#or maybe not out of touch exactly but he has a taste for slightly more expensive things and....doesnt care LOL

[joocomics]

DOUBLE TAKE

03 ⋮ do you dance?

MASTERLIST || NEXT

pairing: rockstar!junhan x fem!reader x supermodel!jooyeon

genre: slice of life, smut ( 18+ ) ── 1.7k words

your friend’s rock band books the coffee shop you work at for a day to shoot their new music video. at first glance, everything is going well until the line between story and reality begins to blur

✎… light alcohol consumption, (semi public) oral sex (m!rec), face fucking, pet names, brief condescension (f!rec), cum eating, name calling (slut once), spit kink

( xdh masterlist )

It’s Sunday night, and the place is open for you, Junhan’s band, a scattering of crew, and Jooyeon.

There’s clinking of bottles, upbeat dance rock pulsing through the space. Fairy lights across the ceiling, casting a golden glow - they’re finally out of the dusty box they had been shoved into since a poetry reading was held here last year. You almost didn’t bother searching for them, worried it might look like you’re trying too much, but in the end, they pull everything together perfectly.

You finish your drink as lightness in your chest subtly settles. You’re not drunk - just warm and a little more nonchalant than you are usually.

You put away your empty glass, not stopping your gaze from scanning the room to peek at him.

He’s slouching against the decorative cushions. Drink in hand, head tilted in focus as a crew member tells a story that seems to make everyone laugh including him.

Unsure if you kept your vision for longer than you should’ve or if maybe he felt curious to search the room for you too, Jooyeon glances your way.

It’s vividly clear - the second he locks eyes with you, he loses the string of the story.

Seeing him get distracted by your unhidden attention, seeing his lips curve with intrigue is all it takes for your feet to move. You weave through few dancers until you’re standing in front of him. You lean slightly over the messy table.

“Do you dance?” You ask, voice soft but steady.

Jooyeon straightens his casual posture. Amusement glints in his eyes as he looks surprised by the question.

Then, after a brief pause, he answers:

“No.”

“Good,” you smile. “Me neither.”

Jooyeon breathes out a short chuckle, but there’s something almost coy in the way he follows you to a small, empty spot near the middle of the place.

Your hands settle at his broad shoulders, his drop to your waist. This touch… the shrinking distance has everything and everyone melt into a blur. It feels almost cinematic.

“We should do it again sometime,” Jooyeon says with a low voice, but his eyes don’t meet yours just yet. Instead, they take in the close view of your lips. “Just for us.”

Unlike his, your gaze flickers up to his face. You know exactly what he means.

The kiss. The one that was just acting, except for the part where your stomach flipped when it happened. And the part where you took his hand to place it on your body because at one point a kiss was not enough.

You’ve been thinking about it for days; reminiscing on the spark, on the thrill, on the sweet taste you exchanged. Too sweet for two simple strangers.

On how he somehow brought out a version of you that you’d been trying to find on your own for a really long time.

A moment passes before you lock eyes.

He doesn’t have the slightest idea what he’s done for you.

Behind his shoulder, you catch a glimpse of Junhan slipping through the back door alone.

You shove away your train of thought. Your gaze moves back on Jooyeon.

“Can’t we just do it now?”

His eyes are slightly glossed over, half-lidded and inspecting the details of your face.

He follows the way your teeth discreetly tug at your bottom lip. At the same time, your gentle fingers study the back of his neck, causing his grip to twitch against the sides of your figure. Such light touches, but they make his entire skin heat up.

His mouth forms an attractive smirk with a single easy curl of his lips; it’s not from his rehearsed ones, it’s not the smirk he gives photographers and fashion magazines, but a different kind.

More natural and softer.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Yeah, we can.”

Jooyeon shuts the door behind you - you’re in the small kitchen, lips fighting for dominance.

You don’t stop kissing even as you place hands on his shoulders to push him back. You have the whole area memorised so you don’t need to look to know which way to guide him.

He makes few clumsy steps, suddenly pressed against a wall.

“Fuck!” He groans into your mouth, bringing a smile on your lips. His hands slip down to cup your ass with a lazy, yet insistent grip. “You know… It was so hard for me to hold back that day.”

“From what?” You ask quietly before moving your mouth to the side of his neck.

There’s a hint of playfulness dripping from your words that has Jooyeon smirking right before sighing from bliss. Your kisses are wet and sloppy, sending warm thrills through his spine as they land lower and lower.

“Ripping your clothes off your body.”

Your heart flutters at his words, then almost skips a beat when his hand settles around your neck - just the way it did the first time.

“Showing everyone how good I can fuck you.”

Your gaze finds his eyes only to see them drop between your bodies where you unzip his pants; rubbing his bulge through the fabric for a moment before pulling them to his knees.

“Is that everything you wanted?”

Jooyeon’s pants drop to the floor. His Calvin Klein boxers rest around his thighs as you wrap fingers around his erection. You haven’t shifted your vision away from him even once - you keep it upon his face, observing every twitch caused by the rush invading his body.

“Shit— baby...” He opens his eyes, wetting his lips before speaking again. “Filling your mouth with my cum was on my mind too.”

You swallow thickly as your imagination paints the image for you on the instant. The motions of your fist maintain the stimulation, slowly and steadily.

“Or paint your face… you have such a pretty face.”

Jooyeon’s hand loosens around your throat but something in the way the rush magnifies forces it to drop completely. However, he quickly brings it back up, filling it with one of your boobs; squishing eagerly and arousing himself further.

Another sound of pleasure slips from his lips, low as the rest, but thinner, and you decide it’s time to do something more for him.

“Tonight you can choose one.” You murmur softly, and the corner of your mouth slides up briefly as you level it with his cock.

Pressing your flat tongue to the underside of his length, you spread the moisture you gathered, all the way up to the flushed head. Your lips close around it, sucking gently from all sides.

The immediate sensation has him groaning louder right away.

“Ah, fuck! That’s it baby, yeah…” He keeps his head pressed back for a moment; jaw open, eyes shut while focusing on the way you move back and forth simultaneously twirling your tongue. He’s in awe at how you pick up the perfect pace from the start. “Holy fuck… how am I supposed to pick? There’s so many things I want to do to you already...”

A brief airy chuckle echoes in the room once he looks down to watch you force yourself further against him, to welcome as much of his base as you can inside your throat.

He moves a hand on the back of your head, not applying any pressure yet, just letting it rest as you breathe heavily through your nose.

“You want all of it, is that it?”

You blink up, fluttering lashes at him; there’s a spark of lust mixed with something deeper in your eye that’s glinting as a response.

“You want it so bad, don’t you, baby?”

You slowly retrieve; your throat suppresses a needy sound before you gasp for air.

“Shit, you drooled so much all over me.”

You watch Jooyeon smearing your saliva along his cock, moaning at the speedy gliding of his hand. As he does so, he steps around you to switch places.

Looking up at his hovering figure, you tilt your head back, separating lips to welcome him back in.

“There you go,” Jooyeon coos as your mouth does its best to take him; your glossy eyes don’t leave him out of sight while your lips stretch. He presses a finger beneath your chin to keep you perfectly still. ”Like that, baby, yeah… such a good small mouth.”

He slides deeper, then pulls out almost all the way only to push himself through once again. His hips move leisurely on the surface of your tongue - not so much to make it easy for you than to savour the nice feeling. To explore you.

Your hands remain still on the sides of your body as his voice eventually rises higher, and his rhythm - quicker.

“Fuck—“

The pleasure tightens in his core the moment he invades your throat. He waits few seconds, relishing the warmth before making another move; his muscles tense while you slobber around him, puffy lips hugging his base as though they are your pussy walls.

“Look at you, you crave this cock so fuckin’ bad.”

Jooyeon empties your mouth in a flash. He gives you two seconds to breathe and adjust before he lifts your chin back up, pushing through your slick lips.

That earned you a quick glimpse of his face - there’s tension and focus all over his features, sharpening them even more, contrary to the coy smile he was wearing when you led him to the dance floor.

This time, he’s not gliding through - he’s thrusting. Deliberately; intentionally trying to hit deeper with each next slamming of his hips, aiming for release.

“Gonna give you all of my cum, baby, just sit still…” He says in a rush above you. His voice is nearly a whisper as the flowing rush begins to take over. “That’s what you’ve been thinking about too, right? Wanna swallow my cum like a good little slut? Fuck, I’m close!”

Your figure freezes rigid and obedient on the ground - head pressed against the wall and his lower abdomen, hands unable to flinch, nowhere to grasp.

Your jaw tenses more as you try to relax your hollowed cheeks without thinking about the soreness, but that’s not what helps you block out the discomfort. It’s hearing the shift in Jooyeon’s moans.

The ropes of his climax land on the back of your throat, warm slightly salty, and that causes a compelling change in his voice - delicate and desperate.

You shoot a glance up at his quivering body, waiting to meet his eyes for one more silent thank you.

Thank you for seeing me.

Thank you for picking me.

! please do not repost, copy or translate my works

! please keep in mind that english is not my first language. i apologise for any mistakes i’ve might missed

♡ taglist: @sweet-dreaming-girl @zelinkcrossing @bahng-chrizz @candlelitvamp

[willowser]

Just a lil hc but I definitely bakugo is the type of boyfie who likes helping you get ready. I mean he won't come and ask if he can help no no no. He'll just stand there, staring at you... and then randomly walk over hand you an earring and go "this'll look nice with that dress" and just go back to lurking XD but also when you DO WEAR what he choses for you he just feels so happy inside and go "heh she's weaing what I chose for her :>" but on the outside he makes an expression like he suddenly got food poisoning lmao.

(also I think he'll probably have atleast an above average fashion taste since his parents are both fashion designers~)

aww i think this is how he gives you gifts too 😌 just hands you a brand new pair of earrings like, "should wear these," trying to be all nonchalant LOL and i think he is so proud of himself when he sees you wearing something he picked out !! like he knows you well enough 😌😌😌 like you agree with his input 😌😌 and i also think he has an eye for fashion !!! bc that's the household he grew up in 🥺 i like to think of him as a kid, bothering his mama while she's working until she kicks him out LOL but !! yes !!! he's like, upper class, i think, so his tastes are a lil on the higher side !! not as upper class as todoroki but.....did you see his house.....his parents are fashion designers.....LOL how sweet 😌😌😌

[gossamyrrh]

monsterfucking, breeding, dubcon? ୨ৎ part two to this !

one of the many, many benefits of having an alien for a boyfriend is his extra appendages!

you had been blissfully ignorant of their existence, having thought that though choso isn’t from this world, your anatomies were relatively similar. sure, his skin has a pearlescent hue to it, and his ears are sharp at the tips rather than rounded. but his lips, his hands, his body—everything else seemed exactly the same…

it’s when he has you caged beneath him—body pressed flush against yours, rolling his hips in steady, fluid strokes, cock stretching you open—that you quickly learn otherwise…

he’s gasping in your ear, moaning and warbling lowly, thin brows furrowed as he nips at your shoulder. “g-good.” he groans. “you feel…good .”

his teeth graze across your skin. not enough to break it, but enough to make you squirm. back arching into him.

and then you feel it.

something warm. viscous.

initially, you don’t think much of it, taking it to be choso’s cum, or pre, or maybe even something from you. what else could it be? but then you feel it move—them move. the sticky warmth traveling up your thigh….and suddenly you feel it everywhere.

sinuous tendrils press against your stomach, pulse against you, twitching like they’re alive. no, they are alive.

“choso—?”

you gasp, voice breaking on a moan as one of the tendrils brushes your nipple, rubbing against the oversensitive bud.

“d-did… did you just grow extra limbs?” your voice is breathy, caught between shock and fascination.

he slows and makes a noise—something like a nervous whirr—eyes blown wide. “nnnh. no. always there.” he hesitates, his brow furrowing. “hide… before.”

your stomach flips. you don’t know if it’s from the revelation or the fact that he’s still mercilessly pounding into you. still, you ask: “why?”

choso tilts his head, contemplating, his lips pressing together like he’s trying to find the right words. “mm. you… might… fear?”

oh.

your chest aches at the thought. that he had hidden a part of himself from you, worried that you’d recoil. that you’d think he was strange. monstrous.

slowly, deliberately, you reach out, running your fingers along the slimy tendrils before you grasp one. holding it tight within your fist. the moment you touch it, choso sucks in a sharp breath, a low, shivery hum rolling from his throat.

your lips part. “you can… feel that?”

his cheeks darken and his gaze slants. “sensitive.”

you test your grip, stroking along the length of one tendril, feeling the way it pulses under your fingers. it flexes against your palm, writhing slightly—almost needy.

choso whimpers. his thrusts falter, then resume, a little rougher now, his cock dragging deep with every roll of his hips. he makes a broken noise in his throat. whines like he's being tortured. pleading.

the tendril wiggles from your grasp, curling around your wrist instead. the other slithers up your body, trailing over your collarbone before sliding along your jaw, pressing at your lips.

testing.

you hesitate, and choso lets out a soft, desperate whimper, his cock twitching inside you. his body tenses, his muscles taut with restraint—but his tendrils don’t have that same hesitation. they want.

you part your lips, and the appendage just takes.

it thrusts itself inside, roughly shoving past your lips, slick and warm as it glides over your tongue, tasting overwhelmingly of salt. it roams around, forces itself deeper and deeper until you're forced to make room for it.

and the second you hollow your cheeks around it—

"nnnh—!"

choso breaks.

his hips snap forward, driving his cock deep, his breath coming in gasps as his tendrils react—tightening around your wrists, your thighs, everywhere. the one in your mouth pulses, pushing just a little deeper, flexing against your tongue like it’s searching for more.

you’re choking. gasping for air, at this point. wholly convinvced you might pass out as the appendage thrusts in and out of your mouth roughly. without care.

you push at choso. let out a soft whimper. but there's nothing you can do but gag. take it.

your throat tightens around it; choso wails.

his whole body trembles, his thrusts erratic, desperate. you’re overwhelmed—sensitive from his relentless pace, from the way his cock fills you, from the way the tendrils curl and pulse against your skin like they’re just as needy as he is. hot tears brim in your eyes at the entirety of it all.

your own pleasure spikes, your body clenching around him as heat coils tight in your belly.

"too—mmph—!" your words are lost around the appendage bruising your mouth, your throat bobbing around the thick, pulsing shape as your body tenses.

and choso feels it. his tendrils feel it.

everything tightens.

and then—

"hahh—ahh—!"

his cum spurts inside of you, warm and filling, but the tendrils don’t stop.

they keep flexing, pulsing, using your body to milk every last drop from him. his cock barely softens before one of the tendrils at your thigh coils around the base, tightening, keeping him inside you, keeping him hard.

choso shudders, his warbling cry dissolving into a low, breathless hum. his body sags against you, his muscles trembling from overstimulation.

but the tendrils don’t care.

they flex. pulse. twitch.

choso whimpers against your throat, his voice raw. “i—ahh—i… s’too much…i can't...”

but it isn’t up to him anymore.

not with his tendrils still moving.

not with his cock still twitching, readying itself again.

and you realize—

neither of you are getting any rest tonight.

[tbaluver]

AH-AH-APHRODISIAC?!- The Love And DeepSpace Men

pairings in order: xavier x fem! reader, zayne x fem! reader, rafayel x fem! reader, sylus x fem! reader, caleb x fem! reader summary: you and your lover accidentally eat chocolates with aphrodisiacs on valentine's day night tags: small plot, p in v , desperate hot n needy a/n: hihi my lovelies! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂)⸝♡ here are my (late) chocolate gift to you for valentine's day! this one is a lil rushed bc i wanted to have a fluff and a smut written for this holiday so apologies! thank you to my beta reader @ilovemitsuya mwah ily (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡ anyways i hope you all enjoy reading ! (∩˃o˂∩)♡ cr. to the banners cafekitsune ! any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

He closes his eyes, parting his lips slightly as you gently place the chocolate in his mouth, watching him savor the taste as he guesses what flavor the luxury Valentine’s chocolate box. With each correct guess, a kiss is exchanged but whoever gets it wrong has to eat another chocolate that they didn’t like. As the game progresses, each sweet kiss becomes more lingering and more urgent. The box sat untouched and the game remained forgotten as you both have something better to eat in mind.

-

It’s hard to think about how much exactly chocolates you and Xavier ate when you he’s fucking into your swollen pussy. He groans, spreading your legs to expose your wet cunt, your inner thighs coated with his cum. Your clit glistening in the moonlight as he circles it softly with the sensitive head of his cock, dragging it up and down. It hasn’t even been a minute until your bodies are set ablaze again, growing intense with every passing second you two aren’t connected. You both were so needy for each other, your senses completely heightened than any time you two were intimate. His hot girthy dick stretches you out so deliciously that it's gonna leave an imprint on your stomach. 

Both your bodies are on fire as he desperately thrusts in and out of you as hard and fast as he can, tangled limbs just holding on to whatever you can hold as long as you’re touching each other.

His cock, pistons in and out of your weeping cunt at a relentless pace, both your visions fogging up with no thoughts other than relieving each other. A chorus of obscene noises spill out of both of you, all of it incoherent. Remnants of his cum seeps out of you due to the pacing of his thrusts, your cunt mercilessly filled.

You’re clamping down on his cock with so much desperation as you feel your orgasm approaching. They way you’re creaming on his cock, clenching around him with trembling legs, was sight only he can see and hear. He planned to make you see the stars but he saw them shining in your eyes instead, the tears welling up your eyes as he sets the animalistic pace over and over again until the burning heat dies down between you both.

Zayne:

Valentine's day, the day where you exchange and share one or two or maybe the whole box of chocolates together. You and Zayne swapped a few sweets and chocolate gifts but on your end, you ended up letting him indulge in his sweet tooth, giving him more than just a couple boxes. Neither of you gave much thought to the luxury box cover when you picked it up. One by one, each chocolate disappears from the box as you pick one up, taking a bite as you pass him the other half as he does the same for you.  It didn’t long for the sweetness of the chocolate to go away, the heat in each other’s bodies growing every second as you both craved for something much more sweeter, abandoning the box of chocolates.

-

Clearly one or five more rounds wasn’t enough for this burning ache to go away. Minutes turned into hours as he poured his cum into you, dripping down to his balls and down to your thighs. No amount of position could put an end to the heat that seemed to crawl deeper into your core every second he pulled away from you. Your body temperatures together were so high it turned you two into a muddled mess. How could he possibly ignore his lover sobbing for him, begging for more, when he needed you just as much as you needed him?

He hovers over you, trying his best not to crush you in his hold. The once composed and restrained doctor has vanished tonight, both your senses completely heightened as he desperately explores the familiar path of your body. 

His delicate, practiced and precise hands from years of surgery, rip and tug at your clothing, the urgency from the heat building in him. Each one of Zayne’s and your clothing were carelessly thrown across the house, leaving a messy trail to your shared bedroom. Marks and scratches cover his body as you try to reach for more, as if the hold you had on him wasn’t enough.

Your lips constantly chase after each other, pulling away just to catch your breaths. He rolls his hips against yours, the room filled with the sounds of your combined moans and the rhythm of your entangled bodies. His cock makes you spill sounds that you didn’t even know could come out of your mouth. Chest pressed against each other, everything had your head spinning, both of you full of primal need. His cock strokes all the right places inside you, his heavy balls smacking wetly against your cunt with every deep thrust he gives you. His thick pink sensitive head of his cock rubs your sweet spot so perfectly, sending waves of pleasure over your body. Hours and hours with no other thoughts than anything other than making you feel good and making that heat go away was his only priority.

Rafayel:

He bought you the most expensive box of chocolates, not looking at the brand or the printing on the packages but because he saw it was filled with pictures of assortment of sweets you’d love. He thought they were overpriced because of the luxury design and the fact that it was for Valentine’s day but with each bite, he found himself caving in for more. You both felt so warm, the warmth surging through your bodies that traveled down to your lower half. The more you both indulged, the more you both seemed to need something that was a much more sweet temptation.

-

You both were so hot, more than you two have ever been that the heat was enough to stop the cold weather from making you shiver. His eyes clenched shut as hot pants slip past his pretty lips, his mind fogging up as he feels your warm cunt wrap around him so perfectly, like always. 

The only thing in his mind is you, your sweet cunt squeezing his cock like heaven sent and how you roll your hips against him oh so right. 

He thinks you’re truly a work of art, filled with marks of him. You look so perfect whether it’s in front of him or behind him, painting such a pretty picture with your face in all the right angles as your face contorted in absolute pleasure.

You both roll and shift on the blanket, finding the perfect position that hits the right angles to relieve the throbbing heat between your legs. Everytime you take his buckets of his white warm seed, the burning ache always seems to come back. There is not a single part of your body that isn’t drenched from your mixed sweat, arousal or his cum.

Did someone bewitch you two? Did they think- Nevermind, he can’t think properly when you’re clenching down on him like this. He feels the way you flutter around him. Every squeeze of your cunt as he drags his cock along your walls, every drip of your arousal that coats his length, is as if he was truly part of you. 

His skin tingles irritably, aching desperately for your touch even after a second without it. Even the small sounds that escape past your lips lure him in like a sailor listening to a siren's song.  His thrusts grow faster, his hips slamming over and over again against yours as if his life duty was to repopulate Lemuria.

Sylus:

The night grew uncomfortably hot for you two, the ache between your legs was relentless and impossible to ignore. The cold breeze from the new city you two traveled too for a small getaway was not helping at all. You two didn’t drink much but the chocolates you were both gifted, disappeared between you both. Each bite melted in your mouths but soon the warmth settled over you both. The anticipation back to the suite was palpable, both of you greeted by a romantic rose trail scattered across the floor that led to a heart-shaped arrangement on the shared bed. As much as you wanted to appreciate this, you both seek- craved a remedy only you two could provide each other.

-

It didn’t take that long for that rose petal trail to be forgotten, scattered and kicked aside as you both stumble towards the bed, your lips hungrily chase after each other. Needy hands rip each other’s clothes off while your blazing bodies smash against each other, the rose petals jump off the bed once it feels the weight shift of you two fall onto it. He groans into your lips, pulling away to leave a wet trail down your neck, collecting the expensive perfume he’s gotten you on his tongue.

Sylus loves to take it slow with you, his favorite thing to do is explore your body as if he hasn’t before. But tonight, tonight his movements are rushed, desperate to see you, to feel you. Pure love still in his eyes, needy hands never really able to linger on spot for too long. No other thoughts but just you and how his body craves more and more.

The tip of his cock pushes his hot sticky mess back into your sopping cunt, groans escaping past his lips. Your walls were so sweet, so velvety, so intoxicating that the thought of those chocolates has given him an addiction from how much he can’t seem to pull away from you, brushes away from his mind.. How overpowering his deep thrusts would be, not caring at all if this bed broke or how the building shook.

His thick cock engulfed into the warmth of your clenching walls, his large hands intertwined with yours as he swallows all the sweet and pretty sounds that escape past your lips with the shove of his tongue, taking him deeper than you possibly could. His balls ram into your remorselessly, placing hot wet kisses down your neck. Your words are jumbled due to his cock pumping and out of you relentlessly from your heat as if it were to split you in half.

Your orgasm hits you hard, his following right after. His face contorts into pure pleasure, one of the best images to grace your eyes and ears as you breathlessly chant his name. While you take your time catching your breath, he’d let his fingertips graze your arm, hand cupping the side of your face while his thumb rubs along your cheek, feeling his dick twitch inside you again.

Caleb:

Dinner was going by smoothly, key word was, until something shifted in both your bodies. The special Valentine’s Day meal he prepared for you was devoured, your bright smile whenever you bit into the food was proof enough that each bite hit the spot. Until you both got to the desert, the chocolate covered strawberries recipe he found online he rushed while prepping dinner. A few bites in, the room seemed to grow hotter, your appetites shifting and craved something much more enticing.

-

He’s already a whimpering mess once you pull away from his lips, feeling like the distance between you two were a million miles apart. The touch of your needy hands to try and rip his clothes off was painfully slow. He needed more and he knew you did too. 

What was in that recipe? How much did he eat? His dick is so hard he thinks it might just explode before he even has a chance to feel your soaked walls. His desperation was so palpable that his needy whines ring in your ear as he slips it in, ripping off your panties beforehand while babbling ‘sorry sorry need you please please’ and that he’ll promise to get you new ones next time. You barely catch any of his words, your mind fogging with each drag of his cock against your sweet spot. Breathless praises for you slip past his lips, fanning your ear with his warm breath, making your velvety walls flutter and tighten around him in response.

His hips increase in speed and power, his name breathlessly escaping your lips as he knocks the air out of your lungs. His cock rubbed your walls so deliciously, making you forget the heat for a second, just for a second.

Spurts of his hot white cum into your body was not enough to please the ache in your bodies. Caleb only whines your name, pounding into your poor pussy with a merciless pace. He feels so guilty knowing he takes his time, he always takes his time with you but he’s chasing a high so desperately that his body is on autopilot, moaning pathetically into your ears. The sounds of wet skin and skin fill the kitchen for hours and hours, the special dinner he planned in mind growing cold but the one he held in his embrace growing hotter by the minute.

a/n extra: hihi again! here is my fluff valentines day headcanons and kinda where the scene in the story takes place: Valentine's Day

my past works: masterlist pg. 1 , pg. 2

[nvrngl]

˚ · .˚ ༘ 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒅𝒚 𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌

synopsis. law is boring. you need a break.

pairing. supernatural﹢ stanford!sam winchester x gf!reader ﹢ smut ( mdni )

wordcount. 1.9K

warnings. public oral sex (m!receiving + f!receiving), fingering, praising, begging, overstimulation.

The campus library is dead quiet, the kind of quiet that tastes like dust and fluorescent lighting, and your fingers are cramping from how long you’ve been highlighting. Your back is aching. Your brain is buzzing. And Sam? He’s not even blinking. Just sitting across from you, leaned over his textbook like it's some ancient scripture.

You try to focus. You really do.

But Sam has that look on his face—the one where his jaw is clenched just slightly and there’s this little crease between his brows. His lashes cast shadows on his cheeks, and every once in a while, he runs his thumb across his bottom lip while reading. Like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

And he’s got his sleeves rolled up. Forearms on full display. His knuckles stained with ink. And you’re about to lose your damn mind.

You shift in your seat, crossing your legs and swallowing hard. Your pen taps against your notebook. Sam glances up at the sound, and when your eyes meet, you give him a soft smile. His mouth lifts at the corners, warm and knowing.

He knows.

God, of course he knows.

You scoot your chair a little closer under the pretense of showing him something in your textbook. He leans in, and the air shifts—slow and heavy, suddenly rich with something else. Your thighs press tighter together when you feel the heat of his body near yours, the way his eyes flick to your lips before dragging back up.

Your hand finds his under the table. Just a little brush of fingertips at first. Then your palm sliding against his, your fingers threading through. He squeezes your hand, and you’re pretty sure you stop breathing.

“You okay?” he asks, voice low, amused.

You nod. “Just… distracted.”

He smiles, like he’s trying not to. Like he’s proud of himself for pulling you under like this without even trying. He leans in a little more. “I could help you focus.”

You bite your lip. Your heart’s already in your throat, hammering against your ribs. You know that look in his eyes. Mischievous. Hungry. Warm and dark and entirely Sam.

You exhale shakily. “Or maybe I could help you relax.”

His brows rise, and he tilts his head just slightly, watching you like you're a challenge. Like he's already imagining what you might do.

“Library’s not exactly private,” he murmurs.

You smile sweetly, voice soft and teasing. “Not the way I do it.”

That’s all it takes.

Within seconds, you're packing your stuff in a haphazard rush, shoving books and pens into your bag, giggling softly when Sam follows suit, looking way too flushed for a guy who was just reviewing constitutional law. He guides you with a hand on your lower back, the two of you weaving through the maze of bookshelves until you’re somewhere deep and forgotten—where the air is colder, the lights are dimmer, and no one ever really comes.

You turn to face him, heart racing. He’s already watching you like he wants to devour you whole.

You drop to your knees before you can second guess it.

Sam’s breath catches.

You look up at him as you reach for his belt. “Wanna be good for you.”

His jaw flexes. His hands curl into fists at his sides like he’s trying to keep them to himself.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, already thick with need.

You undo his jeans slowly, watching his eyes. His lashes flutter as you pull him out, already semi-hard and heavy in your palm. You stroke him gently, loving the way he starts to throb under your touch, the way his abs tense and his breath hitches.

You lean forward, lips brushing the head of his cock, featherlight.

“Don’t tease,” he groans, voice strained.

But you love teasing him. You love watching him fall apart, watching how quickly the calm, collected student disappears under your touch.

You kiss down his length first, then lick a slow stripe up the underside, watching his hand slam against the nearest bookshelf to steady himself. Then you take him in your mouth—just the tip at first, sucking softly, tongue swirling.

He moans low in his throat. His other hand finds your hair, gentle but possessive, curling around the strands like he needs something to hold onto or he might shatter.

“F-Fuck, baby—”

You hum around him, loving the way his hips twitch. You take more of him, slow and steady, letting your throat relax as you work him deeper. His breaths come sharp and ragged above you, and you can feel the tremble in his legs as you slide your hands up his thighs.

“You’re… fuck, you’re so good at this,” he whispers, voice broken, reverent. “Always know how to drive me crazy, don’t you?”

You glance up, eyes glassy, spit dripping down your chin as you hollow your cheeks and take him even deeper. His knees almost buckle. He grips your hair tighter, not to force you—never that—but just to anchor himself, to keep from flying apart.

You bob your head faster now, using your hand at the base to stroke what you can’t fit, twisting slightly as you suck, letting your tongue press against that sensitive spot just beneath the head. He lets out a choked moan, hips jerking forward before he catches himself.

“Fuck, if you keep looking at me like that—” His voice cracks. “You’re gonna make me come in like two minutes.”

That only makes you more determined.

You hum again, faster now, your rhythm slick and messy, wet sounds filling the quiet as you swallow around him. His head drops back against the bookshelf, eyes squeezed shut, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“God, baby—gonna come—where do you want it?”

You pull off him just long enough to whisper, breathless and sticky-lipped, “In my mouth.”

He groans like that alone almost finishes him.

Then you’re back on him, working him desperately now, hands and mouth and tongue all in sync, coaxing him closer and closer until his whole body tenses—his thighs trembling, his grip in your hair bruising.

Then he spills down your throat with a guttural moan, panting your name like a prayer.

You swallow every drop.

He’s still breathing hard when you pull off him with a soft pop, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, eyes gleaming. You smile up at him—flushed, proud, glowing.

Sam stares down at you like he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

“Holy shit,” he says, still catching his breath. “That was… fuck. That was the best head of my life.”

His kiss is hungry.

You’ve barely stood up before Sam’s mouth is on yours—desperate and deep, like he needs to taste himself on your tongue, like he needs to feel every single place your mouth just was. His hands grip your waist, pulling you in so tight you can feel the flutter of his still-racing heartbeat against your chest.

You’re still panting, still flushed, still shaky from the way he came undone for you. But he’s already tilting your chin up, trailing kisses down your jaw, whispering against your skin.

“My turn.”

You blink up at him, breathless. “Here?”

He smirks, all dimples and blown pupils. “Sweetheart, you just sucked my soul out of my dick in the middle of a library. You really think I’m letting you walk out of here without returning the favor?”

You whimper when his hands slip under your skirt, fingers warm and possessive as they stroke along your thighs.

He backs you up until your spine brushes against the shelf behind you, cool metal against your sweater. Your bag hits the floor with a soft thud, forgotten.

“Leg up,” he whispers, nudging your knee with his own. “C’mon, baby. Let me see you.”

You obey—dizzy and trembling, lifting one leg onto the lower shelf behind you. It opens you up perfectly for him, your panties already damp and sticking to you from how turned on you still are.

Sam kneels.

And your breath catches.

He’s looking up at you like you’re sacred. Like he wants to worship every inch of you. His hands glide up your thighs, slow and reverent, thumbs teasing just beneath the hem of your underwear.

“You’re so wet,” he murmurs, lips brushing against the inside of your thigh. “You get off on sucking my cock, baby?”

You nod, cheeks burning. “I love it. Love how you taste. Love making you come.”

His growl is low and dangerous. “Fuck.”

He kisses your inner thigh again, then again, working higher and higher until you’re squirming, one hand flying to the shelf behind you for balance, the other tangling in his hair.

When his mouth finally presses over your soaked panties, you gasp.

He moans into you—deep and guttural—his tongue dragging slowly over the fabric before he pulls it aside with his fingers, exposing you.

“You’re dripping,” he whispers, dark eyes locked on yours. “So fucking pretty, baby.”

Then he dives in.

You choke on a gasp, your back arching hard against the shelf as his mouth finds your clit and sucks, hot and slick and so good you nearly collapse. His tongue works you with slow, filthy confidence, alternating between long licks and soft, maddening flicks.

You grab the edge of the bookshelf with both hands now, struggling to stay upright. “S-Sam—fuck—”

He hums, sending vibrations through your core, and your legs tremble.

Then he pushes two fingers inside you—so thick, so deep—curling them just right, finding that spot instantly like he’s memorized your body.

“Oh my God,” you moan, head falling back. “Sam, baby, please—don’t stop—”

He doesn’t.

His fingers thrust slow and deep, working you open while his mouth devours you. The sounds are obscene—wet and slick and echoing faintly in the silence of the stacks—but you don’t care. You can’t care.

His pace quickens. His free hand grips your thigh, holding you open for him, and the soft scrape of his stubble against your skin sends shocks straight through your belly.

You’re falling apart.

“Feels so good,” you whisper, barely coherent. “You’re so fucking good at this—gonna come, baby, I—”

His fingers speed up, mouth never leaving your clit.

And then you break.

You cry out softly—biting your lip, desperate to keep the noise in—as your orgasm crashes over you like a wave, sharp and overwhelming and so deep. Your thighs quake. Your vision blurs. You clamp down around his fingers, still pulsing long after the peak.

But Sam doesn’t stop.

He fucks you through it, relentless, tongue flicking your overstimulated clit while his fingers stroke inside you, dragging every last ripple of pleasure out of you until you’re sobbing his name.

“S-Sam, oh my God, please—”

He finally pulls back, licking his lips like he just tasted something divine, and kisses the inside of your thigh with a soft, worshipful sigh.

“You always taste like heaven,” he murmurs, voice low and ruined.

You collapse into him the second he stands, wrapping your arms around his neck as he lifts you effortlessly off the ground. He kisses you then—really kisses you—slow and messy and aching, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“Can’t believe I got this lucky,” he whispers against your mouth. “You’re fucking perfect.”

You laugh breathlessly, dizzy and blissed out. “We’re in a library, Sam.”

He grins. “Exactly. Best study break of my life.”

You nuzzle into his chest, still catching your breath as he smooths your skirt back down, both of you flushed and giggling like idiots.

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ navigation : all works ; guidelines ; let's be friends .ᐟ

[moonlight-prose]

For the touched starved scenarios maybe Logan with "hesitantly tugging the other's fabric of their shirt or sleeve, testing the waters ^^ the other notices so they pull them into a hug, smiling as they just watch them melt"?? I think it would be so cute with logan finally breaking his own barriers, reaching out to the one he adores (or*cough* is very much in love with *cough*) bc HE doesnt realize how touch starved he is and becomes slightly nervous at initiating contact at first😫

how it lingers

a/n: have i shoved this into the small world i made with the previous ask from this list? probably. but they're just so cute and i'm in love. plus just the fact that reader is also probably really timid to initiate contact with him physically. but logan finally reaching out for touch (cause he's so starved for it), and getting a response such. just let this man be happy and in love.

summary: when affection is coupled with pain logan learns it's not worth asking for. what does he need with it? but a difficult mission has him seeking the warmth of a lover in the arms of a friend.

word count: 0.7k

pairing: logan howlett x reader

warnings: fluff, blooming romances, the start of a relationship, soft logan.

It happens after a mission gone wrong. Tension hung thick in the air when the X-Men entered the front entrance, their suits charred and ripped, faces lined in pinched frowns that said far more than they wished. Logan hung back on the porch, smoking the cigar to appease the growing anxiety building in his chest. He'd never been a fan of the crowd this group accumulated—especially not when kids were involved.

But somewhere in the throng of people stood you, waiting with hope in your chest and a light in your eyes that beckoned him closer. Charles held your attention for a moment, Jean meandering over to explain in grave detail what exactly happened. You did your best to cling to every word. Even as your mind wandered to the man still stuck outside—his hands curled into fists and eyes shut to the rest of the world.

"We aren't sure what happened," Jean mumbled, a dazed expression glossing over her eyes. "If it wasn't for Logan well…Scott and I wouldn't be standing here."

The echo of his name shot through your heart—his pain bleeding into your veins the longer you stood there listening to Jean explain what happened. He saved them. He was the hero. So why was did he remain outside? Entirely separated by the people who would happily welcome him in—the ones he silently considered family.

"Is he hurt?" you asked hesitantly, entirely aware of his healing capabilities.

Nothing could hurt the Wolverine.

Not physically anyways.

Jean shrugged, fatigue settling over her face in a darkened cloud that might take days to pass. "He's…Logan."

Which meant he was taking this time to shove away emotions he didn't want to feel—things that would wreak havoc on his mind. He pushed down things he didn't want to feel; the parts of himself that left him with the bitter taste of fear on the back of his tongue. So he smoked to distract himself and left everything else up to the rest of the team.

He found it was easier to mull over his actions alone. Safer.

You tuned out the remainder of the conversation, eyes catching on the subtle shift of the crowd as Logan finally made his way inside. He clung to the wall in the hopes of going unnoticed. A familiar act of self preservation he often grew fond of at times like this. He never liked being the center of attention—why would that change solely because of one mission?

“I’ll meet you guys later.” Their responses went directly over your head, your body drawn to the man who attempted to vanish into the corner beside a plant desperate for more water.

“Bub,” he greeted, arms crossed at his chest—face turned away from your welcoming smile, from the warmth you tried offering to keep the darkness at bay.

“They said you saved them.”

He grunted, eyes flicking back to see your shoulder slump forward an inch. Barely noticeable to others in the area, but Logan clung to every slight shift of your body. Each look and half hearted smile. He tucked them into his chest in the hopes of one day wiping them away. All the stress of being a professor, of choosing to get to know a man who barely spoke more than a few words at a time.

His hand tugged at the sleeve of your cardigan softly. Barely a brush against your arm, but the grin you gave in return lit a fuse he didn’t know resided at the back of his heart. Over the years he understood what connection meant. How to form them, why he should. But staying in solitude favored him best; he couldn’t hurt anyone if he avoided them.

Until you offered him a smile bleeding enough warmth to soothe his aching heart.

A silent agreement passed between your eyes, loud enough to echo in the back of his mind as your arms curled around his neck. And with a blissful sigh filled with contentment, he melted into your touch, hands clasping around your back—arms tight and strong across your waist. Logan hugged you with his whole body, a swathing blanket of heat that poured out of him and enveloped you in love.

“Thanks bub,” he mumbled into your shoulder, head ducked as he shifted back to the corner—still tightly wound around your body.

You smiled, burrowing your face in the soft leather of his jacket. “Anytime Logan.”

[yuwuta]

AFTERGLOW. — JJK BOYS + JEALOUSY

❝tell me that you’re still mine, tell me that we’ll be just fine, even when i've lost my mind  

featuring. gojo, inumaki, nanami, okkotsu

content. a character study in jealousy, no content warnings, no smut in this version, fem reader

word count. 2.8k

SATORU GOJO You’re attempting to finish getting ready for the evening and Satoru has taken his favorite activity: filing through every crevice of your room like he’d been hired as a private investigator. Even though he knows that you know that he’s nothing more than a nosy idiot, Satoru claims that it’s an important and intimate routine that he should know the ins and outs of your living space just as well as you know his—“You know exactly where I keep my boxers, and I don’t even think I’ve seen the inside of your closet—oh, hey, this is cute,” he grins, sticking out his impossibly long arm to shake a thin, lacy bodysuit on a hanger, “How come you’ve never shown me this, huh? Maybe you should wear this instead, it seems easier to take—ouch.”

He groans at the impact of your hairbrush against his shoulder, then swiftly proceeds to pout and whine about how mean you are to him when you return to ignoring him in favor of applying the final touches to your makeup. Your closet seems to be of little interest to him after that, as Satoru crosses the room to hover around you at your vanity instead. He leans in too closely, as if watching you apply bronzer was a novel sight to him. You flip your brush quickly, barely tapping at his nose and laughing at his scrunched reaction.

“Your reflexes aren’t so sharp today,” you tease. You’re prepared for a witty response, and when you glance, there’s a familiar mischief shimmering in your boyfriend’s eyes; but, then his gaze ventures slightly past you, and all signs of playfulness drain from his face. Instead of getting revenge, or annoying you further, Satoru reaches over your body and into a shallow jewelry dish to pick up the bracelet he’d spotted. It’s a dainty little thing, thin gold with a small heart in the middle glittering with shiny stones, that he threads along his fingers with scrutiny before standing up straight to dangle it in front his face for further inspection, “This is new to me.”

Perhaps you’d spoken too soon, because only Satoru would spot that one piece of jewelry amongst the others swimming the tray. His eyes flutter between the bracelet and you, and you can practically hear the gears turning in his head, and the accusation he won’t say outloud—did you buy yourself heart-shaped jewelry, or is there something else going on here?

You sigh and keep your expression and voice neutral, your attention seemingly still focused on the finishing touches of your makeup, “It’s new to you because I haven’t worn it in years,” you tell him, “My ex gave it to me.”

There’s a beat of silence, and you occupy yourself with your mascara, before Satoru speaks, “That makes sense, it doesn’t look all that promising. What is it—barely gold plated?” he taunts, sweeping away his air of concern with one of mockery, standing up straight to twirl the bracelet around his index finger, “Figures your ex boy toy had no taste for the finer things in life. You’re worth more than this, my darling.”

You shake your head with light laughter, patting in the remnants of your setting spray before standing. Satoru continues on, rambling about the poor construction of your commercially produced bracelet—holds it between his index finger and thumb like it’ll poison him if he exposes it to too much of his skin, and you can’t help but smile as you reach for the lapel of his blazer to pull him down for a kiss. He has no words of objection to this, pulling you in by the waist for another and another and another, before you finally pull away, “Come, let’s go. I don’t feel like getting lectured by Utahime for your tardiness again.”

You’re too preoccupied for the rest of the evening to notice the item missing from your jewelry dish. What you do notice, two afternoons later, shortly after Satoru has left to pick up Nanami from the airport, is a blue velvet box with your name written in pretty, gold cursive along the top—and inside, a gold tennis bracelet, glittering with diamonds, with a necklace to match. You have no doubt they’re legitimate, if not for the way the sparkle, then by the text that rings through on your phone after you question Satoru:

from: satoruwu 🫧🩵 — only the best for my baby <33

TOGE INUMAKI

Toge knows that the price of coffee has gotten way out of hand, but what bothers him more is the decreasing pace of said coffee getting made and the increase of crazy, caffeine addicted people who feel the need to be loud around him while he’s waiting for his drinks. You, however, seem to take pleasure in his suffering, as you always thank him and coo, saying he looks cute despite his grumbly demeanor, “You always look like you fought a war for two cups of coffee, Toge.” 

He rolls his eyes as he steps into your apartment, not minding the sound of your giggling behind him. He sets the drinks on your island, and pulls out a stool to sit on. You round the marble, reaching him just as he’s pulled down his mask for a thank you kiss to his cheek. He wants to make you suffer for longer, but when you lean against him, he can’t help but to return the hug and kiss your forehead—you’re welcome, always.

Still, he pokes at your head, waits until you dig your head out of his shoulder with curious eyes, before he points to the Keurig sitting in the corner of one the wall-mounted counters, and moves his hands to sign, “Why keep that if you spend all my money on coffee?”

“Rude. I offer to pay all the time,” you chide, poking at his collar bone and standing straight. You make your way back to the opposite side of the counter, and reach to a drawer to fetch a straw, before shrugging, “My ex left it here when we broke up. I keep it for the aesthetic—I’m not even sure if it works.”

A myriad of thoughts runs through Toge’s mind—most importantly: had your ex left other things here, and how quickly could he get rid of them?

“Besides,” you break his murderous train of thought, “None of the pods make good espresso. Couldn’t even make my hot girl latte if it worked.”

“Your ‘hot girl latte’ is iced,” Toge signs.

Under normal circumstances, a comment like that would earn him a flick to the forehead, but you can tell that behind the sarcasm, Toge is actually upset. So, in lieu of teasing him, you walk back over to him; settling yourself behind his stool to give him a back hug. You lean your cheek against his shoulder and press a small kiss there, “You’re cute.” 

Toge huffs, shaking his shoulders for dramatic effect. You laugh, leaning up to give him another kiss on the cheek. “You’re cute and you have nothing to worry about. It’s an old coffee machine.” 

He hums, taking another sip of his coffee before turning, barely bumping the top of your forehead, so you can see his raised eyebrow. You lean up to press a kiss to his lips, “You’re cute, and you have nothing to worry about, and I love you.” 

He finally smiles again, content, and grants you another kiss to your forehead. With his mood back to normal, the two of you finish your coffee and carry on with your scheduled study session as normal (normal being Toge leaving you alone for all of twenty-seven minutes, before he starts taking videos of you with various outrages Snapchat filters on).

However, the following day when you return from your classes, there’s four new items on your kitchen counter: a silver espresso machine, a reusable Starbucks cup (already filled with your usual drink), a neatly folded apron decorated with cartoon Shiba Inus, and a small card with Toge’s bubbly handwriting on it: “Don’t worry, I’ll still pay for you $6 pink drinks, but if you wanted to thank me by making coffee in just the apron, then I wouldn’t complain ;)”

KENTO NANAMI Kento is a rational man; he favors using logic to carry out decisive actions, rather than letting his emotions get the best of him. So, the rational part of him knows that it’s not a big deal that the lunch bag and bento-style tupperware you bring to work was a gift from your ex-girlfriend; but there’s a small, ugly, green part of him overrun with jealousy and another bitter-tasting feeling he can’t quite name.

Because it’s not that important. It makes sense that you keep using them—the lunch bag is nice, leather, sleek, and insulated, and the tupperware is sturdy and functional. The whole system is sustainable, practical. It was a good present, one that objectively serves a good purpose whether or not it was given by an ex or not.

Maybe that’s what he hates so much. That this person still has room in your life, even though you haven’t spoken to them since you’ve met him. Kento doesn’t like that reminder—that there are people out there who might be a good fit for you, a better one than him. Those ugly feelings aside, there’s a sour taste in his mouth when he packs your lunch now; knowing that the food he cooked for the two of you—the meal you’re both going to indulge in—sits in a container gifted to you by an ex-lover.

Irrational to the point of being unfocused, he doesn’t realize how close the glass is to the edge of the counter, and when he turns to scoop more rice, he accidentally knocks it over with his elbow. It breaks into tiny pieces on the ground, the small portion of rice and chicken spilling onto the ground. The sound draws you out of your bedroom, mascara wand in hand and robe still on to call for him, “Kento? Everything okay?”

“I… it was an accident,” he explains, setting the spoon down in favor of reaching for a napkin, dropping to his knee with a light sigh, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to break it.”

Your laughter surprises him, prompts him to look up at you with broken glass shards pooled in his palm, “You don’t have to worry so much! It happens, we have a million more.”

There’s something about the way you don’t seem to acknowledge it being special to you in any way—Kento’s not even sure if you recognize what broke—that reassures him. Because it really was an accident, but Kento doesn’t mind that he managed to break this particular plate. 

When he shoos you back to getting dressed, he finishes picking up the broken glass shards. There’s a certain lightness to his actions now, petty as it may be, he’s happy. Spends extra time writing a note for you to see when you unpack your food before he retires to the bathroom to start getting ready himself. 

Maybe he could do something about that lunchbox next. You don’t seem to mind.

YUUTA OKKOTSU Thursdays are Yuuta’s favorite day of the week because on Thursdays, you two meet up at your spot, which is really just a set of twin benches in the west quad, but it’s your place and Yuuta loves it. You will have reserved a study room in your favorite library, and Yuuta will buy snacks for your study session before you both head to the library in an attempt to finish up your work for the week in order to keep your Friday evenings free.

Yuuta usually gets to the bench before you, a combination of the engineering building being a little bit closer, and his legs being a lot longer. He doesn’t mind waiting for you, as it’s usually his first time seeing you in two days (your Tuesdays are too packed for anything other than a shared coffee break between lectures, and Wednesdays are his hell days), and spotting you through the crowd of dissipating students always brings a smile to his face.

You look cute today, an oversized sweater enveloping your frame that Yuuta can imagine you cozying into and nearly dozing off in your dreaded microbiology lecture. He laughs to himself at the mental image, just as you stop in front of him to ponder, “Something funny?”

Yuuta shakes his head, leaning down to kiss your forehead with a proper greeting. “Nothing,” he reassures you, reaching around to pull your backpack off of your shoulders, and slings it over one of his, “You look cute. Did you mean to buy a sweater big enough to double as a blanket?”

“The oversized look is in,” you scrunch your nose and roll your eyes, letting Yuuta take your hand in his despite his teasing, “I don’t even think I bought this, honestly. It might be Todo’s? Or Toge’s—it might even be Maki’s at this point.”

Yuuta freezes. He feels the world stop and a million different emotions surge through him at once, but the most prevalent of them all is something ugly and green. He could deal with Toge, though he doubts he’s the culprit. While you two shared a penchant for oversized clothing, Toge was more often than not the thief, rather than the lender, and he’s pretty good at keeping his collection of stolen goods under lock and key. Maki was out of the question, too, because you shared a class with Nobara earlier today, and there’s no way you’d have made it out of there wearing her girlfriend’s sweater.

So it probably was Todo’s. And Yuuta had said you looked cute. Though he wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole, his moment of self-pity is waning, and overcast by something steely, something too-hot bubbling in his chest. The question of why you have it goes over his head—he’s not concerned with that, nor will he fault you for it—the matter at hand is that you’re wearing it. And, sure, Yuuta thought you looked good in it before, but he could name sixteen other things you’d look better in at this very moment.

You’ve gone on to ramble about something that happened earlier, but Yuuta’s not listening. He drops your hand first, then both of your backpacks on the bench behind him, before tapping at your wrists. You don’t seem to understand him, cocking your head to the side with a pensive expression, but Yuuta only taps at your wrists again with a simple command, “Up.”

It doesn’t seem like you understand, but you follow anyway, and Yuuta is pulling the sweater up and off of your body before you can question him. He tosses it onto the bench with little care, then removes his white jacket and places it atop your backpacks. “What are—” you don’t have time to finish before he’s pulled his own hoodie off his body, and slid it over your head.

Yuuta smooths out the fabric under his palms with a satisfied grin on his face. Much better.

“Aw, Yuuta!” you bring a hand to tug at the strings of the hood, a wicked smile replacing your dazed blinking, “I didn’t know you were so possessive.”

You tease him until he’s red up to his ears, embarrassed and borderline bashful, a complete 180 from the looming jealousy that took over him moments before as he shimmies on his jacket again and picks up your back backs. He huffs, as you tease him, circling an arm around his as you begin to walk to the student center. He doesn’t know if he agrees with your declarations of him being a possessive boyfriend, but he does know that he’s your boyfriend, and your boyfriend only.

“So, you think I look cute, still?” you question, picking up a pack of gummy worms. Yuuta lets out a breath of laughter, pressing another kiss to your forehead, “Even cuter than before.”

(Two days later, Todo can be found screaming wildly to Itadori when he comes across a familiar hoodie strewn across a random bench on campus—who considers visiting the Student Health Clinic to make sure an eardrum wasn’t ruptured—because, “Bro, what the hell? I swear I fucking lost this thing!”)

[issysh3ll]

Fix ☆ Matt Sturniolo

‧₊˚✧🪩✧˚₊‧ Surprise Party Tour Special ‎‧₊˚✧🪩✧˚₊‧ Summary: After a long day on tour, Matt needs his fix to relax Warnings: SMUT, kissing, nipple sucking, handjob, sub Matt Wordcount: 900

☆ NSFW twitter link included at the end ☆

Its been a long day. The tour only started last week and yet Matt's body is exhausted. The soles of his feet are aching from standing on the stage for hours today between rehearsals and the performance. A gravelly feeling is slowly invading his throat the more he uses his voice, and his brain can barely form a coherent thought.

His two brothers obviously feel the same way, the car buzzing with a rare silence between the three boys. Getting back to the hotel and lying down is at the top of his brothers' minds, but Matt has a different fix in mind.

As the boys file into their own rooms at the hotel, Matt swings his door open and immediately searches the room for his fix. The one thing he knows will dissolve the tension in his shoulders. The only thing that will clear the haze of fog blocking his mind.

You're sitting at the far end of the room, perched up on the bed and looking like a fucking dream when Matt's eyes finally land on you. Immediately he feels the tightness of his shoulders relax slightly and his body responds reflexively, his feet carrying him across the room towards you, fingers quickly fumbling to discard his suit jacket and tug his tie off his neck. His mind doesn't have to be working for his body to know that it needs you.

Without a beat of hesitation Matt's knees crawl him onto the mattress and he flops down into your lap, his face nuzzling into your stomach and hands pawing at your sides. You respond exactly the way he needs you to, your hands sliding up his sides, untucking and unbuttoning his shirt. The soft gentle contact acts like a drop of water, each touch raining down and slowly but surely washing away the stress of his day.

The loving shower of your attention works wonders for the tension in his body, but there's something still there. His mind still feels clogged, his thoughts still feel heavy and diluted.

His hands that had been carefully holding you near him shift, sliding up the loose t-shirt covering your torso. As the material lifts over your chest a soft beam of light breaks through the haze in his mind. This is what he needs. This is the fix he's chasing.

As if you can sense what he needs, you pull the shirt over your head, revealing yourself to him completely. It's like a dream. The curve of your breasts and the soft peak of your nipples pebbling in the cool air of the room looks like something straight out of his daydreams. The sight alone is enough to make his mouth water, begging to taste the heaven you've just presented him with.

With fog still clouding his mind and blocking his words, the best request he can muster is a polite whine, eyes staring straight at what he wants. But his perfect girl understands, you don't need his words, you simply smile and nod, pulling his head up from your lap to draw him closer.

Lazy kisses pepper up your skin as Matt shifts into position, burying his face into your chest, cupping your breasts in each hand. His mouth hangs open, breathing you in deeply. Until his body is practically itching for his fix, for the sweet drug of your skin in his mouth, the delight of your taste on his tongue.

Gently his tongue drags over the swell of your breast, licking and suckling at the soft skin until he reaches your hard nipple. His watering mouth sucks the peak in eagerly. Enchanted by the soft sigh you release, his efforts double, suckling and nibbling at you, desperately chasing that sound again. Maybe that's the fix he needs.

Until he feels your hands shift down his body, sliding and tracing gentle lines over his skin towards the waist band of his dress pants. Then he's certain this is what he's been chasing.

When your hand pauses on his zipper in question, he lets out an eager grunt, the sound vibrating around your nipple and drawing an equally eager noise from you.

Each new sensation, each new touch and noise you give him slowly works to dissipate the fog in his mind. His thoughts become clearer with each gentle stroke of your hand around his length, his needs becoming plainer with each satisfied moan his moth elicits from you.

This is his fix. To be wrapped up in your arms, covered in you. Your hands all over him, bringing him every ounce of pleasure his nerves ache for, and his mouth all over you, desperate for you to feel the same. This is the heaven he needed.

As your hands strokes up and down his length, your thumb circling over his tip, his mind is clear once again. He'd go through every day as exhausting as this one if he could have this each time.

‧₊˚✧🪩✧˚₊‧ NSFW Twitter Link ‧₊˚✧🪩✧˚₊‧

Masterlist

[bjlipss]

— 00:48, nanami-sized hugs .

cw: fem reader, explicit smut, soft dom!nanami, body worship, oral (f receiving), teasing. nanami being so effortlessly sexy it’s rude, deep penetration, gentle roughness, creampie, aftercare, sleepy love, pillow talk

-> part 1 <-

you don’t know how long you stay like that—draped over him, curled up in the center of his warmth, pretending your body is enough to crush him under the weight of your love.

but eventually, his fingers start trailing lower.

not in a hurry. not even trying anything. he’s just tracing the curve of your spine, slow and steady, like he’s memorizing you with his hands. it feels good. grounding. his palm is so large, it nearly covers your entire lower back when he presses it there and holds.

you hum against his neck, shifting slightly to get more comfortable. except you end up wiggling your hips a little too much in his lap—and you feel it, the way his breath catches, the sudden tension that tightens in his thighs.

“hmm,” you say, a little too innocently. “did i just discover something interesting?”

his voice is low, patient. “i don’t think you’re playing fair anymore.”

“oh?” you blink up at him. “are there rules to this game?”

he gives you a flat look, but his ears are pink. “you said you were hugging me.”

“i am.” you scoot forward a little, purposefully letting your thighs bracket his. “just very enthusiastically.”

he exhales through his nose. “you’re a menace.”

“you love it.”

“unfortunately.” his hands settle on your hips, grounding you again. “be good.”

“define good.”

“don’t make me do it for you.”

oh. okay.

you squirm again, just to test him—and that’s when his hands tighten, not hard, but firm. final. the way he always gets when he’s had enough of your teasing and is two seconds from putting you exactly where he wants you.

you go still.

“see?” he says, voice dropping an octave. “you fit better when you behave.”

you blink, cheeks heating. “that’s so rude of you to say when i’m still trying to love you innocently.”

“there’s nothing innocent about the way you’re straddling me right now.”

“maybe i’m just thorough.”

“maybe you’re just asking for it.”

you fall into silence for a moment. you can feel his heartbeat under your palm, steady but quickening. the room has gotten warm. his touch hasn’t moved, but somehow it feels heavier, like the potential of his hands has your whole body buzzing.

“if i were asking for it,” you murmur, pressing your forehead to his, “how would i go about doing that?”

“carefully,” he replies, voice like honey and sin. “or not at all. i’m already listening.”

you let out a breathless little laugh. “you’re dangerous.”

“only with you.” he tilts his head and kisses the tip of your nose, then your cheekbone, then the edge of your jaw. “and only when you start it.”

you don’t say anything at first. you just wrap your arms tighter around his neck, tugging him in close until your mouths hover together, breath mingling.

“okay,” you whisper. “then let me start it properly.”

his lips curl in a soft, fond smile that promises everything.

his mouth brushes yours like he’s still deciding. like he’s savoring the option of kissing you before actually doing it. his hands stay where they are—resting calmly on your hips—but you can feel the electricity humming beneath his skin, ready to snap like a live wire.

“kiss me,” you whisper, breath soft against his lips.

and he does.

it’s deep. warm. slow. he kisses you like a man who knows he’s got all night. like he’s never going to get tired of the taste of you. like every flick of his tongue and press of his lips is just the beginning.

you whimper into his mouth when his fingers finally tighten around your waist again—pulling you closer, sliding down, down, until they rest low on your thighs. he drags you against him, just enough to feel the weight of his arousal press into the cradle of your hips.

your stomach flips. “kento…”

“mm.” he hums into your neck, trailing kisses down to your collarbone. “you wanted to manhandle me earlier, remember?”

“i—i was joking.”

“were you?” he bites gently at the base of your throat, right where your pulse jumps. “you’ve been squirming in my lap for the last ten minutes. rubbing that pretty little body all over me like you wanted something.”

you shiver. “i… yeah. okay. i did.”

he pulls back enough to look at you—his eyes dark, half-lidded, golden and slow-burning. “good,” he murmurs. “i like it when you’re honest.”

you blink up at him, dazed. “you’re so hot when you get like this, it’s unfair.”

his mouth twitches in the ghost of a smile. “when i get like what?”

“all serious and bossy. like you’re about to ruin me and pay my bills.”

his laugh is low and sinful, and he lifts you into his arms like it’s nothing—like you weigh nothing—and carries you toward the bedroom.

“i already pay your bills,” he says, kicking the door closed behind him. “i just haven’t ruined you yet.”

you cling to him, heart pounding. “are you about to?”

he lays you down gently, carefully, like you’re something precious. his voice is velvet-smooth. “oh, sweetheart,” he says, settling between your thighs, hands sliding up under your shirt. “you have no idea.”

the first thing he does is undress you like unwrapping a gift.

no rush. no harsh tugs. just his knuckles brushing reverently over every inch of exposed skin, fingers dragging slow lines over your sides and ribs, his gaze devouring every newly revealed inch of you with quiet reverence.

“so beautiful,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “you should see the way you look right now.”

you make a sound that’s half protest, half plea—but it turns into a gasp when he dips down, mouth hot and wet over your chest, his tongue circling a sensitive peak before he sucks it gently between his lips.

you arch under him, already trembling. he holds you still with one hand, the other trailing between your legs like he’s mapping you out, learning every twitch and flutter with greedy care.

“so responsive,” he says against your skin. “i barely touched you.”

“your voice is doing half the work,” you pant.

“good to know.” he kisses a line down your stomach, nosing at your waistband. “then you’ll fall apart the moment i put my mouth here, won’t you?”

you nod frantically. “please.”

he slips your bottoms off in one smooth motion, settles between your thighs, and kisses the inside of your knee—then your inner thigh—then closer, until his breath fans over you and you’re shaking.

his voice is low and reverent. “let me take care of you.”

and god, does he.

nanami eats you like he’s starving.

slow at first—deliberate—like he’s trying to memorize your taste, the way your body reacts to every stroke of his tongue. his hands pin your thighs apart gently, fingers squeezing just enough to remind you that you’re not going anywhere. he flicks, swirls, sucks—each motion fluid, patient, perfect—and every time you gasp, his eyes flutter shut like you’ve just fed him praise.

he moans into you when you cry his name, one hand sliding up to lace his fingers with yours. he doesn’t stop, doesn’t let you go. not even when you buck against his face or whimper that it’s too much—because his voice is there, grounding you, coaxing you through it:

“that’s it.”

“you’re doing so well for me.”

“give it to me, sweetheart. don’t hold back.”

you come with a cry, body writhing, legs shaking around his shoulders—and still he holds you, mouth gentle now, easing you down with slow licks and soothing kisses until you’re panting and pliant and utterly undone.

when he finally pulls back, lips slick and eyes dark, he crawls up over you, kissing your temple, your cheeks, your lips again.

“still want to manhandle me?” he teases, breathless.

you laugh weakly, dragging your hands through his hair. “you win.”

“i wasn’t playing to win,” he says softly, settling between your legs. “just wanted to love you properly.”

he kisses you slow after that. open-mouthed and heavy, like he wants to give you every part of himself through your lips. you taste yourself on his tongue— the warmth of it, the intimacy, makes your hips arch into him instinctively. he groans softly when your legs tighten around his waist.

“still with me?” he murmurs, brushing his nose against yours.

you nod. dizzy, floating. “yes. please.”

he leans back, just enough to strip off his own shirt. and god — he’s unreal. all lean muscle, soft golden skin, those strong shoulders and forearms you’ve admired a hundred times now laid bare in the soft glow of the bedside lamp. his belt comes undone next. then the quiet unzip of his pants. then the sigh of him settling fully between your thighs — thick, hard, flushed against your center.

you reach for him with greedy fingers. he smiles, lazy and fond, and rubs himself against you, slow and deliberate. “you’re already dripping. look at you.”

you whimper as the head of his cock slides against your folds, gathering slick, teasing your entrance. “don’t tease.”

“i’m not,” he murmurs, guiding himself into position. “i’m just enjoying my view.”

then — with a quiet groan — he presses in.

you both go still.

the stretch is slow. deep. he sinks in inch by inch, breathing through his nose like he’s trying to stay in control, because you’re so tight, so warm, and he’s so big it feels like he’s claiming a part of you no one else has ever touched. his fingers dig into your hips as he bottoms out, and when you whimper at how full you feel, he kisses your cheek and says, “i know, sweetheart. i know. just breathe.”

he gives you a moment — lets you wrap your legs around his waist, your arms around his back — and once you start shifting against him, once you start needing more, he starts to move.

and it’s heaven.

his thrusts are deep and rhythmic — deliberate, rolling — more grind than snap. the kind of slow fucking that makes your whole body ache in the best way. his hands are everywhere — sliding up your thighs, gripping your ass, cupping your jaw like you’re something holy. and his voice, fuck, his voice is this low, reverent rumble right in your ear:

“so good for me.”

“you feel that? every inch of me, right here?”

“you take me so well, baby. fuck, just like that.”

“want me to fill you up, don’t you?”

you nod helplessly, whining as he rocks into you. “yes, god, yes— kento—”

he kisses you hard when you say his name like that, all breathless and wrecked. “you’ve got me,” he pants. “this—this is all for you. no one else gets this, do you understand me?”

you nod again, mouth open, eyes glassy. “just me. only me.”

his hips stutter a little, the first crack in his rhythm, and he curses under his breath. “gonna come,” he says, forehead pressed to yours. “fuck—gonna come inside you. want that, sweetheart?”

“want it so bad,” you breathe. “give it to me. fill me up.”

and with one last thrust — deep, hard, burying himself to the hilt — he groans your name and spills into you. thick and warm and endless. his whole body shudders above you, muscles trembling, voice breaking as he rides it out with slow, shallow thrusts that only push him deeper inside.

you’re panting. aching. boneless. still wrapped around him like a blanket, clinging to his shoulders as he rests there — still inside you — letting your breaths sync back up.

“fuck,” you whisper. “i’m gonna feel that for days.”

he laughs softly into your neck. “that was the idea.”

you smile, pressing lazy kisses to his temple, his cheek, his jaw. “i’m obsessed with you.”

he collapses over you slowly, like a warm weighted blanket. his body still trembles with the aftershocks of release, and for a few long moments, all either of you can do is breathe — hearts pounding together, chests pressed tight.

you’re still holding onto him. arms looped lazily around his back, fingertips tracing damp lines over the sharp slope of his shoulder blades. your thighs twitch around his hips, muscles fluttering from the way he filled you so deep you’re still stuffed full, his release thick and hot inside you.

nanami exhales against your skin, lips brushing your neck. “you okay?”

you nod into his shoulder. “more than okay. you ruined me.”

he lets out a low, soft chuckle — the kind he only makes when he’s completely relaxed, the warmth of it rumbling through his chest into yours. “good. that was the goal.”

he pulls back just enough to look at you.

his hair is a little messy — golden strands falling across his forehead, damp at the temples. his eyes are lidded, but alert, scanning your face with tender precision. his hand brushes over your cheek, knuckles dragging gently, thumb swiping under your eye like he’s wiping away tears that haven’t even fallen.

“you’re flushed,” he murmurs. “and dazed.”

“because you fucked the thoughts out of me.”

his brow twitches. “language.”

“you liked it when i begged!”

he pauses. “…i did.”

you grin up at him, utterly shameless, even with your legs still draped over his hips and the sticky mess of his release trickling from between your thighs.

“don’t move yet,” you whisper, honeyed tone reaching his ears. “i like the way you feel inside me.”

nanami’s eyes widen briefly and groans softly, kissing your collarbone. “you’re going to be the death of me.”

“you’re the one who did this to me.”

his hips shift slightly — just enough to make both of you gasp. his cock is still thick and warm inside you, softening gradually, but even that slight movement makes you tremble with overstimulation. you whimper softly, body clenching around him.

he curses under his breath and stills you with both hands. “easy. shh, I’ve got you. let me take care of you, baby.”

he pulls out gently, and it’s almost too much — the stretch of withdrawal, the emptiness after such fullness. his spend immediately begins to drip out of you, and he’s there instantly, catching it with his hand, smoothing his palm up between your thighs to soothe you.

“look at this,” he murmurs, reverent. “you’re leaking. made such a mess of you.”

you whimper, squirming at the sensation. “stop talking like that, i’ll get needy again.”

“you think i’d mind?” he leans in, kisses your stomach. “i’d have you again in a second. but right now, i need to clean you up or i won’t be able to think.”

you let him go, reluctantly, and watch as he pads toward the bathroom, naked, golden skin flushed pink and deliciously marked by your hands and mouth. he returns with warm towels and water and wipes you down gently, carefully — whispering little praises as he goes:

“so good for me.”

“you took all of me like it was nothing.”

“never seen anything more beautiful than you like this.”

he helps you into one of his softest tees and pulls a pair of clean briefs up your legs. he doesn’t rush a thing. every touch is careful, every glance full of quiet love.

when he finally tucks you back into bed and slides in beside you, he pulls you straight into his chest — your back to him, his front pressed firm and warm behind you, arms wrapped around your waist.

you feel the breath leave him in a contented sigh as his chin rests on your shoulder. “there. now i can rest.”

you reach back and run your fingers through his hair. “that was perfect.”

“you were perfect.”

you both go quiet, the soft ticking of the wall clock the only sound for a while.

then, you murmur, “hey, kento?”

“mm?”

“will you always hold me like this after?”

his voice is drowsy but certain. “every time.”

you smile. “even when we’re, like, old?”

“especially then,” he says. “you’ll always fit here.”

your heart twists and melts all at once.

he pulls the comforter up over both of you, humming faintly. you shift a little to nestle into him more deeply, and his arm tightens around your waist.

“i like this part,” you whisper.

“me too.” he kisses your temple. “but just so you know… if you wake me up in two hours asking for more, i won’t say no.”

you grin. “noted.”

[peachdues]

someone get a crowbar and pry these two off each other jfc

MDNI. Explicit sexual content.

COMPASS MASTERLIST HERE

Whenever you’re around, Sanemi has a hard time keeping his body to himself.

Your physical relationship is intense, especially throughout those first few weeks. Sanemi can hardly keep his hands off you, and you’re no better. Not even the layers of each other’s clothing is enough to dissuade you, when the mood strikes. All it takes is one brush of his hand against your waist, or a touch that lingers slightly too long, and the two of you are on each other like a pair of spring rabbits.

Naturally, the fact that the two of you have to sneak around to a degree only further excites you both. It’s an extra layer of exhilaration, the feeling that what the two of you do is somehow forbidden, and that makes makes it all the harder to resist sneaking into corners of the bookstore to have it out.

And have it out you do.

Never in his life has Sanemi had as much sex — or consistently gotten off as quickly — as he has with you. Maybe that’s because he’s with his dream girl and he’s so in love with you that it makes him stupid. Or, maybe Sanemi has just finally found someone whose sex drive outpaces his own. Either way, he’s thrilled about it.

And the more time you spend exploring one another, the more your confidence grows. No longer is he the only one initiating; by July, you have no qualms about telling him exactly what it is you want — what you need.

Like that afternoon he’d managed to sneak over to the bookstore. It’d been about five days since he’d last seen you, and truly, he hadn’t walked into the store with ulterior motives. He’d only wanted to see you, maybe steal a kiss or two before his title reminded him that before he was yours, he was the Corps’. All he’d wanted was a little taste of your love; of what waited for him when he could finally stash away his crowbar and pretend he was anyone else.

Naturally, what he wanted and what you had planned were two very different things.

The moment you’d laid eyes on him, you wrapped your fingers around his wrist and towed him to the back storeroom. Once safely inside, you’d pushed him down, forced him to sit atop a stack of shipping crates, and crawled right onto his lap.

“Need you inside me, baby,” you cooed against his ear, rolling your hips against his with a breathy, impatient little whine that never failed to drive him up the fucking wall with desire. “Need you to fill me up.”

He hadn’t been able to respond; you wouldn’t allow it, not when your fingers were already loosening his belt buckle. Besides, a strap of your sundress had fallen down your shoulder — what was he supposed to do, not suck your pretty tit right into his mouth? How else could he have smothered his groan when you finally sunk down on his throbbing cock, and began riding him without mercy? He’s only a man, and a fucking weak one at that, as the last few weeks had made clear. Especially when it comes to you.

He came embarrassingly fast that time, only just managing to bring you over the edge with him before he unloaded inside you, fast and hard.

“More”, you’d demanded, even before he’d finished spurting his release in you. “More.”

That’s another thing: you love him cumming in you. And he’s helpless to watch as years of common sense and diligent avoidance of the consequences of unprotected sex flies right out the damn window. Whatever higher level of reasoning he may have had, it’s fucking useless when he’s balls-deep inside you, feeling you squeeze and milk him for every last drop.

Besides, he can’t help but be entranced by the face you make every time he fills you up; it’s nothing short of pure ecstasy, and it’s consistently the hottest fucking thing he’s ever seen in his life.

He hadn’t had much choice other than to obey your command. So, still buried deep inside you, he’d lifted you up and walked you across the storeroom to one of the sturdier supply shelves, and pressed you against it. And then he fucked you again like the dutiful boyfriend he is.

Thank god you’ve somehow ended up prescribed what can only be the most elite form of birth control.

He’d asked you, once, to take a pregnancy test earlier on, in a moment of anxious weakness. The idea of fucking raw as often as the two of you did with only a small pill to prevent any accidents was foreign to him, and Sanemi had made his resistance toward kids well known to you.

You’d agreed without hesitation or judgment.

Since then, he’s insisted on paying for your prescription. It’s only fair. Besides, it does help you with your monthly period cramps — he never wants something as trivial as cost to prevent you from getting the care he knows you desperately need.

But, god help him the day you ever run out, or somehow, the market for birth control dries up. Sanemi knows the chances he has of falling back on condoms or pulling out are slim to none.

Like he said: he’s fucking weak.

[korebringerofded]

We Don't Talk About It- Zoro X FReader

Summary- It was easier to be casual, no strings attached with your fellow crewmate, but things get complicated. A/N- In the thralls of depression and managed to write something. No edit. No proofread. Rawdogging life rn. Don't judge me too hard. Warnings- Mentions of sex, fwb, cursing, reader is called 'my girl' by zoro like once, smut at the end, oral (f recieveing), Zoro has big cock, Zoro almost (but doesn't) kill an npc.

Reblogs, likes, and comments are always appreciated. All requests are open and you can find my entire masterlist here.

You wouldn’t necessarily say that your relationship with Roronora Zoro was complicated, you two agreed rather early on in your arrangement that it would be nothing more than casual sex, a heated passion of tongues and heat, hands desperately tearing clothes from sweaty bodies when the other felt that hot aching hunger that couldn’t go unsatiated.

Nothing more, of course. Just a fun and harmless way to let off steam. What’s the worst thing that could go wrong with fucking your crewmate anyways, right?

Nevermind all the times you would doze off in his arms, the ocean breeze ruffling his fuzzy green hair as you laid on his chest, all while your fingers easily traced along the sprawling scar across his chest. The whole time you lay there, all the famous sword-fighter can do is set your annoyingly cute face to memory.

You both swore it was casual, even when Zoro bought so many useless, pointless things, for the chance he would get to see your smile, hear the very laugh that kept him up at night. The way fiery rage would boil through him anytime he saw anyone flirting with you, touching you.

But of course, it wasn’t anything serious. Just casual, no-strings-attached, sometimes drunken, sex. Neither of you needed any distractions, after all.

Sure, maybe Zoro daydreamed about your taste, maybe he knew each and every place you liked to be touched. And yeah, maybe Zoro spent hours thinking about your lips on his cock, like you were his only relief, like he couldn’t cum without imagining your fucking eyes fluttering up at him,so glossy and wide, because fuck his own hand was incomparable to yours, no matter how many times he fucked his fist, it wasn’t the same as you.

But that was fine, normal even…right?

That’s exactly why you shouldn’t have cared, shouldn’t have felt a single thing as you stood at the edge of a crowded bar, the entire crew drinking and chatting and yet despite yourself, despite all the denial, you were noticeably distracted, eyes glued to the bar.

Zoro had (unsurprisingly) over-indulged, leaning against the bar with hazy and glossy eyes, a lazy grin on his face as a stranger, a young woman almost shamelessly flirted with him, a manicured hand trailing up his arm, probably admiring his toned muscles, the ones you had grown so used to, the ones you found yourself missing more and more.

You two weren’t exclusive, you had both fucked other people before and yet…that didn’t change the pang of jealousy that burned in your chest, spreading up and over your cheeks. You let out an audible sigh, making some vague excuse about needing air before pushing through the crowd and out into the cool, empty streets. You swallowed down the fresh air, letting the crisp breeze blow over you to cool your nerves, the heartache you chose to ignore.

You didn’t even need to look up to know who had followed after you, the familiar scent of sake and salty ocean air filling your senses, as Zoro leaned against the wall next to you. He was quiet for a while, the only sound on the near empty street was the festivities inside the tavern.

The entire time you could feel Zoro’s steely eye locked on you, his brows furrowed just slightly. He didn’t say anything, just occasionally glancing at you. You hated how it made you simmer, how much it affected you, even now. It all made your earlier frustrations bubble up as if they were fresh wounds.

You shot him a look, his tilted head, and slightly pink cheeks only making your anger burn and brew in your chest.

“What?” Your tone was sharper than you intended, making you quickly turn away from his annoying face.

"What’s with the cold shoulder?” Zoro huffed, moving to stand in front of you, a hand against the wall behind you, his hand going to your chin.

He leaned in closer and- you could smell that woman's perfume, lingering on his skin and you scoffed, pulling away from him.

“I’m surprised you remembered I was even here.” You rolled your eyes, hating the jealousy that burned through your chest.

Zoro could just blink at you, eyebrows furrowed as you pulled away from him, his eye scanning over you, the clenched fists, the anger that boiled.

“So…you’re pissed at me or somethin’?” He asked, arms crossed over his chest.

“No.” You said sharply. “So go back to your new little friend.” You turned to walk away from him.

“Tsk.” Zoro let out a breath, a pang of irritation rushing through him. “That’s what has you so upset?” He wanted to laugh, his jaw tight.

You took in a deep breath, trying to keep yourself from saying something you’d regret. Still, you hated this nauseating jealousy that was building within your chest. You tilted your head back to look at him, his expression tight as he stared down at you.

“You were flirting with that fucking cook all night, and I get the third degree for talking to another woman?” Zoro laughed darkly, shaking his head as he got nose-to-nose with you.

“Since when do you care about that?” You huffed, tone coming out sharper than you intended. Sure, maybe you had been talking to Sanji that night but it wasn’t like that, not at all.

“I-.” Zoro took a step forward, his eye softening just slightly as his mouth hung open, so many unspoken words that danced on the tip of his tongue, threatening to spill over.

“Of course I care.” Was what he wanted to say, was what every cell and atom in his body screamed at him to say.

The silence was so heavy, and your eyes on him so intensely only made it worse, he just wanted to kiss that damn look off your face and be done with this.

Instead, he tightened his jaw and scoffed, shaking his head in frustration.

“I don’t care. Fuck whoever you want. I will fuck whoever I want.” He snapped, hating the way his ears burned, hating the way the words felt on his tongue even as he walked away.

It was a lie, of course it was a lie.

Almost two weeks of the silent treatment from you was enough to descend the swordsman into shambles, his jaw tight and lone eye twitching. The entire crew could sense it, the tension, divide, the way Zoro watched your each and every move and how you, in turn, ignored all of his advances to bridge the ever growing gap between you two.

Maybe you were pushing this all a little too far, being too hard on the swordsman. You never agreed on anything exclusive, had never wanted it to be exclusive before. No matter how many times you tried to remind yourself of that, it didn’t soften the blow.

That heartache was probably how you ended up here, drinking entirely too much in a crowded bar. Nami sat across from you, equally drunk as you were. Countless glasses sat on the table the two of you leaned against.

You had definitely gotten too drunk, more drunk than you had intended to.Your mind was reeling and cheeks pink as you danced incredibly close with a man whose name you couldn’t even remember. You don’t even remember telling him your own name nor him telling you his. His hand curled around your hip, his warmth seeping into you as his leg pressed between your thighs. It wasn’t the same, of course. And no matter how hard you tried to push it from your mind, he wasn’t who you wanted.

You sighed, shamelessly tilting your head back as you felt this complete stranger push his thigh between your legs, bodies pressed so close your breasts pushed to his hard chest, the skirt of your dress pushing up more and more as his hands wandered over your thighs and hips.

And then all at once- as if an unseeable force just ripped the stranger away, leaving you blinking and gasping as your bleary eyes took in the scene before you.

Zoro stood there, his face twisted in rage as held the man up by the edges of his shirt, his chest rising and falling with barely contained fury. His eyes full of fiery rage, his breath coming out in deep huffs.

“Get the fuck out of here.” Zoro growled, dropping him and the minute the man's feet touched the ground, he shoved his hand flat against the man's chest, the impact sending a deep crunch echoing through the bar as the man practically flew, colliding with the wall in a sickening crack.

You could just stand there, stupidly drunk, doe-eyed and cheeks so pink it just made Zoro’s head spin more, the beer he had drank that night still simmering in his veins.

“We are leaving. Now.” He said, leaving no room for question as he grabbed your arm and started to pull you after him.

You immediately shoved his hands away, arms crossing over your hips as Zoro slowly turned back to you, the veins in his muscled arms twitching as he got nose-to-nose with him.

“Why did you do that?!” You snapped, shoving at his shoulders, though Zoro could just stare down at you, nostrils flaring.

“Why?” Zoro laughed humorlessly, like ice running down your spine. Zoro inhaled deeply, shaking his head.

Without another word, Zoro had you scooped up and tossed over his shoulder. He didn’t care that everyone in the place had witnessed the scene. He just ignored your curses, ignored the squirms and the way you smacked and hit him you ranted at him. HIs silence only made you more angry as he carried you out of the bar and down the dark street.

“Put me down, you piece of shit!’ You huffed

You hated feeling like this, so vulnerable, so furious, even when you knew you had no right to be.

And eventually he did put you down, waiting until you had stopped cursing and smacking him.

He was gentle as he sat you back down on unsteady heels.You could only glare up at him, cheeks pink from all the drinks you had, definitely too much.

“Do you enjoy fucking with me?” He asked, eye sharp and full of icy rage.

“Excuse m-.” You started, but Zoro moved forward, his hand slamming audibly on the wall behind you, trapping you in with his arms, the muscles twitching and tight.

“You ignore me for days, I go to find you, to try and fix whatever this is.” He waves his hand between the two of you. “And then, I hear from long-nose that you’re going out. I searched every bar in this fucking town and this is what I find.” Zoro growled, his hands trembling.

“Oh, so now you care what I do?” You scoffed, arms crossing over your chest, looking away from his steely gaze.

“Stop with the bullshit.” He snapped, jaw tight. “I’ve been goin’ fucking crazy, I don’t know what you want from me.” His tone was softer now, his eyebrows furrowed. “And seeing you with someone else it-.” Zoro shook his head, rubbing his neck with a sigh. “I almost lost it.”

Almost? You were sure the poor guy had a broken rib-maybe two, if he had even survived that.

“You could’ve killed that guy.” You muttered.

“I should’ve killed him.” Zoro said, a deadly serious look on his face.

There was a silence, a moment of shock between both of you, you were shocked that he had said it, and Zoro couldn’t believe he had been drunk enough to say it. He could just groan, rub his face in irritation before looking back down at your stupidly cute and sweet face.

“I have always cared.” He said suddenly.

“What?” Your voice was meek, eyes and sharp expression softening as you saw the look of desperation, the regret on his face.

“I…didn’t mean to hurt you, to…make you think I don’t care I-.” He stopped, his cheeks burning up and he sighed, leaning his forehead against yours.

“I care too fucking much, actually.” He continued.

“But you- you said.” You started, your heart racing at his closeness, at the rawness in his voice.

“I was just being shitty, I…was acting shitty. I was jealous, that’s it.” Zoro mumbled. “Please- I can’t take anymore of this silent treatment bullshit.”

Seeing how much it had affected him, the true regret and emotion on his face made your eyes flutter, cheeks burn up at his uncharacteristically soft words. The ache in your chest now replaced with a fiery thrum that echoed through your entire body.

“You were…jealous? Of Sanji?” You asked, a teasing smile on your face that only made Zoro scowl and pinch your cheek.

“Of course I was, stupid.” He mumbled. “Did you really think I would want anyone as much as I want you?” He asked, his hand brushing over your cheek, he couldn’t help but savor each touch, each glance.

“You want me?” You asked

He let out a dark laugh, letting his head slip to the crook of your neck so he could take in your scent, your warmth, like he was starved and worn.

“Every second of every day.This face, this body. I can’t think straight when it comes to you” He said in a low voice, his hands gripping your hips as if to emphasize his point.

You were both too drunk, too close and…when he looked up at you, neither of you had a shred of hesitation before your lips collided, neither sure who started it. Only that you both stumbled back to the ship. Hushed giggles and stolen kisses exchanged as Zoro clumsily lead you to an empty room. His hands moved quickly, almost desperately, over your flesh, spreading out under your clothes, his fingers trailing down the expanse of your stomach.

“Zo’, slow down. M’not gonna disappear.” You managed out, giggling softly as Zoro grabbed your legs and dragged you forward so he could press soft kisses down your ankle.

“Maybe I don’t wanna take that chance.” Zoro hummed, his steely eye watching each and every reaction, taking in each sound you made like it was a siren's song.

His rough, tanned hands dragged along your thighs, leaving goosebumps in the wake of his touch before his fingers brushed over the clips of your heels and he quickly, expertly, unfashioned them, letting the clatter to the floor.

“Ever the gentleman.” You teased, pushing up on your elbows as Zoro tugged off his shirt, his muscles tense and eyes hungry as he stared down at you.

“Gotta treat my girl nice, hm?”

Those words made you pause, your heart racing at the way his eyes locked on yours, the almost nervous expression on his face, like he was worried about what you would say, what you would think.

“I just-” He started, eyes flickering over your blushing cheeks, that damn smile.

It kept him up for weeks, that face.

You chewed on your lip, pushing yourself off the bed and standing before him, hands trailing over his scarred chest, tracing along each line, each mark. His scent made you dizzy, seasalt and cedar, sweat. You could almost feel his own heart beating as hard as yours was. You rested your hand there before leaning in and connecting your lips, it wasn't rushed or rough.

Your arms looped around his neck, neck tilted as Zoro slipped his tongue between your glossy lips, the taste of sake still on his breath as he invaded your mouth, his hands coming up to your hips, gripping the ends of your dress and tugging it up and over your head.

He had seen your body countless times, and yet for some reason this time felt so different, like it was the first time either of you allowed yourself to feel anything real from these fleeting moments. LIke Zoro let himself actually want you.

“S’ fuckin beautiful.” Zoro almost groaned, his fingers trailing over your hips, old scars. His mouth practically watering at your soft skin presented just for him. His fingers tugged away at your bra in a swift motion, a low hum at the hardened peaks of your nipples, the way your cheeks flushed.

His eye scanned down your body, his thumb hooking under the thin straps of your panties before he tugged them down, a starved expression on his face as he gently laid you back on the bed, pressing kisses down your ankle, up your thighs before he was settled between them.

“Been thinking about this for weeks.” He muttered, pressing soft kisses to your clit, around it, his tongue dragging slow and agonizing circles around your bundle of nerves. “Need to taste you, feel you cum until your legs fuckin’ shake.” He groaned, voice muffled and his cock pressing painfully against the bed, desperate for any friction as precum soaked his boxers.

He truly acted starved, his hands gripping your thighs tightly so you couldn't pull away or escape his touch, his hungered movements as his tongue pressed past your folds, curling and lapping up all your essence that he could. He shifted again, moving to suck on your puffy clit.

You were a mess, near sobbing as you came, once twice, coming up on a third time as Zoro continued his assault. He had moved so one of his expert fingers curled and twisted in your tight cunt while his tongue swirled over your clit.

“Z-Zo’.” You whined, a pleading desperate tone to your voice as you tugged at his messy green hair. “N-need you inside.” You whined, eyebrows furrowed and face hot with tears.

He smirked, a wolfish grin on his face as he pulled back, his fingers and mouth leaving your sex just long enough so he can tug his boxers away and leaving you feeling empty, the need and want for him growing even hotter in your core.

You couldn’t stop the gasp as you saw his cock, messy curls at the base and pulsing with need. Zoro had always stretched you out in a painfully delicious way, but it always shocked you regardless of that. Tanned skin, pink fat tip that he pressed against your slick folds, letting out a groan as your slick coated him, your warmth pressed against him and making his hands tighten around your hips.

“How bad you want it, hm?” He chuckled darkly, hips pushing forward so his tip pushed past your walls, stretching and aching for more, desperate for all of him.

“D-don’t be mean.” You huffed out, already panting from your previous orgasam’s, head still spinning and your stomach tight with tension.

“C’mon, you’re so soaked for me. Just wanna hear ya’ say it.” He said, continuing his movements, pushing his tip just past your walls before dragging his fat tip along her clit, her folds.

“Z-zoro. Please, I need you. Only you.” Your voice, the sweetness in your tone was enough to make Zoro snap, his hips slamming flush against yours. You scrambled to cover your mouth to quiet the moans and gasps that came tumbling out.

“That’s right, y-you’re mine.” He grunted, hands spreading your legs deliciously so his tip could burry deep into your plush walls that trembled around him, your desire soaking the bed, your thighs. “Only mine.” He groaned, his tense and fat balls slapping against your flesh as he continued pounding into your awaiting cunt which tightened and pulsed.

Zoro was delirious, drunk on the liquor he had drank indeed but more so with this, the teary look in your eyes, the bruising pace he kept, unrelenting and heavy as his desire boiled over, the cord snapping as he felt you tighten again, and he came deep in your cunt, letting his seed fill your womb. He had to mark you, remind himself you were his, only his.

Exhausted, you both collapsed there, sweaty limbs entangled, drunk on each other, on the passion.

And for once, neither of you left or recoiled. Zoro just tugged you into his arms, holding you there until you both drifted off.

Please do not copy, use my work, or put it through AI without my permission or I'll be really sad about it!!

[insidekatmind]

More than friend~Kenan yildiz

Wearning: +18,smut

Request: yes!

You’re still laughing when Kenan turns off the TV. The movie you’ve just watched has turned out to be a crappy comedy instead of the thriller you’d chosen. The couch in his house is comfy and soft, and you’re sunk into the cushions, legs crossed and your face still red from laughing.

“I didn’t think I’d laugh this hard tonight,” you admit, running a hand through your hair.

“Me neither,” he laughs, tucking a pillow behind his back. His eyes shine in the dim light of the living room. “But at least we had fun.”

You nod, heart beating a little faster than usual. Kenan has been your best friend for years, yet lately there’s something different between you. Something that you feel grow every time he looks at you in that kind, yet insightful way.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asks, standing up from the couch. His smile is disarming, so natural.

“No, I’m fine,” you say with a shy smile. The two of you remain silent for a moment, and then, almost without thinking, you add, “I like being here with you.”

His eyebrows raise for a moment, surprised by your sincerity. But then he smiles, a warm expression that seems to slide over you like a hug.

“I like having you here, too,” he admits, sitting back down next to you. This time he’s closer, so much so that your knees are touching. You feel a shiver run across your skin.

“I have something I need to tell you,” he says softly, his voice lower, more serious. “For a while now… I’ve noticed that I think of you differently. Not just as my best friend.”

You hold your breath. Those words are exactly what you’ve been trying to ignore, what you’ve tried to repress every time your heart beats too fast in his presence.

“Me too… I feel the same.”

For a moment, the world stops. Then, slowly, Kenan brings his face closer to yours. His eyes lock onto yours, seeking one last confirmation. You nod slightly, and his warm breath mixes with yours.

When his lips touch yours, it is sweet and intense at the same time. A kiss that tastes of promises never said and feelings finally confessed. His hands gently touch your face, and you let yourself go, forgetting everything else.

When you pull away, his eyes shine brighter than ever.

“I think this changes things, right?” he says with a slight smile.

“Maybe so. But I’m fine with it.”

And for the first time, you realize that being there with him is exactly where you want to be.

Kenan kisses you again and in the meantime he takes off your skirt and panties and drags you astride him.

Kenan's hands grip your hips firmly as he pulls you onto his lap, your bare bottom pressing against his growing arousal. His lips crush against yours in a passionate kiss, tongues dancing and exploring. He breaks away, panting softly.

"God, you're so fucking beautiful," he murmurs, his voice husky with desire. His hands roam over your curves, squeezing and caressing. "I've wanted this for so long."

He lifts you slightly, fumbling with his belt and zipper. You hear the sound of fabric rustling as he frees himself, his hard length springing up. He positions you above him, the tip of his cock brushing against your wet folds.

"Are you sure about this?" he asks, his eyes locked onto yours, filled with lust and concern.You nod, biting your lip.

You moaned and kissed his jaw. "So big."Kenan's breath hitches at your words, a smug grin spreading across his face. "You like that, huh?" he teases, his hips rolling up to meet yours, driving his thick length deeper inside you.

His hands slide down to your ass, squeezing the firm flesh as he helps guide your movements. "You're so fucking tight, it's like you were made for my cock," he groans, his lips trailing kisses along your jawline.

He leans back slightly, his eyes roaming over your body possessively. "Look at you, riding me like you own me," he praises, his voice low and husky. "You're so damn sexy."

You smiled at his words and caressed his chest as you continued to ride him. Kenan's chest rises and falls rapidly beneath your caressing hands, his skin hot to the touch. He watches you through hooded eyes, his pupils dilated with lust. "Fuck, your touch drives me crazy," he groans, his hips bucking up to meet yours.

His large hands span your waist, gripping you tightly as he guides your movements. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mingling with your moans and his grunts. "You're so perfect, so fucking perfect," he pants, his words slurring slightly.

Suddenly, he sits up, wrapping his arms around you and flipping you onto your back. He settles between your legs, his thick length still buried deep inside you. "I need to be in control," he growls, his eyes intense as he begins to thrust into you with renewed vigor.

His powerful hips snap forward, driving his cock deep into your soaked pussy. The new angle allows him to hit that sweet spot inside you with every thrust, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. "Yes, just like that," you cry out, your nails digging into his back.

Kenan's face is flushed, his eyes wild with desire as he pounds into you relentlessly. "You're mine," he growls, his voice possessive. "Say it. Tell me you're mine."

"I'm yours," you pant, your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer. "Only yours, Kenan. Forever yours."

Those words seem to ignite something in him. He kisses you fiercely, his tongue dominating your mouth as he continues his brutal pace. The room fills with the sounds of your moans and the creaking of the couch beneath you.

"Come for me," he demands, his hand snaking between your bodies to find your clit. He circles the sensitive nub with his fingers, pushing you closer to the edge.

As his fingers work your clit, Kenan's thrusts become more erratic, his own release approaching. "Come with me," he grunts, his voice strained. "I want to feel you squeeze my cock as you come undone."

Your body responds to his command, your inner walls clamping down around his throbbing length. "Kenan!" you scream, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your body convulses beneath him, your juices flooding his cock and balls.

With a final thrust, Kenan buries himself deep inside you, his own release finding him. He groans loudly, his hot seed pulsing into your contracting pussy. "Fuck, yes," he pants, his hips jerking as he empties himself inside you.

He collapses on top of you, his sweaty body pressing you into the couch. You wrap your arms around him, holding him close as you both catch your breath. "That was incredible," he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

You smiled sweetly and stroked his hair. Kenan's eyes flutter closed as you gently stroke his hair, a contented sigh escaping his lips. He nuzzles into your touch, his arms tightening around you possessively. "I could stay like this forever," he murmurs, his voice soft and sated.

After a moment, he lifts his head to look at you, his eyes filled with warmth and affection. "You're amazing, you know that?" he says, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. "I'm so lucky to have you."

He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. It's different from the passionate kisses of earlier, this one is softer, more loving. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours. "I love you," he whispers, the words sending a flutter through your heart.

"I love you too," you reply, smiling up at him. "More than anything."

He grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Good. Because you're stuck with me now. I'm never letting you go."

And as you lay there in his arms, basking in the aftermath of your lovemaking, you realize that you wouldn't have it any other way.

[thedraculacat]

Forbidden Hours ೃ⁀⤵

sebastian sallow x reader

masterlist

synopsis: sneaking into the restricted section with sebastian is supposed to be about finding some book- but when you're forced to hide, pressed against each other, you realize this was never about books at all.

w/c: 700

The library is nearly totally silent at this hour, except for the distant soft crackling of torches against stone. You know you shouldn't be here- especially not at this hour, not with him- but Sebastian Sallow has a way of making bad ideas sound like the best ones you've ever had.

"You're positive we won't get caught?" you whisper, following him through the towering bookshelves in the Restricted Section. The forbidden books seem to close the space around you, their worn spines holding secrets you know no student should meddle with.

Sebastian casts you a look over his shoulder, his grin sharp and far too confident. “Have I ever let you down before?”

You sigh. “That’s not really an answer.”

He chuckles under his breath, leading you deeper in the dimly lit section of the library. The two of you have done plenty of reckless things together, but this feels different. The secrecy- he hadn’t even told Ominis about this- the stolen glances, and his insistence… Something about tonight is heavier, charged in a way you can’t quite put your finger on yet.

“You still haven’t told me what we’re looking for yet,” you say, watching him scan the shelves as if the answer might be spelled out in the books. “A book of dark secrets? A spell to make Ominis finally laugh?”

Sebastian chuckles under his breath. “Something like that.”

You continue forward, only half convinced, until a sound makes you both freeze- footsteps.

Panic surges through you as you whip your head around. “Sallow, we’re going to get caught,” you whisper.

Sebastian grabs your wrist, tugging you sharply behind a massive bookshelf. You barely have time to react before he’s pressing close, his breath warm against your cheek, his body caging you between him and the wall. Every nerve in your body lights a fire from the proximity, the way his fingers flex slightly on your hip as if he’s considering something.

“Maybe I just needed an excuse to get you alone.”

You lift your eyebrow, lips curling in amusement. “Oh, is that so?” Your voice is steady, teasing. “You couldn’t think of anything better than dragging me into a restricted part of the castle? Bit unoriginal, don’t you think?”

Sebastian’s smirk deepens, his hand on your hip tightening ever so slightly. “I don’t know… Seems to be working rather well, don’t you think?”

You tilt your head, your confidence holding up despite the heat pooling in your stomach. “Oh, absolutely. I’ve always dreamed of a romantic getaway next to cursed books and an unhinged librarian.” Your voice drops into something softer, more challenging. “You’ll have to do better than this, Sallow.”

His gaze flickers to your lips, darkening in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. Slowly, he lifts his free hand to your chin, thumb dragging across the soft skin of your bottom lip. His touch is light, his gaze never straying from the movement. You can feel your cheeks warming, the heat between the two of you reaching a breaking point, and yet, you stay exactly where you are.

"Sebastian, why are we here, really?" you murmur.

His fingers tighten slightly on your hip. “Shh,” he hushes, barely parting his lips to form the sound. 

The silence stretches as your eyes meet, as if the air itself is charged with something more than just avoiding getting caught. Then, before you can think- before you can even breathe- he crashes his lips against yours.

The kiss is searing, all heat and desperation, like he’s been holding back for far too long. His fingers slide to the nape of your neck, pulling you closer, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. 

You don’t resist- not when he taste like something forbidden, something intoxicating. Your hands find his robes, gripping tightly to steady yourself as he presses you further into the wall, molding against you like he never wants to let go.

Time fails to exist. There is only Sebastian, only the way he is kissing you like he needs you to breathe. Your head spins, your lungs burn, but you don’t care.

When he finally pulls away, you’re breathless, your lips tingling, your body still caged beneath his. He takes in your dazed expression, a smirk growing on his lips.

“That,” he hums, his voice low, “is why we’re here.”

And, Merlin help you, you think you might just let him take you anywhere.

masterlist

[solxamber]

This is quite a silly holiday event ya have there..😼 Diasomnia, 2 comedy?please and thank youu!!

Have a great dayyy!! 😸

Culinary Fear || Lilia Vanrouge

For the Holiday Event! || Theme: Baking/Cooking together ; Genre: Comedy

The kitchen is a war zone. Flour dusts every surface like freshly fallen snow, splatters of vibrant, unidentifiable liquids cover the counters, and there’s a distinct smell of burnt… something.

“Ah, doesn’t this just scream holiday cheer?” Lilia exclaims, holding up a bowl of what might once have been dough. Now, it’s a questionable neon green, with little black specks swirling ominously. “This will surely bring joy to everyone!”

You glance at the bowl and then at Lilia, who looks positively radiant with pride. “Lilia… what exactly is in that?”

“Oh, just a pinch of everything that felt festive!” He winks, sprinkling what looks like crushed candy canes into the mix. The bowl fizzes slightly. “Cooking is about creativity, my dear!”

“Cooking is also about not poisoning people,” you mutter, grabbing the bowl from him before he can add anything else to his holiday concoction of doom.

Lilia claps his hands. “Nonsense! This will be a masterpiece!”

You sigh, glancing at the tray of cookies in the oven that somehow looks worse than the raw dough. The candy cane stripes have melted into a tie-dye of neon colors, and one cookie is bubbling like a witch’s cauldron. It’s both fascinating and terrifying.

“Alright, Lilia, I’m stepping in. Let me… adjust a few things.”

“You’re doubting me?” Lilia places a hand over his heart, feigning offense. “But very well. I’ll trust your touch.”

You carefully add ingredients to salvage the taste, though there’s no saving the appearance. When the cookies finally emerge, they look like creatures from a low-budget horror movie. The colors are nightmarish, some pieces are oddly misshapen, and one even has what looks like teeth (you refuse to ask how).

Just as you’re contemplating throwing them into the Abyssal Dark for safety, Sebek marches into the kitchen.

“YOUNG MASTER DESERVES THE FINEST HOLIDAY TREATS! WHAT IS THIS AMAZING AROMA?!”

You and Lilia exchange a glance, neither saying a word.

Sebek grabs a cookie that looks like it’s staring at him and bites into it. Everyone freezes, waiting for the inevitable meltdown.

But then…

Sebek swallows, his eyes widening. “IT’S… IT’S DELICIOUS!”

Lilia’s face lights up like a Christmas tree. “I knew it!” he exclaims, puffing out his chest with pride. “My culinary instincts are unmatched!”

You cough, trying to hide your laughter. “Uh-huh. Instincts.”

Sebek takes another bite, blissfully unaware of the side-eyes Silver and Malleus are giving him as they peek into the kitchen.

Malleus steps forward cautiously, his gaze fixed on the monstrosities on the tray. “Are these… safe?”

“Oh, come now, Malleus!” Lilia laughs, shoving a cookie into the prince’s hand. “Have a little faith in your old man!”

Malleus holds the cookie like it might explode. Silver steps back, looking at you with the kind of betrayal usually reserved for war crimes.

“This is your fault,” Silver mutters under his breath.

“What?! I saved them from tasting like nightmares!” you protest, though your argument falters when you remember the teeth-cookie.

“If this is what saving looks like,” Silver deadpans, “then perhaps we were better off before.”

Malleus, to his credit, takes a dignified bite. There’s a long, ominous pause.

“…It is… acceptable,” he says finally, though he places the rest of the cookie on the counter with more care than necessary.

Lilia beams. “Success!” He grabs another mixing bowl, already tossing in a whole stick of butter, an uncracked egg, and something suspiciously green. “Shall we start the next batch?”

“Wait, wait, wait!” You rush over, attempting to wrestle the bowl from his hands. “Lilia, maybe we should, uh, celebrate the success of this batch first before we make more?”

“Nonsense!” Lilia says cheerfully. “The holidays wait for no one!”

Malleus leans closer to you, his voice low and conspiratorial. “Are you certain you are not working to eliminate my lineage through unconventional means?”

Silver sighs, rubbing his temples. “I think I’ll go on patrol.”

Sebek, meanwhile, is scarfing down his fourth cookie. “YOU SHOULD BE GRATEFUL FOR MASTER LILIA’S EFFORTS! THIS IS A GIFT!”

You stare at the chaos unfolding, caught between laughter and despair. The next batch is already forming in the mixing bowl, glowing faintly as Lilia hums a holiday tune.

This… is going to be a long day.

Masterlist

[lyn31]

Sinceeee i'm still in this zayne and mc on a honeymoon sweetness haze, might as well request another one for my dose of sweetness hahaha can you pretty please write more about their newlywed life, all domestic like them cooking together, going on grocery shopping maybe? Heck even them doing laundry together would be cute 🤣 oh and probably them going to work related functions for the first time since the wedding and introducing each other as husband / wife? Just sending this in before i sleep so good night and thankyou in advance! hehe 💕❤️

Hopefully it's not died down yet 😂🫶🏻 And no worries, seeing that I made a series in ao3, this story would keep coming even if it just a short little scene! And again, I can't choose what activity for them to do, so this is how it ended up being...

Let me know what you think! 👀💕

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

New Chapter of Life Together

Summary

You learn what it means to be loved as a wife—not through grand declarations, but in quiet mornings, soft reassurances, and the steady presence of the man who chose you for life.

Ao3 link

My Masterlist ✨

Notes

Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader Married Life, newlyweds, fluff, banter, silly, chaos, a lot of flirting!

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The first thing you feel is his arm, heavy and familiar around your waist. Then the warmth of his chest, the quiet, steady rhythm of his breath against your shoulder. You shift slightly, testing the morning light that peeks through the curtains—and immediately, Zayne tightens his hold on you with all the intent of someone who has no plans of letting you escape.

"Good morning, wife," he murmurs against your skin, voice still rough with sleep.

You smile before your eyes are even fully open. "Good morning, husband."

The views aren’t new anymore. You’ve lived together long before vows were exchanged, before rings slipped into place. But now—now they taste sweeter, weightier. Even when said half-teasing, neither of you seem eager to stop.

You stretch your leg over his, limbs tangled beneath the covers, and he exhales softly like that was exactly what he wanted. For a moment, neither of you speak. Just the quiet of the room, the drowsy comfort of not needing to be anywhere yet.

"I had a weird dream," you mumble into his collarbone. "You were trying to fight a sentient loaf of bread."

Zayne hums. "Did I win?"

"Only after giving it a heartfelt speech about forgiveness."

"I see." A beat. "Sounds accurate."

You laugh under your breath. He kisses the back of your neck, absently, like it’s muscle memory. You reach behind you, fingertips brushing his chest until they find that familiar, faint heartbeat under your touch—calm and certain, just like him.

"What should we eat?" you ask after a pause, not moving an inch.

"You're asking me that while still in bed?" he murmurs, voice laced with amusement.

"No dirty thoughts! I’m manifesting brunch."

"You’re manifesting it from the arms of your husband, who is also very comfortable."

You twist slightly to glance over your shoulder at him. "Fine, I guess we’ll starve together."

Zayne’s smile is small but unmistakable, the kind that barely lifts the corner of his lips and still somehow makes your stomach flutter. He leans in, brushing his mouth against yours—slow, warm, and just the right side of lazy. It deepens as your fingers slip into his hair, and for a moment, you both seem to forget everything else. His touch drifts lower, and the kiss turns languid, coaxing.

But then, your stomach lets out a loud, undeniable growl.

You freeze. Zayne stills. And then, against your neck, you feel his shoulders start to shake with laughter.

"Okay, okay," you groan, burying your face in the pillow. "Rude."

He kisses your temple, still grinning. "Brunch it is."

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You pad into the kitchen behind him, still barefoot, hair a mess, wearing one of his oversized shirts like you always do on mornings like this. Zayne rolls up the sleeves of his sweatshirt, sets his tablet on the counter, and already you can see that look in his eyes—the one that says he’s taking this way too seriously.

"Let me help," you say, even though you both know what that usually means.

Zayne glances over his shoulder with that soft, amused expression he reserves just for you. "You sure?"

"Of course! It’s brunch. It’s meant to be spontaneous and unhinged."

He blinks but nods all the same. "Alright. But no cinnamon in the eggs again."

"That's one time," you mutter, grabbing a pan anyway.

It’s controlled chaos from there. Zayne measures ingredients with military precision, he stirs with careful, deliberate movements. Meanwhile, you’re humming whatever’s stuck in your head, tossing in seasonings by instinct, ignoring every suggestion he tries to gently offer.

"That’s not... two teaspoons," he points out mildly, watching you sprinkle something into your pan with reckless abandon.

"It’s two teaspoons in spirit."

He shakes his head, reaching around you to grab a cutting board, only for your elbow to bump his side. You dodge in front of him, stealing his spatula just to flip your own food. He frowns, but there’s no heat in it. Just the usual dance of coexisting in a space too small for both your styles.

At some point, you flick flour at him.

It catches him clean on the nose, dusting his face like powdered sugar. He doesn’t react at first—just stares at you, completely deadpan, as if deciding whether to reprimand you or kiss you senseless.

You burst into laughter.

"You have flour—" you wheeze, pointing, "on your—"

Zayne calmly wipes his nose with a dish towel. "I’m married to a gremlin."

"Excuse you, I’m a culinary genius."

"You’re a hazard."

Still, when everything’s finally cooked and plated, the result is... actually edible. Good, even. The eggs are a little crisped on one side, the toast slightly uneven, but the flavors are warm and comforting and somehow perfectly them. You both slide onto the counter, plates balanced on your laps, legs swinging lazily.

The window’s open. The breeze smells like spring. He hands you a fork, the barest hint of a smile tugging at his lips again as he watches you take your first bite.

"...Not bad, right?" you ask, mouth full.

"Brilliant," he says dryly. "I might survive after all."

You nudge your foot against his, eyes catching his in that soft, slow moment that doesn’t need anything more than just being here.

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The shower is—miraculously—efficient. Warm water, quiet kisses, just enough lingering touches to feel indulgent without dragging the hours into full-blown distraction. You both dry off in sync, navigating the shared space like muscle memory, and by the time you're dressed and slipping on your shoes, it's afternoon.

Sunday means errands, but it doesn’t feel like a chore. Not when it’s the two of you.

You stop by the dry cleaners first, where Zayne handles the transaction with his usual quiet grace and you eye the mystery stain on one of his button-downs like it personally offended you. Then it’s light bulbs, of all things, which somehow turns into a debate over wattage because Zayne is, of course, reading the box like it’s a research paper.

"I swear you overthink these," you mutter, nudging his arm with your elbow.

"And you under think everything," he replies, without even looking up.

Fair.

But the best part of the afternoon is the plant shop. It’s a cozy little place that smells like soil and citrus, and you make a beeline for the corner where the leafy, drooping misfits live. One in particular catches your eye—a slightly crooked snake plant with a tilted pot and far too much charm for Zayne to ignore.

"We just re-potted three last month," he says, arms crossed.

"He’s different. Look at him," you coo, lifting the little guy carefully. "He’s got personality."

Zayne gives the plant a long, assessing look, then you. Then the plant again. "...You’re going to forget to water it."

"I won’t."

"You will," he says, but takes the pot from you anyway, one hand cradling the base like it’s fragile. The way he does it makes you grin—he’s already accepted the adoption, whether he admits it or not.

Outside the store, an elderly woman fumbles with her bags, and before either of you even speak, you step forward to help. Zayne’s hand settles briefly at the small of your back as you assist her, steady and quiet. She thanks you both sweetly, eyes crinkling, and you flash her a smile that lingers longer than necessary.

Zayne watches that smile with a softness he doesn’t say out loud.

The rest of the outing passes in that same easy rhythm. You hand him your drink without a word, and he takes a sip like it’s routine—no need to ask. You lean into him while waiting at a crosswalk, forehead briefly brushing his shoulder. At some point, you bicker about whether taking 3rd Avenue or looping around through the back road is faster—Zayne with logic, you with stubborn gut feeling. He humors you and takes your route anyway.

By the time you hit the grocery store, you’re both ready to knock out dinner prep. But the snack aisle derails everything. Zayne sneaks bags of cookies into the cart like you can’t see it or something. You remove one, replacing it with the lower-sugar version, only for him to sneak another one in from behind your back.

"You know we came here for, like, eggs and rice, right?" You say, grinning, crossing your arms.

"And chocolate," he adds, tossing in a novelty-flavored candy bar. He casually looks at his phone that has the grocery list like he didn’t just add sweet into it.

You scan the nutritional label like it just betrayed your trust. Seriously—if you didn’t stop this man, all his teeth would rot and he wouldn’t even regret it.

Eventually, you give up pretending to be responsible and accept that your cart now contains enough snacks for a week. Maybe two.

On the way home, you both realize brunch wore off faster than expected. Zayne’s stomach growls first. You don’t say anything—just raise an eyebrow and gesture toward a café at the corner.

Ten minutes later, you're inside, warm and cozy, sunlight filtering through the windows. He’s reading the menu with that familiar furrow between his brows, like choosing between a croissant and a danish is a life-altering decision.

"You look so serious right now," you tease, sipping your drink. "Like you’re solving a medical mystery. For pastries."

"I like to be thorough."

"You're adorable."

He lowers the menu slightly, eyes flicking to yours. "...You’re not getting out of deciding the movie tonight." But despite how steady his tone is, the tips of his ears are turning red.

You grin around the rim of your cup. "I’ll let you pick—if you get the strawberry tart and let me steal half."

"...Deal."

You end up splitting three pastries anyway. Conversation drifts from movies to work, to the idea of maybe cooking something light for dinner, to whether or not that plant is actually going to survive under your care. It’s nothing flashy. Just the rhythm of being you and Zayne—shared smiles, knees bumping beneath the table, the world soft around the edges.

And for a lazy Sunday? It’s perfect.

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Monday morning hits different after a slow weekend. There’s a light chill in the air, one that creeps in through the kitchen windows despite the soft warmth of dawn pressing through the curtains. You pad across the tile floor, barefoot, still slightly sleepy, wearing nothing but one of Zayne’s button-downs—loose, wrinkled from the laundry basket, and hanging just enough to tease.

You’re not really trying to make a statement.

...But you're also not not trying.

You're mid-pour with the kettle when you hear the bathroom door open and soft footsteps cross the hall. Zayne steps into the kitchen, towel around his neck, hair damp and curling slightly at the ends. He’s wearing his usual morning expression—composed, alert, too calm for someone who just walked in on his wife looking like that.

Except for the smallest shift in his gaze, the stillness in his steps as he takes you in.

He says nothing at first, only moves toward the counter like he always does. Pours himself a mug of coffee. But you catch the flicker. That very specific pause as he lifts the cup to his lips and doesn't drink—just watches you over the rim, quiet, assessing.

And yeah. You know exactly what you're doing.

"Morning, husband," you say sweetly, voice innocent as you stretch just slightly to reach the sugar jar.

His eyes trail the motion, linger a second too long. "...Good morning, wife."

He sets the mug down with a soft clink. That’s all. No teasing, no smirking. But you feel the tension in the air anyway, coiling subtle and slow between your bare thighs and his calm restraint. This man, composed even now, does nothing by accident.

"You're going to be late," he says, finally turning back to his coffee.

"So are you," you reply, sipping yours, perfectly unfazed.

But his gaze dips once more as he walks past you, deliberately brushing the edge of his hand along the curve of your waist, kissing you slowly before going on his way out of the kitchen, as if staying any longer would mean neither of you would get out of the house today.

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A few hours into work, you’re back on base, half-distracted during reports when something ridiculous happens—Tara gets her coat stuck in the door and tries to play it off like it didn’t happen. You manage a sneaky photo just before she notices.

You send it to Zayne with no caption.

A minute later, your screen lights up.

Mine💕: Is this why you were wearing my shirt and nothing else this morning? To not get attack by door?

You grin and fire back.

You: Well, I had to arm myself with something. Your shirt felt appropriate. Has… sentimental value.

Mine💕: It had strategic value this morning too.

You almost laugh out loud.

You: Are you suggesting I distracted you?

Mine💕: You walked into the kitchen half-dressed. On a Monday. After a weekend where we barely left bed. So, yes.

You: Oh no. What will I wear tomorrow?

Mine💕:  Nothing, if you’re trying to get me to skip work.

Your cheeks heat—part laughter, part memory, part anticipation. The texts keep going, drifting more playful, more suggestive, until you're both balancing professionalism with escalating tension.

Eventually, somewhere between paperwork and lunch, he sends one last message.

Mine💕: I’m picking up dinner tonight. So you can go straight to not wearing anything when I get home.

You don’t reply immediately. Just stare at your screen, biting back a smile.

But oh yeah—you’re both very much looking forward to tonight.

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You get home before him. The house is quiet, the kind of peaceful that makes you want to hum to yourself while moving through it. Zayne said he’d bring dinner, so technically you didn’t have to do anything—but a sudden idea takes hold somewhere between opening the fridge and spotting the unused chocolate in the cupboard.

Dessert.

You’ll make dessert.

Well… a dessert.

You tie on the apron—his apron, naturally. It's one of those neutral-toned ones with deep pockets and a tie that loops around your waist twice. The only thing beneath it is skin and a whole lot of mischief. It’s half a joke—just the apron, no clothes—but it doesn’t stop you from fluffing your hair and checking the mirror before you start.

You’re not just teasing. You want to see what that calm, steady husband of yours does when he walks in and finds his wife waiting with nothing but his apron.

The baking part goes better than expected. It helps that you’ve done this before, and that you know exactly how he likes his sweets, although he’ll eat any sweet you give him and this is just talking about actual food.

You’re plating them when you hear the lock click.

The door swings open. Zayne steps in, dinner in hand, something warm and likely perfectly portioned. His eyes lift—routine, casual—until they register what they’re seeing.

He stops mid-step.

You’re standing there at the kitchen counter, apron tied neatly, dessert on display. The light catches your skin, and maybe it’s your imagination, but the air seems to still for a moment.

He blinks.

“Welcome home, husband,” you say, voice light, innocent.

He sets the takeout bag down on the nearest surface. Doesn’t even glance at it. Just walks straight toward you, loosing up the tie on his shirt, walking slow and with controlled, like he's handling something fragile. Or dangerous.

His hands slide to your waist—cool, sure. His voice is low, close to your ear. “I thought we agree on nothing.”

“Isn’t this more exciting?” you murmur, tipping your head up just slightly, pulling at his tie.

He kisses you like he has no intention of stopping. And for a long, breathless stretch, he doesn’t.

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By the time you actually sit down to eat, the food is lukewarm and the desserts are nearly forgotten. You both laugh about it, halfway through your second bites, a little dazed, your hair mussed, his neck full of kiss marks. Both of you barely dress.

The kitchen still smells like sugar and vanilla.

And Zayne? He still hasn’t taken his eyes off you.

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It’s just past midnight when he wakes up.

No gasp, no cry—just a sharp inhale through clenched teeth and the sudden tension of his body beside you. You feel it immediately, even through sleep. The shift in the bed. The way his hand curls slightly, like he's still trying to hold onto something that slipped away.

You roll toward him, reaching out before your eyes are fully open. “Zayne?”

He blinks once, twice, eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering in from the streetlamp outside. His breath is still uneven. There’s sweat at his hairline, his shirt sticking to his chest, his jaw tight.

“Sorry,” he says quietly. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

You don't reply at first. Just press your forehead to his shoulder, your arm slipping around his middle.

“Was it… another nightmare?”

He doesn’t answer, but you feel the nod. It's small. Heavy.

It doesn't happen often—not anymore. But every now and then, something cracks through that carefully maintained calm. Close calls. An impossible case. A moment when the scalpel trembled, or worse, when it nearly slipped. Or sometimes... sometimes it's you. A memory he tries not to relive, no matter how old or how faint.

“You’re here,” you whisper, voice soft against his skin. “We’re safe.”

His arms come around you after that. Slow, a little hesitant—like he still thinks he doesn’t deserve to be comforted—but when he exhales, it’s shakier than he means it to be.

“You were…” he trails off. “In the OR. I—”

He stops again. Shakes his head.

You don't need the rest. You've heard enough versions of this dream to know where it leads. And you know exactly how deeply it sinks into him, even hours after it ends.

So you pull him closer, shifting until you’re almost on top of him, fingers threading through his damp hair, grounding him. “You made vows,” you say, quiet but steady. “So did I.”

His hands press against your back, anchoring. He doesn’t reply, but you feel the moment he lets go of the dream. Not entirely—but enough. Enough to stay here. With you.

“I’m not going anywhere, Love.”

You press a kiss just below his ear. “Not now. Not ever.”

And finally, finally, he breathes like he believes it.

He falls asleep not long after, arms still around you, the warmth of your body pulling him back to steadiness. And you stay like that, wide awake, watching the faint rise and fall of his chest.

You know he’ll be okay in the morning.

He always is.

But you stay anyway—because that’s what you promised.

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Bonus

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The event is held in one of the hospital’s private conference halls—high ceilings, too-bright lighting, waitstaff weaving between clusters of formally dressed doctors and researchers. There’s soft music playing in the background, more ambiance than melody, and a spread of hors d’oeuvres on white-clothed tables no one quite dares to touch.

Zayne stands beside you, tailored suit perfect down to the pressed collar. He blends in seamlessly with the rest of them—composed, unbothered, clipboard conversations flowing around him like water. But you can feel it in the way his hand rests at the small of your back. Gentle. Protective. Anchored.

He leans in slightly when someone approaches. “This is my wife,” he says simply, voice calm but warm.

You hear the words more than once tonight—always offhand, always soft. But every time, they catch you a little off guard. My wife. It shouldn’t feel so new anymore, but somehow, coming from him, in this polished, clinical space where everything is usually professional and precise… it does.

It feels like a tiny rebellion.

You smile, offer your hand, try to keep your voice steady as you greet whoever he introduces you to—department heads, residents, researchers you only know by surname on articles he's sent you. And you do well enough, even as you notice the subtle double takes. The way eyes flick between the two of you. Like no one expected this pairing. Or maybe they just didn’t expect you.

“She’s even prettier than you described,” one of the cardiologists from another hospital murmurs with a smile, a little in awe.

Before you can react—before you can wave it off or stammer something awkward—Zayne’s already answering.

“She always is.”

He doesn’t smile when he says it. Doesn’t smirk or make a show of it. He just says it like it’s fact. Like gravity. And suddenly you’re the one left flustered, heat blooming in your face.

Zayne offers you a drink then—water, always observant—and you accept it more for the distraction than anything else. His fingers brush yours briefly. Steady. Sure.

Later, during a lull in the presentations, you find yourself pressed shoulder to shoulder with him by the tall windows overlooking the city. He doesn’t say much, just watches the traffic below. But his fingers curl around yours, his thumb tracing the back of your hand slowly, absentmindedly.

You lean into him a little.

“You know you’re going to make it hard for me to show my face around here again,” you murmur.

“Why?” he asks mildly, but there’s the ghost of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

“You just… announced me like I was the highlight of the year.”

“You are.”

You laugh, bury your face briefly against his arm, cheeks still warm. He says nothing else, just lets you stay close, thumb still moving in slow circles. The rest of the evening passes in the blur of names and speeches, but you hold on to that moment.

To the quiet certainty in his voice.

To being his wife—not just on paper, but here. Beside him. In his world.

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Notes

They're too cute for their own good 😩🫶🏻 I'll be back 👀

[colourfulbisexualities]

SUGAR AND SPICE ; aaron hotchner x female sugar baby reader

you’ve always had expensive tastes, and aaron hotchner has always been more than willing to indulge you, but only if you earn it. tonight, teasing him all day has its consequences, and you find yourself completely at his mercy, lost in the way he touches, fills, and ruins you.

Aaron has always been a man of control, someone who demands respect the moment he walks into a room. He’s powerful, untouchable, except when it comes to you. With you, he softens, in his own way. Maybe that’s why he spoils you the way he does, draping you in the finest things money can buy.

It started as an arrangement: your dad’s best friend offering to take care of you after watching you struggle through college, watching you date boys who didn’t deserve you. It didn’t take long for things to shift, for those lingering looks to turn into stolen touches, for him to claim you as his in every way that mattered.

Now, you live for these moments. The nights where he calls you to his penthouse after a long day, when he lets you crawl into his lap and whine about how much you missed him. You’ve been teasing him all day, sending him photos of you in nothing but the lace lingerie he bought you last week.

His favourite set: deep red, barely-there lace that barely covers anything at all. And from the moment you walked in tonight, you could see the tension in his jaw, the way his dark eyes raked over you like he was barely holding himself back.

He sits on the edge of the bed now, legs spread, watching you with that unreadable expression, his tie loosened, his sleeves rolled up. Between his fingers, he twirls the delicate bracelet you’ve been eyeing for weeks—white gold, expensive, exactly your taste.

"You want it, don’t you?" His voice is smooth, knowing. He already has his answer.

You nod, biting your lip, playing innocent, but you both know the truth. You’re soaked, thighs pressed together, your body already reacting to just the way he looks at you. He lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head.

"And what do we say when we want something, sweetheart?"

You shift closer, crawling onto the bed, your hands resting on his thighs as you blink up at him. You know exactly how he likes it when you beg.

"Please, Daddy." Your voice is breathy, desperate.

Aaron hums in approval, letting his fingers trail along your jaw before tilting your chin up. His touch is firm, commanding, forcing your gaze to stay on his.

"That’s my good girl," he murmurs. "Then earn it."

He leans back slightly, unbuckling his belt with slow, deliberate movements, like he wants to make you suffer for teasing him all day. The leather slides through the loops with a sharp, sinful sound that makes your stomach clench. When he pops the button of his slacks, the outline of his cock is thick and heavy against his boxer briefs, already hard for you.

Your mouth waters at the sight of him, at the way his cock strains against the fabric of his boxer briefs. Thick, heavy, already hard for you. You can see the outline of him clearly: the broad, flushed head, the way his length twitches slightly when you reach for him.

Aaron watches you with dark, expectant eyes, his lips pressed together in that firm, unreadable expression, but you know better. You know he’s holding back, waiting to see just how desperate you are.

You hook your fingers into the waistband of his slacks, dragging them down his thighs, then do the same with his boxers, your nails grazing against his skin just to tease him. And fuck he’s gorgeous.

His cock springs free, long and thick, the tip already glistening with precum. The veins along his shaft are prominent, pulsing slightly as he exhales a slow breath. He’s so big, so perfect, and you shudder at the thought of having him in your mouth, your throat.

"Open," he commands, his voice low, rough.

You obey instantly, parting your lips as you lower yourself between his spread legs. Your tongue darts out, dragging along the length of his cock, slow and teasing. You feel him tense under your hands, his thighs flexing beneath your palms as you kitten-lick the head, swirling your tongue around the slit, tasting the saltiness of his precum.

"You like teasing, don’t you?" His voice is strained, but still in control.

You hum around him, the vibrations making him hiss through his teeth. But before he can grab your hair and force you to take him deeper, you do it on your own—sinking down, inch by inch, until he’s pressing against the back of your throat.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, his head falling back for just a moment before he looks down at you again, watching your lips stretch around him.

You bob your head slowly, setting a steady pace, your tongue pressed flat against the underside of his cock. Your hand wraps around the base, stroking what you can’t take in, your spit making it messy, filthy. You know he likes it this way - loves when you make a mess of him, loves when you let your mascara smudge as you take him even deeper, letting him feel the tight squeeze of your throat.

His fingers tangle in your hair, guiding you, controlling you the way he always does. His grip tightens when you hollow your cheeks, sucking harder, your nails digging into his thighs as he starts thrusting up into your mouth. His pace quickens, his breathing ragged, his control slipping.

"You’re so fucking good at this, sweetheart," he groans, his hips jerking slightly. "Always so eager for my cock, aren’t you?"

You moan around him, and that’s what sends him over the edge. His grip tightens, his body going rigid as he comes with a deep, guttural groan. Hot, thick spurts of cum coat your tongue, and you swallow it down greedily, not wasting a drop.

Aaron watches you with hooded eyes as you pull off of him, licking the corner of your lips. You bat your lashes up at him, already knowing what he’s going to say before the words even leave his mouth.

"Good girl," he praises, dragging his thumb along your jaw before tilting your chin up. "Now, let’s see if you’ve earned that bracelet."

You giggle, licking the last traces of him off your lips as you push at his chest, making him fall back against the mattress. Aaron lets you, watching you with that dark, hooded gaze, like he’s daring you to take what you want.

His tie is still loose, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to expose the firm muscles of his chest. He looks wrecked but still so in control, still the powerful man who always has you melting in his hands. But right now, you want to be the one in charge.

Crawling on top of him, you straddle his waist, your hands smoothing over his chest as you press soft kisses along his neck. You grind against him slowly, deliberately, letting the soaked lace of your panties drag along his cock. He groans at the feeling, his hands immediately gripping your hips, fingers digging into your skin.

"Fuck, baby," he murmurs, his voice rough, strained. "Look at you, making a mess on me already."

You whimper, rolling your hips again, the friction sending shivers down your spine. He’s still so hard, thick and heavy beneath you, and you need him. You need him stretching you open, filling you up the way only he can.

"Daddy, I want you," you whisper against his jaw, biting down just enough to make him exhale sharply. "I need you inside me."

His grip tightens, his fingers pressing bruises into your skin. "Then take me, sweetheart. Show me how much you want it."

Heart pounding, you sit up, reaching between your bodies to slide your panties to the side. You’re soaked, your slick coating the insides of your thighs, dripping onto his cock as you line him up with your entrance. He twitches against you, his hands moving to spread you open, his thumbs pressing into your hips as he watches, waiting.

You sink down slowly, your mouth falling open at the stretch, at the way he fills you so perfectly, splitting you open inch by inch. He’s so thick, so deep, and the burn only makes it better. Your walls flutter around him as you take him to the hilt, fully seated on his cock, your thighs shaking as you adjust to the overwhelming fullness.

"Jesus, baby," he groans, his head tilting back against the pillows, his jaw tight. "So fucking tight. Always so tight for me."

You whimper, rolling your hips, grinding against him, needing more. The pressure is intoxicating, the way his cock presses against that perfect spot inside you, making you clench around him. His hands move up, palming your tits through the lace of your bra before tugging at the cups, exposing your nipples to the cool air.

"Ride me, sweetheart," he commands, voice thick with lust. "Make yourself come on my cock."

You don’t need to be told twice. Bracing yourself against his chest, you lift your hips, dragging yourself up before sinking back down, setting a slow, torturous rhythm. His cock drags along your walls, hitting all the right spots, making you gasp. The friction is perfect, the way he fills you so deep making your toes curl.

"Fuck, Daddy," you moan, tossing your head back, your nails digging into his chest.

Aaron growls, gripping your hips, guiding you as you ride him. His own hips start to move, thrusting up into you, meeting every roll of your body with deep, punishing strokes.

The sound of skin slapping fills the room, mixed with your breathy moans and his rough groans. His eyes are locked onto you, watching the way you take him, the way your tits bounce with every movement.

"Look at you," he rasps, thrusting up harder, making you cry out. "Fucking yourself on my cock like a desperate little slut. You love this, don’t you?"

You nod frantically, barely able to form words, too lost in the pleasure, the way he stretches you so perfectly, the way the head of his cock kisses your cervix with every deep thrust. The coil in your stomach tightens, pleasure coiling through you like fire, your thighs trembling as you chase your release.

"Daddy, I’m gonnafuck, I’m gonna come," you sob, grinding down, desperate for more.

"Come for me, baby," he growls, his grip tightening as he fucks up into you even harder. "Show Daddy how good you feel."

With a broken cry, you shatter, your orgasm ripping through you in waves so intense that your vision blurs. Your walls clench around him, pulsing, milking his cock as you tremble in his arms. The pleasure is overwhelming, consuming, leaving you breathless.

Aaron groans, his control snapping as he grips your hips and slams you down onto him one last time. His cock throbs inside you, and then he’s coming, thick ropes of cum spilling deep inside you, filling you up. He curses under his breath, his fingers bruising your skin as he holds you there, buried to the hilt, letting you feel every pulse of his release.

Your body is still trembling, thighs slick with both of your releases, but Aaron isn’t done with you yet. You can feel it in the way he grips your hips, in the way his cock still twitches inside you, still hard, still needy.

"You think we’re finished, baby?" His voice is low, rough, dripping with amusement. "That pretty little cunt of yours is still squeezing me."

A whimper escapes your lips as he flips you onto your stomach, his strong hands pressing you into the mattress, pinning you down beneath him. He’s bigger, stronger, completely in control, and fuck, you love it.

"On your knees. Ass up."

You obey without hesitation, arching your back as you push yourself onto all fours. Your breath hitches as he spreads you open, his thumbs pressing into the curve of your ass, exposing your messy, swollen pussy still dripping with his cum.

"Look at this," he groans, rubbing his cock along your slit, smearing his release over your folds. "So fucking wet. So full of me."

You whimper, pushing back against him, desperate for more. But he doesn’t give you what you want right away. Instead, his palm suddenly cracks against your ass, the sharp sting making you gasp.

"Daddy!" you yelp, jolting forward, but his grip is unforgiving, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

"That’s for being a needy little tease all day," he growls, spanking you again, harder this time. Your skin burns, the pain melting into pleasure, making your walls flutter around nothing. "You think you can send me those pictures and not pay for it?"

"I—I wanted your attention," you admit breathlessly, pressing your face into the pillows, rocking your hips back in silent desperation.

Aaron chuckles darkly. "Oh, sweetheart, you have my fucking attention."

Without warning, he thrusts into you in one deep, brutal stroke, burying himself to the hilt. A broken moan rips from your throat as he stretches you open all over again, the fullness almost too much after already being fucked senseless. He doesn’t give you time to adjust—he just starts pounding into you, ruthless and unrelenting.

The sound of skin slapping fills the room, mixed with your muffled moans and his ragged breathing. His cock is so deep, dragging against your walls with every brutal thrust, hitting your cervix in a way that’s both painful and delicious. You’re shaking, your fingers gripping the sheets as he fucks you like he owns you. Because he does.

"Daddy—fuck, Daddy!" you sob, your voice high-pitched and desperate.

Aaron growls at the sound, his hand snaking up to your mouth, two fingers pressing against your lips. "Open."

You obey instantly, parting your lips, letting him shove his fingers into your mouth, gagging you slightly. Your moans turn into muffled whimpers as he presses down on your tongue, making you drool around him.

"So fucking noisy," he mutters, tightening his grip on your jaw. "All you ever do is beg for my cock, isn’t that right?"

You nod frantically, eyes rolling back as he fucks into you even harder, his pace brutal, unforgiving. The pressure is unbearable, overwhelming, that coil in your stomach twisting tighter and tighter. Every thrust makes your clit drag against the sheets, the friction making it even more intense.

Aaron pulls his fingers from your mouth with a wet pop, then grips the back of your neck, forcing your face down into the mattress. "Come for me," he growls. "Make a mess all over my cock."

You don’t stand a chance. The orgasm crashes into you with devastating force, your entire body locking up as you clench around him, convulsing with pleasure so intense it borders on painful. You sob his name, your cries muffled by the sheets, your thighs shaking violently as you gush around him.

"Fuck, that’s it," Aaron groans, his grip on your hips turning bruising as he slams into you one last time. His cock throbs deep inside you before he spills inside you again, filling you to the brim with his hot, sticky release. He doesn’t pull out right away, just grinds his hips against you, letting you feel every last drop, making sure it stays inside.

For a long moment, all you can hear is the sound of your ragged breathing, the both of you completely wrecked. Then, Aaron leans down, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the back of your shoulder before murmuring against your skin, "You’ve definitely earned that bracelet, sweetheart."