles’ coaxing, you slowly push off.

For a moment, you feel triumphant. The icy wind whips past your face as you coast downhill, skis sliding smoothly. You’re doing it! This isn’t so hard after all.

But your small victory is short-lived. An unexpected bump jolts you, throwing off your tenuous balance. You pinwheel your arms frantically as the ground rushes up to meet you.

Before you can taste snow, Charles’ strong hands grip your waist, stabilizing you back upright. “Whoa there! I’ve got you, just regain your balance.”

Your heart pounds against your ribs. But the reassurance in Charles’s voice helps settle your nerves. With his support steadying you, you manage to get both skis back under control.

“Thanks,” you sigh in relief. “That would have been a quick first run.”

Charles grins. “What are ski instructors for? You recovered nicely. Want to keep going to the bottom?”

You eye the remainder of the slope warily. But so far with Charles’ help, you’ve managed not to cause a complete disaster. “Okay, but stay close please.”

“Always,” Charles promises, sticking to your side like glue.

With Charles’ hand hovering protectively behind your back, you make it the rest of the way down the slope with only a few wobbles. At the bottom, you collapse into Charles’ arms, exhilarated.

“I did it!” You cheer. Charles sweeps you up in a hug, spinning you around.

“You were amazing!” He proclaims proudly. “A natural.”

You smack his shoulder. “Oh stop, I would have face-planted in two seconds without you.”

“But you didn’t and that’s what matters,” Charles insists earnestly. “I told you this would be fun!”

You can’t help but smile, caught up in his enthusiasm. As the rest of the group takes their turns skiing slowly beside you for a few more timid runs, you start to relax into the motion. Having skilled athletes guide you step-by-step gives you the confidence to slide a little faster, turn more smoothly, and keep your balance over bumps.

With each successful run, Charles’ grin grows impossibly wider. “Look at you go!” He exclaims after your latest effort. “You’ve gotten so good, I might have some competition soon.”

You snort. “Let’s not get carried away.” But secretly, you’re thrilled by the progress. Maybe you do have some hidden athletic talent after all.

On your next run, you’re feeling confident enough to wave Charles forward. “I think I can make it one time on my own now. Just stay ahead in case I start to wobble.”

“You sure?” Charles checks, poised protectively at your side. At your firm nod, he smiles. “Alright, you’ve got this! I’ll just be a few paces ahead.”

As Charles slides effortlessly downhill, you push off after him, a fierce look of determination on your face. For a few moments, everything goes perfectly. You whoop excitedly as you zip down the slope, wind stinging your cheeks. Charles cheers you on from where he’s stopped halfway down.

But right as you reach him, disaster strikes. Your left ski hits a patch of ice and skids wildly sideways. You flail your arms, trying to stay upright, but it’s too late. Your legs fly out from under you and you’re airborne, the white ground spinning dizzily.

You slam down hard on your bottom with a painful whump. For a second, stunned silence fills the air. Then Charles is at your side, helping you up as raucous laughter echoes from the group gathered at the bottom.

“You okay?” Charles asks, barely contained mirth dancing in his eyes.

You groan theatrically. “Only my pride is bruised.”

Charles wraps an arm around your shoulders, joining in the laughter. “It was an awesome run up until that point!”

You lean your throbbing head against him for support. “Laugh it up, superstar. We can’t all be pros like you.”

Charles presses a quick kiss to your helmet. “Even the pros take spills sometimes. Falling is part of learning. And you really are getting so good!”

From below, Joris cups his hands to shout encouragingly, “We’re proud of you!” The rest of the group gives thumbs up and cheers.

Their support, combined with Charles’ steadfast pride, melts away your embarrassment. This mishap was simply proof you still have more to learn on your journey to skiing mediocrity.

After a few more cautious runs under the wing of Charles’ companions, you regain the courage to try solo again. Each time you stay upright a little longer, recovering from slips with increasing agility. The sun reflects brilliantly off the pristine white slopes, making you squint against the glare. But with the Dolomites rising majestically around you, icy air filling your lungs, and Charles’ voice urging you onward, you feel truly in your element.

By afternoon, the group decides you’re ready for something more challenging. Charles leads everyone to the top of a longer and steeper slope. It’s still rated for beginners, but looking down the incline makes your stomach drop.

“You’ve got this,” Charles says as you stare uncertainly. “It looks scary, but you’ll build up speed gradually. Just remember everything you’ve learned.”

You take a deep breath and nod, encouraged by his vote of confidence. As the others line up to follow behind you, Charles gives your gloved hand one last encouraging squeeze.

“See you at the bottom, mon amour!” He snaps on his own skis and glides smoothly to the base to wait. Heart hammering against your ribs, you push off.

The acceleration down the hill is alarming at first, icy wind biting your cheeks. But focusing on keeping your skis parallel, you manage to control your speed, leaning into smooth turns like Charles taught you.

Halfway down the slope you chance a glance over your shoulder. The group is fanned out behind you, following your path and whooping encouragement. Their cheers on this more difficult hill send a thrill of pride through you. Just wait until you tell your friends back home that you, Miss Uncoordinated Klutz herself, skied down an actual mountain!

But in your moment of distraction, disaster strikes again. Your right ski snags on something, jerking you off balance. Panicked, you spin your arms rapidly to recover. But it’s too late. You’re careening out of control, picking up dangerous speed.

“Look out!” You scream as you zip across the slope sideways. But the ground is racing too fast to stop. Other skiers scatter hastily out of your path as you barrel toward them like a runaway freight train. You slam through their midst in a spray of snow, not even having time to wince apologetically at the curses that follow your wake.

Up ahead, Charles’ figure grows rapidly larger as you hurtle toward him. He holds out his arms bracingly, but the impact when you collide sends you both tumbling head over heels in a tangle of skis and poles. Snow sprays violently in your wake.

When you finally roll to a stop, face down and groaning at the base of the slope, all is silent. Hesitantly you raise your head, blinking snow from your eyelashes. The sight that greets you is one of absolute chaos.

Skiers litter the slope, sprawled in your destructive path like fallen bowling pins. Poles, hats, and gloves are strewn haphazardly across the snow. Fresh scarlet tracks stain the pristine white from ski edges catching on now-shredded pants and jackets. Groans of pain and bewilderment fill the air.

Horrified, your gaze lands on Charles pushing himself up just a few feet away, covered head to toe in snow. He shakes powder from his hair, blinking dazedly. Then his eyes land on you.

“Mon amour, are you okay?” He asks, scrambling over in concern.

Mortified tears prickle your eyes as you stare speechlessly around at the scene of destruction. So much for impressing everyone with your burgeoning ski talents.

Some first day on the slopes this turned out to be.

***

As Charles helps haul you to your feet, pain suddenly explodes in your left knee. You cry out, leg buckling dangerously beneath you. Charles’ arms instantly wrap around your waist, holding you up.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, brow creased in concern.

You grimace, tentatively trying to put weight on your leg again only for searing agony to shoot through your knee joint. “Something’s really wrong,” you gasp through clenched teeth.

Charles’ face pales. He keeps you supported against his side as he quickly unclips your skis so you’re not stuck in them. The moment your left foot touches the snow though, you yell in pain, leg giving out dangerously again.

Charles sweeps you up effortlessly in his arms. “I’ve got you, don’t try to stand on it,” he urges worriedly.

Over Charles’ shoulder, you see his friends weaving through the dispersing crowd of skiers, fetching a medic. As they confer in urgent French and Italian, Charles holds you close, face etched with guilt.

“This is all my fault,” he murmurs, distressed. “I never should have pushed you to try skiing when you weren’t comfortable.”

Despite the fire burning inside your knee, you force a pained smile, touching Charles’ cheek. “Hey, don’t do that. I wanted to try, remember? You didn’t pressure me into anything.”

Charles just shakes his head bitterly. “But look what happened. I’m so sorry, mon amour.”

You open your mouth to protest further, but just then the medic arrives with a toboggan sled. Charles gently sets you down on the padded plastic. You recline back, trying not to jostle your leg as the medic examines your rapidly swelling knee.

At the lightest touch, you flinch away with a sharp cry. The medic frowns. “Possibile lesione al legamento crociato anteriore. Abbiamo bisogno di portarla in ospedale,” he says grimly.

Charles squeezes your hand, face pale. “He thinks you may have torn your ACL. They need to take you to the hospital.”

You blink back panicked tears. You’ve always been prone to clumsiness, but nothing this severe. As the medic gestures ski patrol over to help transport you, the pain throbbing inside your knee seems to mock your brief foray into athleticism. Maybe you just aren’t cut out for winter sports after all.

Charles refuses to leave your side during the bumpy toboggan ride down the mountain. At the base, an ambulance is waiting to take you to the nearest hospital. While the paramedics work swiftly to transfer you into the back, Charles cradles your hand, looking utterly distraught.

“I never should have let this happen,” he berates himself again. “What was I thinking taking an inexperienced skier down that slope?”

Despite your pain-induced haze, you glare sternly at him. “Charles, stop. This isn’t your fault, it’s mine for losing control. Please don’t blame yourself, you’ll make me feel even worse.”

Charles still looks unconvinced. But he forces a tight smile, brushing hair back from your face. “I’m sorry. I just hate seeing you in pain. Let’s just focus on getting you fixed up. The doctors will know how to help.”

You nod, trying not to let panic overwhelm you. As the ambulance wails toward the hospital, Charles keeps his gaze locked comfortingly on yours.

Once there, nurses whisk you immediately in for x-rays and MRIs. Charles paces the waiting room, refusing offers from his friends to bring him food or drinks. When the doctor finally emerges, Charles springs forward anxiously. “How is she?”

The doctor’s solemn expression says it all. “Your girlfriend has sustained a complete ACL rupture. She will require reconstructive surgery as soon as possible to repair it.”

Charles sags back against the wall, color draining from his face. You fight back tears as the doctor explains your diagnosis — one of the worst knee injuries possible. It will require months of intensive rehab even after the surgery.

When the doctor leaves, Charles returns to sit by your side from where he was pacing back and forth. The pain in your knee has settled into a pervasive throbbing. At the sight of your obvious anguish, Charles’ stoic facade finally crumbles.

“I’m so sorry,” he chokes out, rushing to your side. “This is all my fault.”

You grab his hand fiercely, despite the IV of painkillers tugging at your skin. “Charles, stop. I already told you not to blame yourself. It was an accident.”

“An accident I caused by pressuring you to ski,” Charles argues miserably.

You level your most stern glare at him. “Charles Leclerc, you listen to me. I chose to try skiing. Me. Not you.” Your voice softens. “So please stop tormenting yourself over this. It kills me to see you like this.”

Charles searches your face silently for a long moment. Finally he nods, exhaling shakily. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He gently brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. “I just hate that you’re hurt. But no more blaming myself, I promise.”

You smile weakly. “Good. Now come here.” Charles leans down and you tug him into a fierce kiss, trying to convey without words that you don’t hold him responsible.

When you pull back, Charles looks significantly less tormented. He caresses your cheek tenderly. “I’ll take care of you, I swear. You’ll get the best care possible and recover even stronger than before.”

You try for a teasing smile. “Guess you’ll have to find a new ski bunny next season.”

Charles shakes his head. “Never. No one could ever replace you.” His voice drops earnestly. “I don’t care if you never ski again, I just want you healthy and happy.”

Before you can reply, the doctor returns with consent forms for surgery. When he mentions performing the operation here, Charles’ brow furrows.

“No, she needs the best surgeon possible for this injury,” he argues. Turning to you, he adds, “I know a specialist at a private clinic in Austria. It’s where all the elite skiers go. I’ll fly us there tonight.”

Your eyes widen at the suggestion, but you know better than to argue once Charles is in protective mode. You have a feeling you’re about to receive world-class medical treatment fit for an Olympian.

Sure enough, Charles arranges for emergency transport to the prestigious clinic. On the flight, he sits vigilantly by your side, holding your hand through every painful bump of turbulence. By the time you’re admitted to the glamorous facility, you’re touched, but not surprised by the lengths he’s gone to in order to help you.

The surgeon Charles selected, Dr. Braun, inspires immediate confidence with his warm bedside manner and decorated credentials. After thoroughly examining your knee, he determines you are indeed a candidate for ACL reconstruction.

Charles listens intently as Dr. Braun explains the procedure, involving grafting tissue to replace your ruptured ligament. Though you try to follow along, exhaustion and pain medication make it hard to focus. All you can register is Charles rubbing your shoulder and reassuring you that Dr. Braun is the best there is. You trust Charles completely, so his confidence in this surgeon is enough.

Too soon, nurses arrive to prep you for surgery. As they wheel your gurney toward the operating room, Charles walks alongside, face etched with worry. He leans down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll be right here when you wake up,” he promises. “I love you so much.”

You cling to his hand for as long as possible before the nurses firmly insist he can’t go any further. As the operating room doors swing shut between you, separating you from Charles, your heart clenches anxiously. But Dr. Braun smiles kindly down at you, patting your arm.

“Not to worry, we’ll have that knee fixed up nicely,” he says. “When you wake, you’ll be on the road to recovery.”

As the anesthesia mask descends and your vision fades to black, you cling to the doctor’s reassuring words. Maybe there’s still hope for a somewhat happy ending to this disastrous ski trip after all.

***

As you blearily open your eyes, the first thing you see is Charles’ worried face hovering over you. The moment he notices you stirring, his expression floods with relief.

“Thank god,” he breathes, grasping your hand tightly. “How are you feeling?”

You blink slowly, trying to clear the hazy fog of anesthesia from your brain. “Okay I think.” Your voice comes out scratchy. You glance down at the heavy brace immobilizing your knee and the events leading up to surgery come rushing back. “Did it … go alright?”

Charles smoothes your hair back gently. “Everything went perfectly. Dr. Braun said it was a very successful surgery.”

You exhale, tension easing from your shoulders. With the capable doctor and Charles by your side, you’ve made it through the first step.

Right on cue, Dr. Braun enters, smiling when he sees you awake. “Wonderful, you’re up. How is our patient feeling?”

“A little groggy, but not too much pain yet,” you report.

“Excellent. The pain medication should be keeping you comfortable.” Dr. Braun moves to your bedside, examining your knee closely. “Everything continues to look promising in recovery. You’ll need to take it very easy for the next few weeks to protect the graft while it heals. But if all goes smoothly, you’ll be back on your feet before you know it.”

You nod, stomach swooping anxiously at the thought of the long recovery ahead. Noticing your nervous expression, Charles gives your hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Whatever she needs, we’ll make sure she has the best care and recovers properly,” he tells Dr. Braun seriously.

The doctor smiles. “Her rehabilitation will be the most crucial part. I work closely with a wonderful physical therapist, Elisa, who specializes in ACL reconstruction recovery. I highly recommend continuing your physio with her once you return home.”

Your eyes widen, not having considered that aspect yet. But Charles nods without hesitation. “Just tell us where she’s located and I’ll arrange for her to fly out to stay with us as long as needed. Money is no object.”

“Whoa, wait a minute,” you interject, head still fuzzy but fairly certain booking a private international physiotherapist is overkill. “That’s incredibly generous, but I’m sure I can find someone local-”

Charles silences you with a stern look. “Not a chance. Dr. Braun said this Elisa is the best. I won’t risk your recovery with anything less.” Turning back to the doctor, he adds, “Just say the word and I’ll have a plane and a place to stay waiting for her.”

You sigh, but can’t help feeling touched at the lengths Charles will go to help you heal. Dr. Braun seems equally unfazed by the bold offer — clearly Charles’ wealth affords certain privileges in care.

“I’ll speak to Elisa immediately and make the arrangements then,” Dr. Braun confirms. “With around the clock support from both her and myself, I’m confident you’ll recover wonderfully.” He gives your other knee an encouraging pat.

Over the next few days in the upscale hospital, you begin to adjust to the restrictive new reality of your injury. While your knee remains heavily braced and immobilized, the rest of your body seems to ache from compensating. But true to his word, Charles sticks to your bedside attentively, keeping you distracted with games and books during the long inactive hours.

When Dr. Braun finally clears you for discharge, you’re armed with piles of post-op instructions, crutches, and medications. As Charles helps you hobble out of the hospital lobby, you eye the crutches nervously.

“I’m not sure I can manage these things along with the brace,” you admit. The awkward metal sticks feel precarious beneath your arms.

Charles frowns, glancing between you and the crutches uncertainly. Then in one swift motion he sweeps you up into his arms instead.

You yelp in surprise, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Charles! What are you doing?”

“Carrying you, obviously,” he states, as if this were the most natural solution in the world. When you open your mouth to protest, he silences you with a look. “The doctor said to stay completely off your leg if possible. So no walking for you until it’s healed.”

You know better than to argue with Charles in protective caretaker mode. So you simply chuckle, shaking your head in amusement, and let him carry you like a princess out to the idling car.

At the airport, he again insists on keeping you cradled securely in his arms the entire walk out to the waiting private jet. Normally you’d feel self-conscious being lugged around like this in front of staff. But the utter tenderness in Charles’ hold makes you feel nothing but safe.

Once settled on the plush leather seat, Charles hurriedly arranges pillows under your braced leg. “Here, keep it elevated like Dr. Braun said. Do you need more pain meds? Let me grab you an ice pack ...”

He fusses attentively until you’re thoroughly bundled up with your knee raised and iced. Only once he’s certain you have everything required for the flight does Charles take his own seat, lacing his fingers through yours.

“Get some rest if you can,” he says gently. “I’ll wake you when we land to carry you home.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling. “My knight in shining armor.” Leaning your head on his shoulder, you nuzzle into his warmth. The steady rumble of the engines is soothing, and despite your lingering aches, you feel yourself beginning to drift off.

Throughout the flight, Charles continues diligently caring for you. He helps you hobble to the restroom with assistance. He ensures you take your next round of medications on schedule. When the flight attendant delivers meals, Charles only picks at his own, too focused on making sure you actually eat to remember his food.

You’re simultaneously touched and exasperated by his hyper-vigilance. But you know it comes from a place of love and residual guilt, so you endure his constant fussing without complaint. If doting on you helps absolve his conscience, then so be it.

By the time the jet begins its descent toward Nice, your eyelids are drooping heavily. Charles lifts the window shade, sunlight streaming over your face. “Almost home,” he says with a tender smile.

You blink groggily, glancing down to make sure your knee is still properly supported. Reassured that Charles hasn’t forgotten a single detail of your care, you nestle back against his chest contentedly.

As the jet coasts down the runway, Charles cradles you close, placing a kiss atop your head. “Get some rest, mon amour. I’ll carry you out and get you settled back home.”

His quiet promise fills you with cozy warmth despite the lingering chill from your ice pack. You let your heavy eyelids fall shut, lulled by the steady thump of Charles’ heart.

Tomorrow your intensive recovery begins. But tonight, safely encircled in your love’s arms thousands of feet in the air, you feel confident you have the strength to face whatever lies ahead.

***

When you wake a few weeks later, pale morning light is just beginning to creep across the blankets. Blearily, you glance over to see Charles already awake beside you, brow furrowed as he stares up at the ceiling.

“You’re up early,” you murmur sleepily. “Everything okay?”

Charles startles slightly, as if pulled from deep thought. He forces a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Of course, just thinking about some things.”

You prop yourself up on one elbow, scrutinizing him in concern. His evasive tone is uncharacteristic. “What’s going on? And don’t say nothing, I can tell something’s bothering you.”

Charles holds your gaze silently for a moment before letting out a heavy sigh. “It’s nothing, really. I’ve just been thinking about the start of the season coming up so soon.”

Your brow furrows. The opening race in Bahrain is only two weeks away. As the realization hits, your heart sinks. With your still-mending knee, it will be a lot harder to keep up with Charles globetrotting to races worldwide. For the past two seasons of your relationship, you’ve attended every race possible together. The thought of that no longer being the case feels daunting.

“Oh,” you say quietly. “I guess I hadn’t thought that far ahead yet.”

Charles’ expression is conflicted. He gently takes your hand, “I just hate the idea of leaving you here alone when you’re still recovering. It doesn’t feel right being apart.”

You force an optimistic smile. “Hey, don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself and Elisa will still be here for physical therapy. I’ll be okay.”

But your reassurance doesn’t seem to ease Charles’ frown. “I know, I’m just worried about you re-injuring yourself with no one here. I can get my mother to check on you too ...”

As he spirals back into restless thoughts, you squeeze his hand firmly. “Charles, stop. I’ll be fine, I promise. This isn’t my first time on my own, remember?”

Charles grimaces. “I know, but you’re hurt now. I just hate leaving you when you’re still recovering. If something happened while I was gone ...” He trails off, looking stricken.

Your heart swells at his protectiveness. But you won’t let him torment himself with hypotheticals. Sitting up fully, you level Charles with your most stubborn expression.

“Well then, it’s a good thing you won’t be leaving me here for long, because I’m coming with you just like always.”

Charles gapes. “What? No, you’re injured, there’s no way-”

“Uh uh,” you interrupt firmly. “I’ve been to every race I could since we got together, and I’m not about to miss one now over a bum knee. I’ll agree to skip pre-season testing but then I’m going to Bahrain no matter what.”

Charles' mouth opens and closes wordlessly before he finally manages to argue, “But how will you manage airports and flights and crowded paddocks? You’re still on crutches!”

You wave a hand dismissively. “So I’ll hobble around the paddock looking pathetic, big deal. Better than moping here alone.” Crossing your arms, you fix Charles with your most unyielding stare. “Face it, you’re stuck with me.”

Charles searches your determined expression, clearly trying to formulate another protest. But he knows you too well, can recognize when your mind is made up. With a resigned chuckle, he pulls you against his chest.

“You are the stubbornest person ever, you know that?” He kisses the top of your head, a smile in his voice. “But I really shouldn’t be surprised. Nothing can stop you from being there to cheer me on.”

You grin, basking happily in his embrace. “Damn right. You should know by now that I’m going to be by your side every race, no matter what.”

Charles just shakes his head in amused exasperation, arms tightening around you. “Well in that case, it seems I have some calls to make to arrange for your care in the paddock.”

You kiss his jaw tenderly. “See? Problem solved.” Settling back against the pillows, you add teasingly, “Now stop stressing and let me sleep a little more. Unlike you, I need my beauty rest.”

Charles barks out a laugh, the last tension fading from his frame. As you drift back into cozy slumber cradled against his chest, his steady breathing lulls you like a soothing melody.

Later that morning, it’s time for your daily physical therapy session in the makeshift rehab space set up in your apartment. Elisa guides you through gentle range of motion and strengthening exercises, keeping up cheerful encouragement. The work is grueling, but Elisa’s optimism inspires you to push through the discomfort.

You’ve just finished up with an ice break when hushed voices drift in from the adjacent room. Craning your neck, you glimpse Charles sitting at the kitchen island, phone to his ear as he rifles through an open notebook. Though you can’t make out his full conversation, you catch snippets.

“Need to make sure she has somewhere to rest comfortably ...”

“Don’t want her trying to walk too far ...”

“She says she’ll be fine, but I need to be sure ...”

You muffle a laugh into your hand. Of course Charles is already contacting Ferrari about you joining him in Bahrain, planning every detail to accommodate your injury. Elisa raises a questioning eyebrow but you just shake your head with a smile. Charles’ protectiveness never fails to make your heart melt.

Oblivious to your eavesdropping, Charles continues speaking in a hushed but urgent tone. You can visualize his serious expression pinched with concern, wanting to arrange every detail to ensure your comfort during race weekends.

It’s hopeless trying to curb his caring instincts. So you simply shake your head in amusement and turn back to your exercises, resolved not to override the plans you’re clearly not meant to hear.

After your session concludes, Elisa helps you prop up your leg to ice before gathering her things. “You’re making great progress,” she encourages. “Keep it up and you’ll be back to normal before you know it.”

You smile through your fatigue. “Thanks for everything. See you tomorrow?”

Elisa nods, waving farewell as she heads out. Once she’s gone, you eye your crutches propped nearby. Normally you’d use them to hobble around, but mischief sparks inside you. This seems like the perfect time to test your boyfriend’s hovering instincts.

Bracing yourself on the workout table, you carefully rise to your feet, keeping all weight on your good leg. The short hobble to the living room leaves you breathless, but triumphant.

Rounding the corner, you spot Charles sitting on the couch reviewing emails on his tablet. Before he notices your approach, you boldly flop down to sprawl across his lap.

Charles yelps in surprise, tablet clattering away as his arms reflexively cradle you. “What are you doing walking around alone? Where are your crutches?”

You grin up at him impishly. “Must have forgotten them back there. But I managed okay for a short distance.”

Charles gapes, torn between horror at your recklessness and awe at your determination. You take advantage of his stunned silence to wrap your arms around his neck and tug him down into a kiss.

“Have I mentioned how amazing and caring you are?” You murmur when you finally separate for air. “Taking care of me even when you think I don’t notice?”

Understanding flashes across Charles’ face and his cheeks tint pink. “You heard that phone call earlier, didn’t you?” At your smug grin he groans. “I should have known I couldn’t get anything past you.”

You laugh, nuzzling your nose against his. “It was very sweet. But you really don’t need to go through so much trouble for me.”

Charles’ eyes lock earnestly on yours. “It’s no trouble at all. I want to make sure your needs are taken care of so you can be comfortable and safe.” He brushes your hair back gently. “I hate the thought of you struggling while supporting me at races.”

Your playful expression softens. You take his hand, intertwining your fingers against your heart. “Do whatever you have to do so that you can focus on driving your best without worrying about me. I’m a big girl, I can handle a few weeks of long flights and sitting in the back of your garage instead of standing. As long as I’m cheering for you, I’ll be happy.”

Charles searches your face, as if committing every detail to memory. “I don’t deserve you,” he says finally, voice husky.

You smile, squeezing his hand. “Sure you do. We take care of each other. It’s what partners do.”

Charles’s eyes shimmer with emotion. He cradles your jaw, kissing you deeply. When he draws back, the anxious creases in his face have smoothed away, leaving only tenderness.

“I promise I’ll do my best not to worry,” he concedes. “Just promise you won’t push yourself too hard.”

“Deal,” you agree easily, then smirk. “Now, how about carrying me back to the crutches you claim I so desperately need?”

Charles laughs, once again sweeping you effortlessly into his arms. You cling to his shoulders, perfectly content to let him fuss over you just a little longer.

***

“We should all go skiing together!”

Pierre’s enthusiastic suggestion makes you freeze mid-bite, forkful of pasta suspended comically halfway to your open mouth. Across the table, Charles goes completely still, face draining of color.

Oblivious to your boyfriend’s reaction, Pierre barrels on with growing excitement. “There are some amazing resorts in the Alps we could visit over New Year’s. Epic mountains, fresh powder-”

“No!” Charles interjects forcefully. He looks mildly ill at just the thought. “Absolutely not happening.”

Pierre blinks in surprise at the vehement refusal. Even his girlfriend, Kika, appears confused by Charles’ sudden change in demeanor. You have to press your lips together to keep from laughing at their bemused expressions.

“But why?” Pierre asks, brow furrowed. “I thought you loved skiing.”

Charles shudders. “Not anymore. Not after ...” He trails off, eyes darting to you meaningfully.

Understanding dawns on Pierre’s face. “Oh! Right, of course.” He smiles apologetically. “Sorry, I didn’t think-”

You wave a hand, unable to contain your amusement any longer. “It’s okay, Pierre. I know you didn’t mean to bring up traumatic memories.” You cast a teasing glance at Charles. “But I think skiing might permanently be off the table for us.”

Charles nods emphatically. “Absolutely. Never again. From now on, we take beach vacations only. Somewhere warm, with no snow, mountains, or treacherous icy slopes.” He shudders again for effect.

By now, you’re laughing so hard you have to set down your water glass to avoid spilling it. You knew Charles was still sensitive about the topic of skiing, but you hadn’t anticipated him having such an extreme reaction tonight. His overprotective dramatics are too adorable.

Still chuckling, you lean over to smack a kiss on his cheek. “You’re being ridiculous, but it’s very sweet that you’re so traumatized on my behalf.”

Charles wraps an arm around you, some tension easing from his shoulders. “After what you went through, can you blame me for swearing off anything to do with skiing forever?” He shakes his head vehemently. “Never again. It was the most terrifying experience. I thought I might have permanently damaged the love of my life.”

Your heart melts. “I’m completely fine now, thanks to you. But I can understand preferring to avoid ski trips in the future.” You smile teasingly. “We can find a nice beach to lounge on instead.”

Pierre chuckles. “Yeah, that’s probably smarter. Sorry for bringing up bad memories.” He smiles sheepishly across the table. “A tropical vacation does sound nice though!”

The group dissolves into easy laughter, the awkwardness forgotten. The conversation meanders to warmer destinations and the approaching off-season. Charles eventually relaxes his grip on you, seeming reassured that skiing is off the table.

You make it through the rest of the amicable double date without incident. As you all exit the restaurant into the cool night air, Pierre turns to you and Charles apologetically.

“Really sorry again for that ski trip suggestion earlier. Definitely wasn’t thinking.”

You wave off his concerns with an easy smile. “Don’t worry about it! No harm done.” You pause, then add impishly, “Though from now on, Charles may vet all vacation plans just to be safe.”

Charles nods, face comically serious. “It’s true. I take your physical safety very seriously now.” His grave expression cracks into a grin. “So expect lots of beach vacations in our future together!”

Everyone dissolve into laughter again. After final farewell hugs, you and Charles head to your car, his arm wrapped securely around your shoulders.

Once home, Charles tucks you into bed with an amount of care bordering on reverence. As he curls up behind you, you lace your fingers through his against your heart.

“Have I told you lately how amazing you are?” You murmur into the darkness.

You feel Charles smile against your hair. “Maybe, but feel free to say it again.”

You snuggle deeper into his embrace. “You’re pretty much the best boyfriend on the planet. I love how protective you are over me, even when it’s a bit dramatic. It just shows how much you care.”

Charles presses a kiss to the top of your spine. “Of course I care. You mean everything to me.” His voice drops lower. “I never want to be the reason you get hurt again.”

You roll over to face him, gently cradling his jaw. “You could never hurt me. What happened was an accident, and I recovered just fine. So no more feeling guilty, okay?”

Even in the dim light you can see the sincerity in Charles’ eyes as he searches your face. “You really are too good for me,” he murmurs. “I’ll try to stop feeling overly responsible. Though I make no promises on vetoing future ski trip suggestions,” he adds with a teasing grin.

You laugh, snuggling happily against his chest. “Now get some sleep.”

As his breaths deepen into slumber, you reflect on how lucky you are to have found someone so devotedly caring. With Charles’ fiercely protective presence heating the sheets beside you, the future — filled with sandy beaches rather than ski slopes — looks bright indeed.

[packsvlog]

☕️⌇ ◜ OFFICE HOURS ◞ ⠀⠀⠀

╰⠀boss!nanami x secretary!reader where . . . nanami kento can’t let people know the reality that he, under no circumstances, belongs to them. in fact, is quite the contrarie. everyone in this job is a puppet willingly letting him pull the strings. you more than anyone. after committing the bizarre mistake of telling nanami your true intentions with him, your boss is more than eager to comply your desires and just maybe, forget he first input of no belongings.

cw. too much swearing, fingering with others present (not caught), fem!reader, reader keeps daydreaming w. nanami, slightly age gap but non-important all legal, public sex, overstimulation, they both keep failing to hide, possessiveness, love bites, he slap her thigh once, bit of blood because of self lip biting 4.9k words, english is not my first language.

an. hi, hello, i want everyone to know i’m this man wife. this is, in fact, our love story, i used to serve his coffee, now i’m serving my puss— anyways, enjoy it. FYI nanami smells like either tom ford tobacco vanille or byredo bibliothèque.

There are certain events in the workplace ── a sequence, if you may ── that serves as a warning to everyone that Mr. Nanami Kento has arrived.

Not many months ago, you were clueless to the symphony of presentation he had, even before stepping into the room. Now, though, it’s engraved in your mind. Much like he is. It is, also, a dirty secret to have that you eagerly wait for it, everyday.

Halting the tack-tack of your fingers on the keyboard, your ears pick the first signal ── rushed footsteps. All opening space so he can pass without the need to raise his eyes, hidden by sunglasses, from his cellphone. The second is the whispers and swooning. Some, more brave than others, compliment him out loud. Always about his peculiar ties, and always he smiles back. Lastly, when Nanami is in your sight of view, he is accompanied by his signature scent that greets you before he even does.

The most raw way to describe his smell is by saying that you wish you could crack him open, and lay inside of him forever. It’s comfortable and addicting and it makes you want to kiss him until it can permanently fixates on you.

In more proper synonyms, Nanami Kento smells like caramel, wood and a bit smokey. He is hot to the touch, one can admit. You don’t fall far from these thoughts, but sometimes, when you are not eye-fucking your boss, you think he smells like a cozy cabin in the woods.

Perfect place to fuck him, though.

Is easy to imagine such a thing. You can picture him with thick sweat covering his body, like a second layer, as he comes inside with a hatchet and wood for the fireplace. And you can, also easily, imagine yourself on your knees sucking him so good, as way to thank him for keeping you warm.

It’s a Kento effect. Everywhere he passes, people tend to have a heat stroke. You are no better than the others. Probably worse. He, however, does not need to know that. Nanami’s plate is already filled to the brims with people gazing him as a snack, he doesn’t need his personal assistant to do the same.

Not in front of him, anyways.

So, when he comes near your table, and stop to take whatever you have for him (work related, honey, even when you wish it was your pussy), you present the calls he need to answer with a compliment for his shoes and a black coffee with pretzels.

He adores you.

You want to fuck him senseless.

A perfect imperfect balance of clashing feelings. His are professional, yours are not even close. He only steps over the boundaries when it’s to call you “Darling” and you only do so in your head, when you think of laying on his table and letting him feast on your dripping cunt.

He is gentle and caring.

You wouldn’t mind chanting his name loud enough for everyone to understand what’s happening.

He departs ways and you share a trembling sigh with your inner turmoil of emotions. He makes you have a constant fever. In fact, with him, everything is constant. You want to fuck him everyday, you touch yourself with his voice in your mind guiding you. He gets pretty out of character in your alone mind, though.

Real Nanami is a sweetheart. Your Nanami would make you cry while on his cock.

“── and the meeting room needs to be ready by eleven, you can do all that, darling?” He asks. He asks! He is talking with you.

“I, uh, I’m sorry, Mr. Kento,” You stutter before shifting your attention from your computer screen to his charming understandable smile. “could you repeat, please?”

“Sure, darling.”

You need to put extra neurons to work when eyeing his pink lips moving gracefully. Is it the same shade as his cock? Oh, you hoped so. That would be your favorite color, would paint your nails, your hair, anything.

“Got it now?” Nanami curls his lips as he question you. You can’t lie to him, so you sign that No, you did not payed attention. He chuckles and comes closer, resting both hands in fist on your table, letting himself down so he can be face to face with you. “I need you to order mine, yours and the lunch for the usual gentleman I talk about the finances, ── you have that noted, right?” You nod, and he proceeds. “Then, I want you to decorate the meeting room, the way you always do.” You nod again, and he moves back. You want to whine. “Good girl.”

Pause.

That’s new. It’s like achieving a new item in a game. A new level. That’s a prize, the greatest form of enlightenment one could have. You feel warm in your chest and cheeks, but dare not to sway your eyes from his twinkling ones. You wonder if he knows what you are thinking, or if he knows the power he has over you ── over everyone.

That’s Nanami Kento. The man with a dazzling aura, it touches all in proximity, no one survives him. If he wants, you are his. Hooked like a worm, willingly ready to be devoured by a fish, and the thing is no one knows if Nanami is said fish or the fisherman.

The secret about his success is not only the sweet talk he does, but the way he can easily take it away. And no one wants to be away from his warmth. You’ve seen it before, how he controls people ── some more powerful than your mind can comprehend, they all are puppets for him to pull the strings. He touches and praises them when they do what he wants, but Nanami grows cold and absent when they don’t.

Everyone wants to be loved by him, so everything this enterprise does, it revolves around Nanami.

He can be a scary man when he wants, and you’ve heard the tales, from time to time. With you, fortunately, he is just your nice boss. And a part of you wish he would cradle you into his arms and play with you like a marionete. His doll. Yeah, you want to be his fucking doll.

Tempted to ruin this lunch and be ravished by his famine, you shake your deranged thoughts and focus on ordering the food. Also asking for red velvet cookies for you and Mr. Gojo, the owner of this whole enterprise.

A cocky young man, that likes to devour your physique whenever you come inside the room. He is rich and beautiful and his name is always on the newspaper with gossip mostly involved. You could fall for him, could fuck him, but he is not Nanami.

He doesn’t boss you around gently, nor he makes you crave his scent on lonely nights. He makes you shy, but not timid and horny. In fact, you don’t even think about Satoru Gojo unless you are balancing his persona with Nanami’s. That’s sad for him.

You keep doing that ── the thoughts, the sexual dreams ── while preparing the meeting room with a charming decoration. Black glasses, black plates, all with golden details. Satoru Gojo himself payed for it, not that he knows or care. You commented once, Nanami liked, and moved his toys in favor of buying the expensive kitchen utensils you wanted. He even made sure to get some for your own house.

The last part is closing the thick black curtains around the room, for privacy. Someone comes inside the second you step back from the last tapestry, and when you turn, Nanami is there.

“How’s everything?” His fingers press on the table, moving swiftly with him, closer to you. “You’ve got cookies?” There is amusement in his question.

“Mr. Gojo’s secretary, Suguru, told me he was craving something sweet.” You turn back to the table behind you, stacking the sweet in a small mountain. “He always gets fussy if he doesn’t get his daily large intake of sugar.”

You grabbed one, knowing that half of it was rightfully yours, and twisted on your heels. Nanami scared you in two sequential situations after that. The first being his looming presence right in front of you, piercing gaze on you, shifting between your eyes. He was searching for something in it, so, you tried the hardest you could to give him something back. Eyes that said “please, fuck me.”

Maybe it worked. The next thing he did, that scared you, was bending down and biting your cookie. Eyes never leaving yours. You gulped, he smirked.

“Please, fuck me.”

He chocked.

See, your eyes were supposed to be the one speaking for you, but Nanami also has this super power that no one can lie to him. He wants something, he gets it delivered in a silver plate. He knows everyone’s secret, and yours were never safe, just happened to be hidden in a line of things that weren’t priority for him. Not until now, at least. He wanted to know what you were hiding, and you gave it to him.

“I ──” The words are struck behind your teeth. Nanami eagerly waits for them. “I’m so sorry.”

And with that, you leave him.

In a perfect world, he would have grabbed you by the wrists and fucked you against Satoru’s side of the table. But it’s not, because he lets you go. He has to let you go, even if you know that’s not the end of it. He will get you later, and like a little kid in science class, he will dissect everything you said. Therefore, during the thirty minutes of freedom you are granted in the bathroom, before the meeting starts, you try and fail and try and fail to conceal your thoughts into a perfect lie.

It doesn’t work. Not even a bit. Because Nanami knows you like the back of his hand, as much as he knows everyone that works with him. He knows when you lie and when you are truthful, and thanks to that, your work relationship had always been good ── you’ve never lied to him to stroke his ego. You were too busy wanting to stroke something else. Nanami let you slide your nasty comments about others, and he would share them, granting you some of their secrets.

He was a gossiper. He knew everything. You knew right there that lying would never work with him, so you just avoided to let him reach that horny part of yours that burned for him. Give him something else to sink his attention into. Your neck, you wanted, but rather you would feed him with gossips from your college classes, or what you got from Suguru Geto, your friend and Satoru’s assistant.

Now, you had already run out of distractions. Maybe that was his plan all along. If the world is correct, and it all falls down to Nanami’s desires, then maybe he was just waiting for you to crumble and admit. You had never been subtle with your eyes, anyway. That’s why he had been so fascinated about it, staring from time to time, trying to catch a glimpse of your true self, like a wishing star in a starry night.

The stars have gone dark, burned and busted away, when you come back to the meeting room and sit down on your designed chair, by his side. Nanami is focusing at you, again, like he needs more of your secrets at this moment. You have never gave him something so largue before, he is addicted.

But you, stubborn, appalled, stoic and all, think your plate of pasta is the most interesting thing in this whole world. You don’t eat much, because your throat is filled with all the words and screams you want to let out. You fear if you so much breathe loud, it will all come flooding this room.

“Are you annotating all of this in your head?” Nanami whispers in your ear, referring to the meeting now in progress. You sign no, and he sighs. “Your mind is far away, today.”

“Sorry.”

“What should I do with you?”

Someone coughs. An old man, standing by the edge of the table. He wants Nanami’s eyes on him, the praise, the goodness. Kento grants him half a smile, and that is not enough. Never will be. Everyone always wants more.

The lights are turned off when the projector is brought by Suguru, he comes and goes quickly, not before stealing a cookie from Satoru. That’s the first smile you present since the incident, and Nanami is back at staring at you with an intensity your heart fears but your pussy drips for. Are you scared? Petrified. And still, you are fucking horny.

He knows your secret, he is devoting his eyes to you, no matter what anyone else wants. He, in this moment, wants you. It might be because he needs to know what you meant, it might be because you are stroking his ego, finally. Or, you dare wonder, he is debating throwing you on that table and fucking you. Old men and Satoru aside, you wouldn’t mind. At all.

You take courage to look at him, and instantly you stare at his lips first, before his eyes. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me. You go back at eyeing the projector. He does the same a long beat later. An even longer one, he slowly puts his hand on your exposed thigh, skirt raised since you set down.

You try to not fail in your stoic face, but you do so anyway. Because, for fuck’s sake, Nanami Kento has his hands on your thigh, his thumb in circular movements. Your lips instinctively curl up, he snorts by your side before going back to his serious demeanor.

You thought he would just keep his hands there, as if testing the water but deciding to stay near the shore. That’s not his case, though. Nanami loves to go to the beach, to swim far away beyond the waves, he likes to get damped. His hand move closer, and you open your legs absentmindedly. He wants, you give. As much as you have wanted, and now he is giving you.

When his hands are pressing against your lacy underwear, you hear a little “Fuck” coming from his mouth. You’re soaking wet.

It’s hard to keep your breathing pattern steady when he is near you. Even more harder when he has one finger slowly penetrating you. For the outsider viewer, everything is normal, and the two of you are just concentrated on the projector screen. The truth is you have no idea what’s going on, and maybe neither does him. You want to moan, and tug his hair until he groans. And you want him to replace his finger with his cock. You stare at the annotation book, empty of your handwriting, and use the opportunity of your head down to hang your mouth open and close your eyes.

Nanami shifts his eyes to you, and he drowns himself into your fucked gaze, even more so when he puts another finger. He can’t linger much, or others will notice, so he decides to keep his movements fluid and calm, and to stare at you from time to time.

He can multitask. Of-fucking-course. He asks questions, answers, he acts as if he is one hundred percent into whatever is going on. The reality is different. The truth is all about his curling fingers pressing themselves in a place inside you that will forever mark his presence there. Like a secret plaything only for him, no one, not even you, will ever reach that. It’s like he is signing it with either his name only or a “Nanami was here.”

You want him to stay, forever. Stay inside you, slow pacing, curling, sensitive.

He can’t, because what feels like hours later, turns into minutes. Everyone is raising up to leave, and he moves out of you so fast, you clench around nothing ── had you been quicker, grabbed his fingers, they all would know. You don’t give a fuck, you want them too know.

“Go to my office.” He whispers before going the opposite direction of the exit, and staying back to talk with the others. You walk without a goodbye, creating an excuse when Satoru wants some of your time.

Inside his office, you feel like breathing for the first time. It’s confusing, like your lungs are new and not fully connected to your esophagus, so it comes up weird ── in a mixture of laugh and relief, salted with a “what the actual fuck”.

You want to stop and think of what’s happening or what’s to happen, but you never had the chance. It’s a second later, and you are being pressed against his, now, locked door. His arms holding your hips, his head resting on your neck, sulking your scent much like you do with his.

“You meant it, right?” He asks, bringing his face up to yours. “You want me to fuck you. Please, darling, say you do, because I need to fuck you now, or I’ll go crazy.”

“Yes, please, please.” Midway through your desperate nod, Nanami lunged at you, catching your lips in his and conducting the rhythm, the strength.

He was so, so good. In all ways. His slow fingers had your legs shaking and his eager kiss has your mind fogged. All that he does seems to be professional, but you know deep down, this effect is all because is made by him. Just his presence alone could have you hot and bothered, but to actually be touched by him, it’s like adding the fire to your gasoline self.

You had always been meant to be burned by Nanami.

He hoist you up against the door, for a quick second his hands kept clawing your thighs, until he walked you both to his desk. He let you down on it, and at the same time, his kisses moved to your neck and shoulder. You could feel the scrape of his teeth, tempted to mark you with a significant bite ── tell them I’m yours, you thought.

He groaned against your flustered skin, because he knew he couldn’t do that. Mark you, that’s it. Fuck you? Oh, that he can, that he will do.

“I need you to be really quiet for me.” His hands are quick on his belt, dropping it with a thud against the floor. He raises your skirt to your waist, Nanami grumbled under his breath with the sight of your underwear. He had touched the elaborate details earlier, but to see it was another story. White, see through, a pink ribbon on the top. “I’m going to rip it.”

“No, you’re not!” Raising your leg, you pushed him away. Eyes still hypnotized by your clothed cunt. You removed the piece with a satisfied smirk. It had been months since you started to wear those type of under-wears, hoping one day this situation would come.

No one wants to fuck their sexy boss with granny’s pants.

The cold table coming in contact with your intimacy made you moan a bit, and Nanami’s attention was back on you. There you were, beautifully waiting for him. Fuck-me eyes, pleading mouth, hands gripping the edge of the desk. You were at his mercy, had been for a while now. And he? Well, Nanami was yours now, that’s what matter.

One of his fingers, the same one he had penetrated you earlier, came back inside you. Smearing itself with your wetness. His other hand gripped your hips, bringing you closer, and making him go deeper. There, right fucking there. He curled, and thrusted, and another two more out of nowhere.

Cruelty was not on the way he was ravishing your cunt, but the biting of your teeth on your hand. You have to be quiet, follow his orders, but Nanami seemed to want to make you scream. Let everyone know that he is fucking you. Nearly fucking you.

Combining this movements with the ones of earlier, you feel your insides getting tighter. He senses as well, and raises his peace once more. But, again, your legs push him away. Nanami doesn’t like that, he comes back quick, wet fingers anxious to reclaim their place inside you, but you sign no, and he halts. That’s it. The man that controls everyone, and he is at your mercy.

“I want to cum on your cock.” Maybe is the sweet and diabolical way you say, or the tilting of your head with a charming smile. What matters is, he complies right away. His pants fall, he takes off his blazer, and not a second later you are presented with what you’ve been craving for months.

Like a pregnant lady, you almost cry and fall on your knees, finally having your desire attended. He doesn’t want that either, instead Nanami takes a condom from his wallet. Before he puts it, his waiting fingers touch your cunt again, grabbing a bit of your liquid and smearing it on himself. You nearly ask him to throw the condom away.

Is a sinful sight. All of this. You on the desk, legs wide open. He in front of you, adjusting himself on the condom. Both groaning when he, fucking finally, align with your entrance, and slowly gets in. He is largue, and thick, and preparation might have been necessary had you not been daydreaming of this moments months ago.

Had he not been himself, that man that makes you drip with just a “good morning”, this might have hurt. Instead, it’s exhilarating to be parted by his cock. The condom does not stop you from feeling his veins tickling your walls, or his tip finally setting near your cervix. That was fucking new. Pleasant and scary, and fucking welcome as well.

“Say it again,” He asks, hands on both your hips and eyes looking over yours. Waiting for the stars to fall over the two of you. “tell me to fuck you.”

“Fuck m──” He doesn’t wait for you to end before he removes himself, and going back with a gushing sound. You nearly scream out of pleasure, but in the last second, you bite your lips strong enough to draw some blood. “Mmh, you fucking a-asshole.” He snorts at that, before slapping your thigh.

Seems that Nanami can do all the noises he wants. He groans against your skin, head hanging low to stare at the way you pussy suck his dick in and out. You have always been a good girl ── his good girl. Taking all the he gave you. Mostly work related, and now his cock. You truly were made just for him.

“You feel so fucking good, baby.” A moan scapes your hands, and he doesn’t bother spanking your leg again. He called you baby, and you’re strangling his dick perfectly. You can shout at this point, he is pussy fucked.

Removing your hands from your mouth, you decide to do something much better than guarding your pleasure. Instead, you open his button-up blue shirt. A dream come through, is what this day will be remembered as. Specially now, where he lets you do as you pleases, and you have the sight of his pecks ── bronzed from a beach trip he took last week, and glistening with sweat for your recent activities. You moaned again, before going for it, and marking him.

Nanami allowed you to do so. He only cared about holding your hips and raise your lower body, so he could make you meet his thrusts halfway. He didn’t hold a care in the world about his groaning getting louder, or the burning on his neck and chest caused by your eager mouth and teeth. Fuck that. Fuck everyone. The only thing he truly wanted was to be inside of you forever. To be planted in this moment of his life, on loop, being marked by you, having his cock milked out by your dripping cunt. That’s what his life was made for.

Nanami Kento had this aura that made everyone scramble for him and his left-overs, as a way to keep close. To say they have something that once was his. Because everyone knew that Nanami was no one’s property. This moment, this fuck, this pussy proved that statement to be contraire ── he was yours. From the first day he saw you and specially one hour ago, when he had eaten your cookie and you told him to fuck you. He knew right then that he would shift the whole balance of the world to give you what you want.

And if that’s his aching cock, fucking be it. It’s yours. You’re taking it so good, and barely paying attention to it. He keeps bruising your cervix, and you respond with little whimpers and more bites. He quicken his peace, you close your legs around his waist, as if giving him more opening.

A perfect synchrony.

“Wan’ to cum.” You mumble just right after he senses your wall get tight.

“C’mon, baby, ugh, cum f’me.”

“Mmh, fuck, ngha.”

You do right after, going limp on his arms, he slow his thrusting with a snort and laying you down on the desk. He shuffles something by your dazed-self side, before he brings a black sharpie near your cleavage. He kisses and licks and sucks on it, before opening the pen with his mouth, and signing a straight line.

“How many more can you give me, pretty?” You don’t answer in words, but with more quiet whimpers, when his thrusts go back to pounding you in a maniac pace. He holds your neck down, leaning to kiss you through your beautiful moans.

You’re sensitive, he knows. Because you keep closing more and more around his length, trying to make him cum, unknown to you that it only makes you closer to coming again. You hit your head on the desk when trying to follow his departed lips, Nanami has your neck again on his mouth, tasting your sweat and lotion, and all you can give him. It’s only when he bites it slightly, you release yourself once more.

“Mmph, fuck, fuck, argh.”

Nanami keeps jerking his hips onto yours, not even having cum once. He takes pleasure in yours, you can see. With a proud smirk, he grabs the sharpie once more, but this time, he makes a diagonal line that touches the top of the first.

“Mhm──!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, baby. Just a bit more.” He cooed at you, sweet tone diverging from his animalistic movements.

You’re not complaining, not even regretting. So you keep yourself down and let Nanami control both of yours fun. He is ruthless in his pace and fantastic with his kisses, he doesn’t mind your moaning anymore, or the fact that everyone on your floor already knows. What can they do? Stop you? Nanami will rip everyone apart and just return to your pussy. Threaten him? No one would dare. He is still their sweetheart, their most sacred prize, beautiful and shinning to look at. Never to have.

“I’m, ugh, I’m yours.” He grunts.

This time, you sense a shift in his thrusts. So methodical now sloppy, and his cock kept twitching inside of you, sending more waves of pleasure to your core. Yes, fucking finally, he was near.

“All fucking m──mine.” You agreed with his words, grabbing the back of his neck and slamming your lips together. “I’m yours, always had been.”

Nanami can’t even control himself anymore. He groans and pants as he releases himself inside you. With a mist of swearing and praises you could barely decipher. After all, his own release had triggered yours.

When you both had come back from the high, Nanami raised himself from your chest, and kissed you, tongues intertwining, teeth clashing and biting. When he parted, leaving you breathless, he had then pen in his hand again. It touched your skin, once more, connecting from the bottom of his last line, going up straight.

It’s a “N”.

“You think we can spell my name?” He asks, leaving your inside to throw his condom out. He opens a drawer, where a box with more is presented.

“That would be more 17 fucks.” You support your weight on your elbows while counting.

“It’s that a no?”

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles up your throat, before beckoning him closer. He does right away, kissing you hungrily once more. As if he is trying to record forever the taste of your mouth. He has your hair in his fists, pushing it back so he can go back to your, now, heavily marked neck.

“Let’s see how far can we go.” You indulge into his crazy erotic idea.

Nanami smiles triumphantly. He removes himself from your body, but doesn’t put condoms, instead, he falls on his knees, diving straight for your pussy.

Hours later, the sun beginning to set on the horizon, you leave his locked office with a smug smirk and timid eyes. Both accompanied by messy hair, flushed cheeks, marked neck and… “Nana” written on your chest.

“We’ll finish this later.” He comes behind you, closing his shirt, but letting the top buttons opened enough to catch a glimpse of your love marks on his chest. Specially the one with “Mine” marked in it.

[hiraethwrote]

Been thinking a lot lately about how Satoru doesn’t really cook.

Growing up the way he did, everyone was pulling from every direction, unloading immense responsibility on him because of the Six Eyes. So normalcy wasn’t in the cards for him.

From a young age, his schedule was packed from dusk to dawn with all kinds of tasks embedded on him. And so, dinner was simply a time of day for him more than anything else. He was served a mediocre dish, then he had to return to his responsibilities.

And then he moved to Tokyo, and was finally blessed with some newfound freedom. But he didn’t want to waste this spare time learning how to cook, especially when Jujutsu Tech served him perfectly okay meals three times a day. Who was he to not take advantage of such privilege?

Any interest of developing some culinary skills was also smothered by his insane sweet tooth. Something he’d picked up as a way to help him, quickly evolved into never ending munching — forget proper food.

Sadly for him, the number of responsibilities didn’t decrease as he entered adulthood — rather the opposite. And now, as he was technically a grown up, there was a lot less tolerance for nonsense. People expected things from him now.

Yet again, cooking dinner was deprioritised. He also didn’t see a reason to devote time to cook when it was so much easier to just have it delivered right on his doorstep. He had the means to support such an expensive luxury, so why not?

Sitting down by the dining table after a long day of duties, a warm meal welcoming him with delightful smells never even became something he missed, seeing as he didn’t know what it was he had sacrificed for choosing the easy path.

Then you came creeping into his life.

You in general, had been a surprise to say the least. After everything, pursuing anything romantic wasn’t something that had been on his list of priorities either. But once he met you, he couldn’t not try to make you his.

Everything escalated pretty quickly, and it was fairly early on that you decided you wanted to cook for him for the first time.

“I got some insane pasta cravings. You down for that tonight?” You had your phone resting between your shoulder and your cheek while you scanned the grocery isles for what you needed.

“Yeah, sounds good,” he answered on the other end of the line. “I’ll just have whatever you’re having.”

You couldn’t help but giggle a little at his comment, a tiny bit confused by what he meant. “Well, duh. I’m not making two separate pasta dishes.”

“Oh,” a moment of silence from your boyfriend as the reality set in. “Yeah, no, of course. Just habit I guess,” smearing on with his usual, charismatic voice to play off his little slip.

Because poor Satoru had only assumed you would be ordering in, since it was all he really knew. The concept of prepping and cooking a dish from scratch hadn’t even crossed his mind.

A few hours later, the same usual comfort that came from your company, welcomed him along with an assortment of the most delicious smells once he arrived at your apartment.

“Ah, perfect timing,” you smiled, rushing to give him a small peck on the lips when he joined you in the kitchen before quickly hopping back to putting the finishing touches on dinner.

A small sensation of worry filled you, because this was the first time you had witnessed Satoru completely silent. Taking the time to turn your head over your shoulder to make sure he was alright, you saw his eyes just taking in the scenery of the set table and the somewhat messy kitchen.

“Just take a seat, Satoru,” you chuckled nervously, nodding in the direction of what had become his designated chair. “It’s almost ready.”

You saw a weak nod before he slowly shuffled over to the table and sat down. He swallowed the small lump in his throat when you put the casserole on the table in front of him.

“Dinner is served. But it’s hot, so just, be careful.”

When he didn’t move a muscle, you tried to act as if things were normal and served yourself first, hoping he would eventually tell you whatever it was that had gotten into him.

“Satoru?”

Your soft voice of concern snapped him back to reality, his familiar smile finding its way back to his expression — though he wasn’t truly himself quite yet.

“Looks absolutely delicious!” He gushed and finally filled his plate.

You continued to eye him with some suspicion as he started to dig in. Something you couldn’t put your finger on, washed over him when he took the first bite. Then another, and another, and another — then he was suddenly ogling you with the widest eyes you could remember seeing on him.

“This might be the best thing I’ve ever eaten!”

You pursed your lips to choke back the exaggerated laugh that was about to burst out at his statement, that you were convinced had to be a lie.

“Is that so?” You teased, carefully stepping deeper into the topic to see if he was actually being truthful.

“Babe, this-“ he cut himself off, awe overtaking him. “Where did you learn this?”

You shrugged casually. “I’ve just picked up a few things over the years, I guess.”

“What else can you make?”

“Uhm, I don’t know,” you stuttered, a little taken aback by his surprising enthusiasm to what you considered to just be a simple pasta dish. “Several things.”

“Could you please cook for me tomorrow? And whenever you have the time?”

“Of course,” you smiled, shoulders resting when he now seemed to be totally fine, finishing his first portion only to take yet another huge serving.

Because to Satoru, it was more than just dinner.

Dinner and eating had always just been yet another task he did simply because he knew he had to eat. Never had there been any deeper meaning to it — but you showed him it could definitely be more.

To him, it also became a sign of devotion. You were willing to put in the time and the work to make him something nice, then you would get to enjoy it together. No one had really done that for him before.

Finally it was Satoru's turn to enjoy the domesticity of something as mundane as a home cooked dinner.

©hiraethwrote 2024 . all rights reserved. reposting, translating and otherwise plagarisim is prohibited

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ FIRST KISS — GOJO SATORU.

contents. fluff + mutual pining if you squint, it’s literally just you being satoru’s first kiss <3, he’s just a loser boy beneath all his facades !!

it’s summer the first time you kiss satoru. his lips taste like the lingering sweetness of kikufuku. the cicadas are calling, and the sun finds every crevice of your skin to hug.

it’s hot outside—but you don’t mind the heat so much when it’s the fan of satoru’s breath against your skin. you can feel his hands tremble as they finds your hips. hesitant, you note as he pauses a moment before finally letting them rest against you.

“you’re eager, sweetheart,” he hums—because satoru, even dazed from the taste of you, is still persistently himself. large hands are gently cradling the curves of your waist—he’s warm there too, where he holds you and pulls you closer to his chest. he grins when you press a kiss to his jaw, rubbing circles into your hip with his thumb.

“it doesn’t feel like you’re kissing me while held at gunpoint either, gojo,” you roll your eyes. your hand cups his face, thumb tracing over the swell of his cheek gently.

gojo—his lips, rosy and just a bit swollen, pout at the use of his surname. surely, now that you’ve stolen the innocence of his lips, you can spare him a bit more than that. surely, the intimacy of his given name doesn’t outweigh the intimacy of exchanging breath.

satoru—he imagines the way the name would sound from you, carefully whispered like a secret. everything you do is careful, he’s noticed, everything about you is thoughtful and soft.

more than anything, you’re careful in the way you touch him. you’re delicate in the way you let yourself explore his skin, like he’s fragile and easy to hurt. like all he’s ever known is pain. it’s ironic—someone like satoru should know very little about pain, should never feel the devastating blows at its hands when infinity leaves more than enough room for him to remain untouched.

but you’re funny like that; take him by surprise as you carve out the slant of his cheekbone with your thumb slowly enough that you might almost think your touch is enough to slice the skin.

it’s nice, he thinks distantly, being handled with care is nice. it’s not something this world affords so easily.

“this your first kiss?” he asks shamelessly, throwing you that lopsided grin of his.

am i your first? is what he means to ask. what he wants to ask. what he aches to ask.

is he your first? or are you only his? has anyone else tasted the strawberry of your chapstick? was it a different flavor before it was ever strawberry? satoru hopes he’s the only one to ever explore the flavors your lips might come in—maybe you’ll try cherry next. he’d like that.

“it’s certainly your first kiss,” you giggle, thumb moving down to trace his bottom lip, “i can feel you trembling, y’know.”

not many people catch gojo satoru embarrassed—you do, though. that enough should make you feel like god, perhaps. who else is powerful enough to feel the strongest quake? who else feels the quivers of his hands and the uncertain hesitance under his touch?

no one but you—and you’d like to keep it that way.

his face flushes a little, against his control. even gojo satoru is not above the rush of blood rising to his cheeks, even he cannot stop the hue of color that paints across his face. he’s human, after all—and he deserves to be treated as such: with the fragility of being human.

“no it’s not,” he scoffs, “i’ve kissed plenty.”

“yeah?” you chuckle, admiring the rosiness of his flesh, “name one person.”

“i don’t recall anyone’s name,” he shrugs, hands still making sure to keep you painfully close. if you pull away, satoru thinks he might die—thinks he might never recover from the aftershocks of such devastation. “no one was ever worthwhile enough to remember.”

he’s too much sometimes—but never less than enough. you snort, huffing out a small laugh that rings in his ears and makes him gulp.

perfect—you sound and look and feel and taste perfect. gojo satoru is the strongest, but is he deserving of the one thing this earth has that’s devoid of flaws? he’s not so sure. but he can try to be worthy, and perhaps that’s enough.

“well, then tell me, gojo,” you murmur, gently slipping the bandages from his forehead to fall to his neck. he’s only recently left the sunglasses behind—you like him better this way. you can see the outline of his features better, even if you do miss his eyes.

“hm?” he quirks a brow, breath almost hitching when his eyes meet yours—since when have you looked at him like that? since when have your pupils housed so much affection for him? have you always done so, and he’s never noticed?

it would be a crime to not have noticed before this, he thinks, a cruel and terrible reality of missing every soft and affectionate gaze.

“will i be long forgotten after this kiss? or has this one finally caught your attention?”

there is no prior kiss to compare yours to—but there never needs to be one after, either. this is the best kiss he’ll ever have, the only kiss he wants to have. no one will ever feel like you, he’s sure of it. no one will ever make him feel what you do, and even infinity is something that cannot protect him from the risks.

but satoru is not scared, not of you—and never with you.

so he grins, tapping his chin in thought as he hums, “give me another, and i’ll decide.”

you scoff in disbelief—amused, if anything, before shaking your head. he can’t help the chuckle that escapes him.

“you never change, gojo,” you say fondly, “do you know that?”

“say satoru,” he says quietly. it’s almost a plead—it sounds like a plead.

you smile. it’s an innocent little thing, untouched by the cruelties of life—or maybe it has, and you still find a reason to stay pure. maybe it’s the latter, he realizes, maybe you’re just resilient enough to remain unwavering in the way you love so unapologetically.

“come here, satoru,” you whisper, gently pulling his face closer as you hold his cheeks.

desperately, he needs to taste his name rolling off your tongue—so he comes closer, bridging the gap and kissing you again. and again—and he can’t find it in him to stop.

the same day satoru has his first kiss, you call him by his first name. it’s summer. the flowers smell sweet as the cicadas call, and you put the sun’s heat to shame.

he’ll always stay warm wrapped in you.

tbh this was supposed to be y’all fucking for the first time but then it just turned into this. alas, we prevail

[celestialprincesse]

Someone sent this to my inbox but

Simon X Uniform kink!reader🥴🩷

nsfw below the cut 💕 mdni

Normally, when Simon gets home, his first port of call is stripping off his balaclava, changing from his uniform. He leaves Ghost at the door. Your quiet, peaceful home shouldn’t be tainted by the shadow of death that lingers perpetually at his back.

To him, there’s a stigma around Ghost, around his whole career, making a life out of ending others’. Ghost gets left in the threshold of your entrance hall, dropped onto the welcome home mat and replaced by Simon. To you, it’s impossible to ignore the way he looks darkening your doorstep like death incarnate, so powerful, the epitome of brute, primal human strength. He exudes such power, such masculinity. It makes you feel weak in the most wonderful way.

Just once, you find yourself pleading for him to leave his uniform on, to let Ghost in. To take away the stigma of the thing that haunts your life. With tentative agreement and a hand on the small of your back, you’re guided back to the bedroom.

You know that Ghost will be rough, not like the soft, gentle dominance of Simon - who knows that he barely has to lift a finger to have you pliant under his touch. Ghost believes in no such thing. Ghost is a killer. A violent man who has no concept of gentleness or grace. If you want Ghost to fuck you, he’ll fuck you halfway to hell and back. The way you’re thrown down onto the bed is only a testament to how unyielding Ghost is, shredding your panties with his teeth without a word, just a growl of agreement when he sees you glistening wet.

There’s no warning when he plunges two fingers into your glistening pussy, his nails digging into the curve of your side when you cry out, a warning - a threat. He doesn’t take off his bulletproof vest, doesn’t flinch when you wrap your fingers in the velcro straps, only looking down at you with cruel knowing. Before you know it, he’s yanking down his fly, hardly bothering to pull down his jeans. He doesn’t need to. Ghost is tactical. Ghost doesn’t care for feelings.

The way his cock springs from his boxers, hard up against his abdomen, had you flinching. He makes you nervous. This Ghost is worlds away from your Simon, and it’s easy to see why people fear him so much.

You’re tempted to whine when he notches his tip against your already sensitive clit, quickly silenced by his fingers covered in your taste filling your mouth leaving you almost shamefully gagging, tears springing to your eyes.

“Been practically beggin’ me to fuck you for days now and now you’re whinin’?” He growls cruelly into your ear, his free hand finding your hip to position you. You don’t get a chance to think before his tip is thumping painfully into your cervix, leaving you crying out as you claw at his vest, his mask, anything to keep some semblance of control. He keeps a brutal pace, cruel taunts mixing with praise for how well you take him, what a perfect slut you are.

His hand pressing down slightly on the bulge in your tummy is what sends you over the edge, Simon’s brown eyes melting into stars and blinding white light as he pulls out of you, pumping his shaft and spurting ropes of hot cum on your abdomen, leaving the both of you heaving.

Ghost trickles down the shower drain along with sweat and dirt and cum, Simon washing your hair carefully as you lean your head into the crook of his neck, letting hot water pummel down your back.

“I love you. All of you.” You confess into his skin, finally content to have seen all of Simon. Not just the nice bits.

[exhaslo]

ok….hear me out… husband miguel and wife reader, but they both have a baby and Miguel finds it insanely attractive when she accidentally leaks milk onto her shirt when the baby cries, reader calls him out on his new kink and it leads up to a steamy night where baby #2 could be otw 👍👍

SORRY THIS WAS SO LATE!!!! I've totally seen stuff like this and I honestly think it's super hot cute.

Warning: MINORS DNI, smut, p in v, lactation, mating press, creampie, rough sex, overstimulation

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Who would have thought that you'd finally live the life you'd always wanted. You had found the perfect husband, had the perfect home and lived an easy life. Work was non existent for you since your loving husband, Miguel O'hara, made more than enough for both of you.

You were a stay home wife. Your job was mainly to help Miguel with his work from both Alchemax and the Spider Society. Only whatever you wanted to help with and nothing more to stress you out. That was Miguel's job as he kept reminding you.

You and Miguel were married for over two years now and already had a child. It was surprising how long it took you to get pregnant considering how sex driven Miguel was. That man was touch starved when you first met and he refused to let you go when the two of you were finally dating.

Miguel took such good care of you when you were pregnant with your child. It felt like a fairy tale. Miguel treated you like a princess before and even now.

Now, you were at home with the newborn, nearly exhausted all the time. Taking care of a child was new for you. Miguel always came home and pampered you despite you telling him to rest. Sometimes he seemed more tired than you.

"Baby, I'm home," Miguel called out as he swung in through the window. You stepped out of the kitchen,

"Shh," You whispered, your finger against your lips.

Miguel smiled as he saw your son sleeping in the crib in the living room. He quietly made his way over to you and gave you a passionate kiss. You smiled softly, melting under his touch as he cupped your cheeks.

"Go wash up, I'll have dinner ready in a bit,"

"Just...once more," Miguel whispered as he kissed you again, licking your lips for entrance, "Missed you so much today."

"Mhm~ Me...too,"

"Waaaaaah!!! Waaaaaaaah!!!"

"It was a decent nap," You whispered as your son started to cry.

Miguel chuckled as he watched you break away from him. His eyes scanned your body, wanting a taste. As you approached your son, Miguel noticed you huff and whine. He sniffed towards you since his sense of smell was higher than others.

You nudged Miguel's side, chuckling towards his behavior. Miguel was still confused but finally noticed your shirt damp from your nipples. His eyes shined brightly as you started to lactate due to his son's crying.

Heading into the shower after your cute pestering, Miguel kept thinking about your breasts. Oh, how sensitive your body was now that your child was born. Oh, how delicious it must taste. Miguel was going to enjoy his dessert tonight.

---------

You let out a heavy sigh as you finally laid down on your shared bed. Miguel was already there, his arms wide open for you to crawl your way into his embrace. Your son was asleep in the baby room and you had the little monitor and Lyla keeping an eye on him.

"You're not tired are you, baby?" Miguel whispered as he stroked your back. You planted your head against his chest,

"A little,"

"Awake enough for dessert?"

"Hm? Dessert?" You questioned.

Miguel smirked as he sat up with you on his lap. His hands slowly stroking your waist as he easily removed your night gown. You huffed your cheeks, knowing that you weren't going to get an ounce of sleep tonight. Miguel kissed along your collarbone, making his way down to your breasts,

"I saw the most wonderful thing earlier,"

"Hm?" You hummed, enjoying his kisses. Miguel kissed between your breasts before placing his lips against your nipple,

"My beautiful girl, milking at the sound of our son," He whispered, sucking against your breast.

"M-Miguel...T-That....mhm~ T-That's for our son!" You tried to complain, but shuddered at his sucking, "D-Don't s-squeeze,"

"He can share," Miguel chuckled, placing your back against the bed as he groped and sucked your breast, "You taste so good, baby."

"S-Someone...has a new k-kink," You teased, moaning softly as Miguel started to rut into you, "M-Miggy~"

"If there isn't enough to share, then I suppose we need to make another baby, no?" Miguel said as he tore your panties off with his talons, "Our son could use a sibling."

"Miguel~!"

You gasped and arched your back as Miguel grinded into you at a much rougher pace. He was sucking and biting your nipples, wanting to make you cum before he went onto the main course. You fell right into his trap since your body was still sensitive from the baby.

Panting heavily from your first orgasm, you squirmed and moaned as Miguel spent no time shoving his cock inside your tight velvet walls. Your vision blurred for just a second as you felt his tip hit your cervix, kissing it just the way you liked it.

"Baby, you're milking so much. Miss my cock that much?" Miguel groaned as he started to slap his hips into yours.

"Ah~ Hah~ M-Miguel~" You moaned, gripping onto the bedsheets as he abused your tight walls.

You felt your body heat up and your breasts swell as Miguel fucked the life out of your cunt. His dick hitting just the right spots while hitting your cervix with each thrust. Your body arched as you cried out your orgasm, unable to take the pleasure.

You body was twitching and your brain was getting fuzzy. You felt overstimulated as Miguel kept fucking through your high. Gasping as Miguel placed you in mating position, you cried out a series of moans, feeling him give you his first load.

"Miguel~"

"You're doing such a good job, baby," Miguel praised, kissing your neck, "Gonna fill you up, give you another baby."

"Mhm~ M-Miggy~" You cried.

Miguel stared at you with blown pupils. All he was thinking about was fucking another baby into you. Your body was begging for him. Your breasts were leaking milk and your pussy was dripping with both your juices and his cum.

Thrusting his hips into yours, Miguel grunted and moaned as he felt your pussy flutter around his cock. His pace fasten, enjoying your blissed out expression. Sucking against your breast again, Miguel groaned as your warm milk went down his throat.

"Such a good girl," He whispered, grunting as he cummed into you again, "Once more, you can give me one more, right?" He begged, feeling your body twitch.

"Mhm~"

"Thaaaat's my girl." Miguel whispered as he kissed you, lifting your hips as he kept pounding you.

Stars were defiantly seen that night as you lost count how many orgasms Miguel drew out of you.

Needless to say, Miguel kept fucking you every day until you were pregnant with your second child. Not that you were complaining, but now you had to teach him to share.

Not the baby, but Miguel.

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I hope you liked it!!! Sorry again for this being posted so late!!!