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saffusthings · 1 day ago

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second chances

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part thirty-two: getting familiar

word count: 5.8k

warnings: this chapter includes allusions to abuse and abandonment. reader discretion is advised.

thirty-one | thirty-two | thirty-three

He woke before even the sun rose. Before the traffic stirred. Before the world could remind him who he was.

The room lay silent and dim. An ember of gold light crept through half-closed curtains, washing the walls in muted dawn. And there she was—curled against him, one hand resting across his chest, her face nestled at the hollow of his shoulder as though she trusted him completely.

As though he’d never taught her to be afraid.

He stayed perfectly still, breath caught in his throat, terrified to wake her. Then, for one fragile moment, Lando allowed himself to really look: the delicate angle of her nose, the gentle curve of her lips, the way her lashes cast shadows on her cheek. Her warm fingers pressed into his skin—like she’d been made to hold him, like her body understood precisely what he needed.

Lando swallowed hard and inhaled slowly. And in that quiet, the ache settled in his chest.

He could have woken up like this every day. He could have believed last night was about anything but desperation, adrenaline, and grief. He could have convinced himself that he hadn’t climbed into her bed bleeding and broken—asked her to soothe both his wounds and his darkness.

But Lando knew better. Always had.

Last night had never been meant to happen. Not like that. Not ever.

Y/N stirred, a soft murmur escaping her lips, and then her eyes fluttered open—still heavy with sleep—as she blinked up at him with that uncertain, waking look. Her hair framed her face in a tangle, her cheeks flushed with warmth, and when she offered him a sleepy smile, his heart nearly stopped.

She smiled as though it were the most natural thing in the world to wake beside him. As though she could never know fear as long as she was beside him.

He could hardly breathe.

“Hi,” she whispered, voice rough with sleep, her eyelids half-lidded. He brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead as gently as if he were handling a flame.

“Hi.”

A breath caught in his chest as he took in the quiet weight of her gaze. The barest tenderness he could allow himself stirred in him, and before he even fully realized what he was doing, his thumb ghosted along her cheekbone, barely grazing her skin. It was as though the motion wasn’t something he controlled, but something that moved through him, a gesture as soft and fleeting as the glow of the early morning.

For a second, it felt as though the world held its breath. There, in the dim morning light, he cradled her face as though she was the most precious thing he’d ever held—her skin warm, her expression soft, eyes wide with something he couldn’t name. He watched her blink slowly, the warmth of his touch and the tenderness in his eyes passing between them silently, until she did the same, her gaze softening.

They were so close that the space between them felt like a breath waiting to be taken. She was the only thing in his world, the only thing that had ever felt real. He admired the curve of her lips, the gentle flush of color on her cheeks, and, for the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to simply appreciate the warmth of her—of them.

She did the same. Her gaze traveled slowly from his lips to his eyes, and he saw her hesitate, unsure if she should say the things her eyes were clearly begging to ask. Her hand, as if it had a mind of its own, reached up to touch his chest, her fingers brushing lightly against the fabric of his shirt, where his heart beat too quickly for her to ignore.

He could feel the moment shifting in the space between them, pulling them closer without a single word.

He let his thumb trace her cheek again, slow and gentle. Her breath hitched. And it was there, in that quiet, that he realized he’d never needed anything more than he needed to hold this. Hold her.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice tender in a way he hadn’t allowed himself before, afraid to shatter something too fragile to be handled by someone as rough as him. There was something in the sound of her soft breaths and the feel of her warm skin that had him so careful, too aware that this was something too precious for hands as rugged as his to hold. "For answering the door... for letting me in. For putting me back together piece by piece until I became some semblance of a man again."

Her chest rose and fell with a breath, and though she said nothing, he knew she felt it too.

For a heartbeat, she looked as if she might reach out again — like last night’s intimacy still belonged to both of them. But he couldn’t let her slip back into that illusion.

He sat up instead, pressing his palms flat against the mattress to steady himself. He shifted away just enough to hide the need in his eyes. “I… I shouldn’t have stayed.”

Her brow furrowed. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, voice low and resolute. “Last night… it shouldn’t have happened.”

She drew the sheet tighter around her bare shoulders, searching his face. He swallowed. “I was emotional. I’d just lost someone—someone I loved—and I didn’t know where else to go. You were kind to me, and I took advantage of that. Of you.”

Her mouth opened, but no words came. He kept his gaze anywhere but her – the divots on the sheets, the lights and shadows, the small details around her room that made it hers. “I’m not that man. I don’t cry on someone’s doorstep and end up in their bed because I can’t face my own grief. That isn’t fair—to you, or to me.”

She remained silent, and he dared not look at her.

Finally, he turned just enough to meet her eyes. “I’m grateful,” he whispered, lifting her hand and brushing his fingers across her wrist. “I mean that—thank you. You helped me when you didn’t have to.”

He paused, letting the moment hang between them. Then, he continued, his voice softer still, “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Oh.

She let the words settle like heavy stones. "...Yeah. Yeah, f’course,” she tried to bring herself to give him a convincing smile. When she looked up at him, his gaze had drifted away from her face, his mind elsewhere, somewhere far out of reach.

His fingers ghosted over her wrist once, lingering.

“It won’t happen again.”

The corners of his lips turned up in a smile that appeared sad and hopeful at one somehow. Like there was something he was losing even now, but holding on to wherever he had left, clinging to it with the hope even of something lesser in its place. And then, softer, as if he was trying to make it hurt less—

“It wasn’t real.”

Even if, for him, it might’ve been the realest thing he’d ever felt.

The silence after their conversation lingered longer than either of them knew what to do with.

The quiet stretched. Neither of them moved.

Eventually, she slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb the silence between them. The sheet wrapped loosely around her frame, her back turned to him as she crossed the room in search of something to wear, her steps light, almost apologetic. She didn’t look back—not because she didn’t want to, but because she wasn’t sure she could stand what she might see in his eyes.

Lando sat up against her headboard, shirtless, all tan muscles and toned shoulders with a spatter of beauty marks and purple brushstrokes constellated across the expanse of his torso. There were fingerprints on his ribs from a fight that had nothing to do with her—and yet she’d been the one to tend to the aftermath. She’d kissed those bruises. Held him while his hands shook and his mouth refused to explain.

They moved slowly—her toward the bathroom, him toward the edge of the bed — careful not to brush shoulders, not to speak unless they had to. It wasn’t hostile. Just… unsure. Like two people navigating the edges of a room neither of them had ever walked through before.

And still, she couldn’t stop noticing things.

The way his hair stuck up in places from sleep, a soft mess of curls he hadn’t bothered to smooth down. The faint imprint of her pillow against his cheek. The way he looked at the floor, not with shame, exactly, but like he was bracing for something—like he'd already begun constructing the wall he’d need to survive the day.

He was beautiful in the kind of way people didn’t expect until they really looked. Not just in the sharp angles of his face or the gold tint in his eyes, but in the unexpected softness. There was the way he hadn’t let her go entirely, even as he tried to put space between them. There was the way his voice dropped when he said her name. There was the way his thumb had lingered on her cheek like he wasn’t sure he’d ever get to touch her again.

And maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe that was what this was – one night, one rupture, one version of him she wasn’t meant to see.

She told herself it was enough.

That it was already more than most people got. That she should feel lucky to have been let in at all. That being chosen by him, even in desperation, even just for a moment, was a kind of rare honor.

Because it was clear now how little he let people in. How guarded he kept himself, how practiced he was in deflecting and disappearing and never letting anyone see the seams. But he’d come to her. He’d stood bleeding at her door, eyes hollow, heart somewhere in ruins, and he’d asked for her.

And she'd been enough. For that moment, she'd somehow been the one he needed.

That thought alone was enough to do something strange to her chest.

She wandered into the kitchen and stood barefoot on the cold tile, fiddling with the buttons on her flannel — one of his, actually, she realized belatedly. He’d tossed it over a chair weeks ago and never bothered to take it back. But it had been washed with her clothes enough times now that she figured it Liam probably wouldn’t even notice.

Now she moved about her space with practiced ease. The kettle clicked on. The cupboard opened. Mugs clinked as she set out two mismatched ones. The soft morning noise that usually filled her solitude now felt different, as though the air had thickened in his presence, slowed down around the edges.

It was awkward, undeniably. The two of them were like actors fumbling through a script they hadn’t rehearsed, unsure who was meant to speak first.

When he finally padded into the kitchen, hair tousled, shirt pulled back on, she felt it all over again—that impossible ache.

Because she couldn’t stop seeing him now. Not the version the world got—the man with the hard stare and sharper tongue—but him. The curve of his collarbone, the slope of his nose, the way his brows furrowed as he stood uncertain in the doorway. The way he still hesitated in her space, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to step into it.

And then there were the little things. The way he fidgeted with the different flavored teas in her kitchen cabinet. How his eyes scanned her face like he was making sure she was still okay. How he stood silently while she reached past him for the sugar, like he didn’t want to crowd her.

Those small mercies. Those small signs that he cared, even now, even after everything.

Even after drawing that line in the sand.

Y/N tried to tell herself that it was enough. That she was lucky to have been let in at all. Because it was clear now—painfully so—how rarely he let himself be seen. How much of him was locked behind iron bars no one else even knew existed.

But she had been the one he came to. She had been the one he’d needed. If only for a moment.

And maybe that was her consolation prize. Maybe that’s all she’d get.

The kettle hummed softly as he hovered awkwardly near the counter, pretending to be preoccupied with her spoons like it required delicate strategy. They both moved around each other like amateur dancers, unsure where to place their hands or how to read the next step.

“You, um… sugar?” she asked, voice catching just a little on the first word.

He blinked, then gave a small smile, almost shy. “Two. If you’re offering.”

She nodded and grabbed the little jar, spoon clinking softly as she measured it out. And just like that, the tension shifted—not gone, but quieter. Like something in the air had taken a long breath in and was holding it steady.

He stood in her kitchen like he wasn’t quite sure if he belonged there, but also didn’t want to leave. His fingers tapped the edge of the counter, restless, and she saw the way he scanned the space—the peeling corner of the cabinet, the magnet crooked on the fridge, the plant on the windowsill that she forgot to water unless it dropped dramatically.

His name’s Bernard, she’d fondly told him.

He also remembered telling her it was a stupid name.

This wasn’t a space meant for people like him, he thought to himself. He didn’t belong in this life of potted plants and fridge magnets and slow mornings. But there was also something familiar about it, if he looked at it from an angle. The mug he used every time he came over sat there like some miniscule, divine sign – not that he already belonged, but like he could. Like he might, if things were different.

If he let himself.

She passed him the tea without meeting his eyes, and he accepted it with a quiet, “Thanks,” his voice was rough from sleep. Their fingers brushed just slightly at the exchange. Neither of them pulled away immediately.

“You okay?” she asked, and instantly winced. Too much. Too soon.

But he just looked at her, not with irritation or that cold, unreadable mask he wore so often—but with something gentler. A small, reluctant crack in the armor.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “But I’m better than I was yesterday, I think.”

She nodded, wrapping her hands around her own mug. “That’s something.”

A pause. Not uncomfortable, exactly. Just uncertain.

He leaned against the counter, eyes scanning the chipped tile beneath his bare feet. “I don’t usually…” he started, then stopped, jaw working. “I mean. I’m not good at this. At being— erm, whatever this is.”

“I know,” she said softly.

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy, just full of things not said. But it was companionable, too. She liked the way he looked standing in her kitchen, hair messy, tea in hand, eyes soft in a way the world rarely got to see.

She liked that he let her see it.

She didn’t know what came next. Probably nothing. Probably this was it—an anomaly. A glitch in their dynamic. A one-time kindness born of grief and timing and need. He would pull away, like he always did. He’d wrap himself back up in distant expressions and white lies and make himself untouchable again.

Because maybe she couldn’t have all of him, but at least she had this, right?

He didn’t quite fit in her space.His steps were still a bit too loud against her wooden floors, his frame a bit too lanky for her small space.

But there were moments, fleeting ones, when she imagined he could.

The way his hand lingered on the fridge door, the way his eyes flicked toward the window like he was memorizing the view. The way his voice softened when he asked if she still liked honey in her tea.

He remembered. Of course he did.

She watched him lean against the counter, mug in hand, eyes down, and for a moment she felt suspended in time—like they existed in a pocket the rest of the world couldn’t touch. No blood. No grief. No walls between them. Just this quiet, humming morning where he didn’t have to be anyone but himself.

It wouldn’t last. She knew that.

But she would let herself have it, just for now.

Once she set down her mug of half-finished tea, she went back to moving around the kitchen with a kind of purpose — barefoot, flannel slipping from one shoulder, sleeves pushed up as she cracked eggs.

She hummed to herself as she cooked — a soft, low, barely-there melody that drifted across the small apartment like the warmth off the stove. He didn’t recognize the tune. In fact, he didn’t think she even realized she was doing it.

The smell of toasting bread and scrambled eggs filled the air. Lando busied himself by looking around the modest living room—not intentionally snooping, simply observing. He let his eyes trace all the ways her space had changed since that first night he stepped inside, her hands shaking so badly she couldn’t even unlock her door.

He wandered slowly through her space, letting his fingers trail along the edge of a shelf, a framed painting, the back of a worn sofa cushion.

It wasn’t grand or luxurious, but it had finally started to appear lived in now. She’d begun to make it a home somehow, and he’d watched it happen without quite realizing it.

There was the throw blanket draped over the back of the couch — navy, soft, clearly well-loved. A tiny stack of books on the coffee table, spine cracked open on the topmost one. A candle nearly burned down to the bottom. A pair of fuzzy socks crumpled near the armrest, like she’d kicked them off mid television episode. The scent of something warm—vanilla, maybe cinnamon—lingered faintly in the air, and it wrapped around him gently, like her voice often did.

The first time he’d stood in this apartment, she’d barely spoken. Her hands had trembled so violently that she couldn’t hold the mug he made her. The walls were blank then, any furniture sparse like she hadn’t let herself get comfortable, like she didn’t believe she was allowed to stay.

Now?

Now there were little things. A scarf thrown over the back of a chair. Mismatched mugs in the dish rack. A stack of law textbooks, dog-eared and underlined, beside a scrappy little bowl of dried lavender and a clay dish to hold her rings.

He didn’t even remember noticing the bookshelf before.

He stepped toward the bookshelf, trailing a finger lightly over the spines — well-loved copies of old classics, a few familiar law textbooks, a worn copy of The Phantom Tollbooth that made him smile for some reason. And tucked at the end of a line of books, he found a small, slightly faded photo in a worn wooden frame.

He reached for it carefully.

The photo showed two girls—one a bit older, maybe in her early teens, and the other much younger, perhaps only a year or two. Both of them wore mismatched pajamas. The older one had her arms wrapped tightly around the smaller girl, their cheeks pressed close, smiling so wide it looked like their cheeks might’ve hurt. The little one’s smile was missing two front teeth.

It wasn’t posed or professional, just a candid moment of two young girls, frozen in time. One slightly older, all tangled hair and scraped knees, grinning with the kind of reckless joy only children knew. The younger clutched her hand and beamed up at her like she hung the moon.

The resemblance was unmistakable.

“This is you,” Lando realized aloud.

“What?” she asked, leaning back from the stove to try to look at what he was referring to.

“You were cute,” he said quietly, glancing toward the kitchen before looking back at the photo. “Who’s this other one?”

Y/N turned with a spatula in one hand, brow furrowed until she saw the photo in his hand. Then her face softened. “That would be my sister.”

He turned back to it. “She looks like you.”

She smiled faintly, but there was something else there. Something older, a bit tired, maybe.

“Uh, her name’s Mila. I’m pretty sure I’ve always called her Mils though,” she murmured, voice dipping into something softer, something sadder.

He hummed in acknowledgement. “She’s adorable.”

“She’s everything,” she said, and the words landed in the room like truth, like prayer. “The coolest kid in the world.”

“What happened to her?” he dared to ask. Y/N paused, searching for any sign that he was asking as a formality or mere courtesy before she laid one of the innermost parts of her bare before him, but found none. His expression was careful, curious, patient.

She turned back to the stove, voice quieter now. “She, uh, still lives with my parents. That’s kinda why I don’t really have any more recent pictures of her.”

Lando approached closer, the frame still in his hand. “She lives with your parents?”

“I left when I was nineteen,” she said, flipping a piece of toast in the pan. “So she stayed with the people I couldn’t keep living with. And I know— I know that makes me sound like a coward. But I couldn’t stay, Liam. I kept trying but I just couldn’t.”

Her voice wavered, just once.

“And I tried —I really, really tried— to bring her with me. But I was still a kid to them, and they wouldn’t let me take her.”

She inhaled steadily before continuing, plating the toast. “I didn’t have proof, or custody, or any power at all. I just had… me.”

A beat passed.

“I left her behind. When I moved out. I— I didn’t want to. But I had to get away, you know? It wasn’t safe, not for me. Not for either of us, really. But she was still too young. And I… I couldn’t take her with me. Not legally. Not safely. So I left.”

She set a mug down a little harder than necessary.

He said nothing, sensing she wasn’t finished.

Y/n looked over her shoulder again, carefully meeting his gaze. “I couldn’t protect her. Not really. So I made a promise to myself that I’d get out, get through school, get into law, and make something of it. So that one day I could go back with something to offer – a plan, a way out. Really out. Not just from the house, but from the whole cycle. The guilt, the smallness, the silence. All of it.”

“One day,” she breathed, but Lando had a feeling that she was saying that to herself more than him.

Lando stared at her — this girl who never asked for anything for herself, never expected comfort, who stitched herself together quietly. He pictured a younger version of her, small yet fierce, clutching her sister’s hand with all the bravery a child could fake.

And then he looked at her now — her shoulders squared, her expression one of practiced nonchalance. She had already turned back toward the kitchen, probably to stir something, probably to keep her hands busy.

Lando looked at the photo again. This time, he didn’t see just two kids. He saw her. Saw the beginning of the girl he now stood across the room from. A smaller version of Y/N, brave beyond her years, stronger than anyone should ever have had to be.

The soft shield between pain and someone smaller, more fragile.

The protector.

His chest ached with something fierce and sudden.

Someone should’ve stood beside that little girl from the photo and said, you don’t have to do this alone anymore.

He wanted to be that someone now.

He wanted to keep her safe, to make sure she never had to want for anything again. He wanted to build her a world where she could laugh without worry, sleep without locking the door twice, study for her exams without wondering if someone needed saving from the life she escaped. He wanted to make sure no one could ever hurt her again.

And selfishly — he wanted to keep this version of her, soft smile and all, just like this.

Almost all his.

He stepped closer to her before she could turn away and tugged her gently toward him. She blinked up at him in surprise, hands still slightly damp after the mug she'd just rinsed.

Then, Lando Norris did what was probably one of the most foolish and selfish things he’d ever done. He wrapped his arms around her and gently pulled her into him—close, warm, steady. Tentatively, as if unsure he was doing it correctly, he forced himself to lean into the embrace and tuck his chin over Y/N’s head as she fit perfectly against him like he was anchoring her there.

Before she could register what had happened, her body was already relaxing into his, some subconscious recognition of a presence as perfect for her as the person it belonged to.

It was the breath of air reaching her lungs in what felt like months.

“You will,” he murmured against her hair, before leaning back to look down at her. “We will, yeah?”

She looked up at him, confused.

“M’gonna make sure you keep that promise. I don’t care what it takes, alright? You are gonna study your ass off, and we are going to make damn sure you’re the best fuckin’ lawyer this city’s ever seen,” he said, his tone firmer now. “You’re gonna have that life, and when you go back for her, s’not gonna be with empty hands.”

She didn’t respond at first, just let her forehead drop gently against his chest. One of her hands found the hem of his shirt, fingertips curling lightly into the fabric like she needed something to hold onto.

This feels too good to be true.

“You really think so?” she asked, muffled.

He exhaled, hesitantly letting one hand trail soothing circles along her back.

“I know so,” he said firmly

She said nothing at first. Just let herself be held, breathing in sync with him, cheek pressed against his chest like maybe this was the safest place in the world. And for a moment, it was.

He didn’t want to let go.

He didn’t want her to ever feel unsafe again.

And god help him—he didn’t want anyone else to be the one who got to keep her safe. Didn’t want anyone else to see her soft smile in the kitchen light. Didn’t want anyone else to earn that little piece of her trust.

But he didn’t say that.

He just held her tighter.

And in that quiet, the morning stilled around them – not quite a beginning, not yet an ending.

Just something real, for as long as it was allowed to last.

All the makings for breakfast that she’d had on hand were set out at the small kitchen table, their legs tangled beneath mismatched chairs. By the time they sat down to eat, the light through the window had gone soft and gold. The kind that kissed the tops of furniture and warmed the mug in her hands, pretending for a little while that the world outside didn’t exist.

Liam looked entirely out of place and somehow completely at home, bare-faced and hair tousled, wearing a t-shirt that wasn’t his and sipping from the same mug he did everytime. She always told him he could use any of the other ones in her collection, but he didn’t seem to care. Instead, he just took a quiet sip and leaned back like he was trying to pretend this was normal.

It wasn’t, not really. But also maybe it was, in a parallel life where he wasn’t this person wrapped in danger and decisions and she wasn’t made of this soft starlight and stubborn dreams. Maybe in that life, breakfast like this was a Thursday thing.

Maybe even an everyday thing.

After plating two matching plates off eggs, hash brown, and toast, Y/N handed one to him and tried to avoid eye contact. She tried not to wonder if this was the last time he’d be here like this — if the bubble would pop the second he walked out that door.

When she set her own plate down and tucked in her chair, getting ready to eat, Liam glanced at her place before giving her a confused look.

Without a word, he slid his plate toward her and swapped them out. Gave her his hash browns and took the eggs for himself.

She blinked. “How’d you—?”

“You weren’t gonna eat them,” he said casually, already chewing.

“You don’t know that.”

“I dunno why you even made ‘em f’yourself. You don’t even like eggs,” he said flatly.

Her mouth opened in protest.

He raised an eyebrow.

“I could like eggs,” she argued weakly, sounding unconvincing even to herself. By now, she was mostly just arguing for the principle of it.

He tilted his head, unamused. “You keep tryin’ to like eggs, but you don’t. Don’t lie to me after I’ve seen you pretend to like café egg bites and then hide them in the napkins.”

She tried not to grin, but failed.

“Fine,” she muttered. “You can have them, happy?”

She nudged the plate closer to him and gestured to it with a grandiose wave, as if she were doing him some great big favor by giving him the food she’d never wanted to eat in the first place.

He plucked the remaining scrambled eggs off her plate without a word and dropped a slice of buttered toast in their place — his perfectly golden, a bit over-toasted just the way she liked it. He didn’t even blink. Just handed her the plate back and resumed sipping his very bad coffee.

She stared at the toast. Then at him.

“You didn’t even ask.”

He shrugged. “Didn’t have to. You picked around them at brunch that one time too. When you dragged us to that ridiculous bougie place with the edible flowers.”

Her expression softened—half amusement, half something she couldn’t quite name. “That was months ago.”

“I remember,” was all he said, shrugging.

She paused. “And I like your hash browns?”

“You stole half of mine that day,” he said between bites, his aching body too happy at the prospect of getting to enjoy a warm, home-cooked meal. “You said yours were ‘emotionally unsatisfying.’”

The breath caught somewhere in her throat.

“Oh my god. I can’t believe you remember that,” she flushed. After a moment, she asked quietly, “Do you always do that?”

He looked up. “...Do what?”

“Notice things. Like that.”

He looked like he was going to deny it at first. But then his expression shifted—barely, subtly. He tapped a finger against the side of his mug, not meeting her eyes. He seemed to consider it for a moment.

“Only the important shit, I guess? I dunno. But of course I notice you,” he shrugged casually, before reaching for another bite.

She felt the blush rise hot in her chest and looked down at her plate, suddenly very interested in her toast.

He peeked up at her as he leaned down to take another bite, pleased with himself, and shoved another forkful of eggs into his mouth like it was a personal victory.

She narrowed her eyes, fighting a smile. “You’re so smug.”

He merely nodded, like a dramatic acceptance of his fate. “Speaking of important things, can I tell you somethin’?” he asked, his voice a little rough.

She looked up.

“This coffee’s actually crap.”

She looked up, scandalized. “Excuse me?”

“It is,” he insisted, holding up the mug. “It’s burnt and bitter and tastes like regret.”

She gaped. “I made it!”

He grinned, all teeth. “Still crap.”

“You literally watched me make it.”

He gestured toward her, triumphant. “Exactly. Which means I know your actual coffee is good. This”—he motioned to the sad, steaming mug—“is a betrayal. This is sabotage. I trusted you.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s not my café, Liam, it’s my kitchen. You want fancy, rich-people, €7 espresso? Go buy me a machine then.”

“Oh, I will,” he said, too easily. “Top of the line. As long as you’re the one using it.”

“You better. How dare you come into my apartment and insult my coffee machine?” She threw a napkin at his head and he let it hit him, not even flinching.

He just rolled his eyes and let her.

She didn’t need to know that hated the taste of coffee, always had. She didn’t need to know that somewhere along the way, he’d learned to identify a cup of coffee made by her hands by taste alone, because it was the only one he could seem to tolerate.

“Might have to, out of survival,” he said, mock solemn. “Because every time I try to have coffee in this place, I get this… shitty hot bean water.”

She laughed, and something in his chest loosened.

“You literally called my pour-over technique witchcraft that one time I made you one,” she insisted through her smile. “Then asked for a second cup.”

“Yeah, well,” he leaned back in the chair a little, arms crossed. “The witch got me addicted. To good coffee.”

She tilted her head, grinning. “Is that your way of saying you do like my coffee?”

“What? Of course not,” he scoffed, like she’d suggested something absolutely preposterous. He went to take another sip, smiling behind the rim of his mug. “S' jus’ my way of saying if I ever open a café, you’re the only one allowed to touch the beans.”

She laughed again, and the sound settled something inside him, like he hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until then.

For a few minutes after that, they just ate. Forks scraping quietly. Steam curling off mugs. The distant hum of the city beyond the window—cars, morning birds, the faint clatter of a garbage truck in the alley.

She looked at him then, properly. She took in the lazy sprawl of him across her tiny kitchen chair, the quiet smirk tugging at his lips. He looked at her too.

It was oddly domestic. It felt strangely normal.

He didn’t know how long he had in this little pocket of peace. Didn’t know what the day would bring once he left this apartment and re-entered his world.

The aftermath would be waiting - Leclerc. Questions. Maybe blood. Maybe worse.

But here, now—he still had this. Her, in this flannel with the little tea stain near the hem. Her, in this light. Her, laughing like last night hadn’t happened. Like maybe she’d carry the weight for him just a little longer if it meant he could breathe for a moment more.

He took a long sip of his coffee and leaned back in the chair, wondering if this is what home was supposed to look like all along.

a/n: i'm sorry if this one feels too exposition-y... hopefully it's still readable tho?

and some backstory! what do we think?

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louisaskywalkerani · 2 days ago

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Closer

Pairing : Anakin Skywalker x f!Reader

CW: 18+, smut! minors DNI. p in v, unprotected sex

an: that’s so short IM SORRY.

You’re trembling against him, hips unsure, muscles tight — but ANAKIN SKYWALKER never rushes you. His big hands stay on your waist, warm and firm, like an anchor. You’re halfway seated on him now, and the pressure’s so intense it’s hard to think.

But he’s watching you like you’re the only thing in the galaxy. Eyes half-lidded, lips parted, completely gone for you.

“Sweetheart,” he says softly, breath catching as you shift again. “You’re doin’ so good.”

Your hands are fisted in the front of his tunic, nails digging in like it’s the only way to stay upright. You can’t even look at him — too overwhelmed, too full — and he knows. He can feel it.

“Shh, I got you,” he murmurs, pressing slow kisses into your hairline. “Just keep breathin’ through it, alright?”

You nod, barely. It’s all you can manage.

But that’s not enough for him. He cups your cheek, turns your face to his.

“Can you speak for me?” he asks, voice all soft heat and velvet control. “C’mon, baby. Give me some words.”

“I— I’m okay,” you breathe, lips brushing his. “Just… just need a second.”

“There she is,” he whispers, proud and breathless, brushing his thumb over your lower lip. “That’s my girl.”

You finally ease down the rest of the way, slowly, carefully, until he’s fully inside you. His jaw clenches hard, and his head tips back with a low, wrecked groan.

“Fuck— you feel like a dream,” he mutters. “So warm, so tight… baby, I could stay right here forever.”

You’re clinging to him now, arms around his neck, body still adjusting. And he doesn’t move — not until you do.

When you lift your hips the tiniest bit, he shudders beneath you. His hands grip tighter at your waist, like he’s barely holding back.

“You’re doin’ perfect,” he says, voice a little rougher now, but still sweet. “Take it slow. You don’t have to rush, angel.”

You start to build a rhythm — slow, shaky, but desperate. And every time you move, every tiny thrust, he meets it with soft, filthy praises :

“Just like that.”

“You’re makin’ me lose my mind.”

“Can’t believe how good you feel.”

His hands slide down, thumbs brushing over the soft curve of your ass, helping you move without forcing it — like he’s working with you, guiding you through the burn until it melts into something hotter.

“You still with me?” he asks, breathing heavy. “Need to hear you again.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, voice wrecked. “Feels so good, Ani.”

That look he gives you in return — ruined and full of love — could break you.

“That’s all I need,” he murmurs. “Just your voice. Just you.”

And when he kisses you again, deep and slow, it’s not rushed. It’s not greedy. It’s the kind of kiss that says stay with me.

#anakin skywalker x reader smut #anakin #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker drabble #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin imagine #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker one shot #anakin x reader #anakin smut #anakin fanfiction #star wars anakin #star wars imagine #star wars #hayden christensen #darth vader

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thatnightlamp · 3 days ago

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I want to try something a little spicy. Lorgar.

The catechisms were clear - desire without purpose was weakness. Passion unmoored from devotion was heresy. He had spoken those very words from a thousand pulpits, carved them into stone and soul alike. And yet, Lorgar Aurelian, the Voice of the Emperor, felt himself trembling in his own sanctum, blood still fresh from his most recent penance.

He wasn’t supposed to feel this.

He knelt in silence, robes clinging to sweat-slicked skin, baring a chest marked by fresh lashes. His hands shook, not from pain, but from restraint. He needed this control, this ritual. It was all that stood between him and the thoughts that refused to leave.

The thoughts of you.

Of the way you spoke his name, not Primarch, not my lord, just… Lorgar. As though the syllables themselves were holy.

That was where the heresy began.

Not with lust. Not with longing.

With intimacy.

He could resist temptation of the flesh. But not the idea that you saw the man, not the Primarch.

And the man… was weak.

He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. His breathing was uneven. Each inhale brought the scent of blood, incense, and candle wax. Each exhale carried your name like a prayer he had no right to speak.

His back ached from the lashes, muscles twitching with each subtle movement. He should’ve stopped after the third strike. Instead, he’d gone on until his knees were slick with crimson.

Because thinking about you, about your touch, your breath, your voice in his ear, was worse than sin.

He needed pain to remind himself what he was.

But it wasn’t enough.

His hands moved lower, fingers dragging across the bloodied curve of his abdomen, down over the firm lines of his body. The flesh shuddered beneath his own touch, not from agony, but from something worse.

Something sweeter.

He bit down on a moan.

"No," he growled to himself. "I am the Word. I am the flame. I am loyal."

But his body didn’t care.

The sanctum felt hotter now. The flickering candles seemed to press in closer, shadows dancing like specters. His breath caught as he imagined, not even your hand, no, that was too far, but your eyes. Watching him. Seeing the sacred, broken mess of him on the floor, covered in blood and need.

Would you look away?

Or worse, would you touch him?

The idea made his back arch, a gasp escaping his lips before he could crush it down. His hand moved, unthinking now, slick with blood and want, moving lower still.

He tried to pray.

"Emperor, my strength. Deliver me from-"

His fingers wrapped around himself.

The prayer died.

He bucked forward slightly, forehead pressing against the cold altar, shame dripping from his lips in broken breath and muttered words. His hips rocked subtly, slow and desperate, each motion tainted with guilt. His mouth opened, and your name slipped out again, soft, reverent.

He imagined your hand guiding his. Your breath at his neck. The way your body might press against his, trembling just as he was, lips parting with the same kind of desperate holiness that he now offered to you.

Lorgar moaned again, this one unrestrained.

He shouldn’t feel this way.

He shouldn’t want this.

But Emperor help him. He did.

The pain wasn’t enough anymore. The scourge had drawn blood, but it couldn’t cleanse the image of your hands running across the script carved into his chest. Couldn’t silence the imagined sound of your voice as you whispered praises, not to the Emperor, but to him.

He pumped faster now, breath ragged, the sanctum echoing with the wet, shameful sounds of his need. The heat in him built to something unbearable, something that no amount of scripture could suppress.

“Forgive me,” he whispered into the floor. “Forgive me, but I want them.”

His body tightened, his back arching once more. And then he broke.

He cried out your name, raw and choked, as pleasure tore through him, sacred and profane all at once. His body spasmed, his fist clenched, and he collapsed fully, cheek pressed to the floor slick with sweat and blood.

Silence fell.

For long minutes, he lay there, heart pounding like a war drum in his chest, lips parted, eyes wide. Not with lust.

With fear.

What had he done?

He had touched himself like a base creature. He had moaned like a heathen. He had called your name like a prayer, and meant it.

Lorgar’s body trembled anew, not from pleasure, but from horror.

He rolled to his knees slowly, blood and seed staining the floor before the altar. His hand reached once more for the scourge, but it felt… hollow now. Like a lie.

The damage was done.

He had surrendered, not to Chaos, not to doubt, but to you.

And worse… he would do it again.

#warhammer 40k #primarch x reader #warhammer 30k #warhammer 40k x reader #lorgar x reader

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wordsofwhimsy · 1 day ago

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【Ｏｐｐｏｓｉｔｅｓ　

Ａｔｔｒａｃｔ】 - Part Seventeen

Pairing: Mohawk!Mark Grayson x f!Reader

Warnings: Some long awaited smuttt between our two lovers – f & m receiving oral

Tags: Fluff, smut, reader’s first time being intimate with anyone, Mark’s on his kneeees

Word Count: 4,665

Chapter Synopsis: There’s a first time for everything and Mark is more than eager to be apart of yours.

a/n: hope y’all brought a bib – it’s about to go downnnn

Part Sixteen

Mark moved before you could blink—mouth on yours, arms around your waist, guiding you backward with slow, determined steps. His lips were softer this time, but no less hungry.

Your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you let yourself fall back, pulling him down with you. The mattress creaked under the sudden weight of him, all heat and pressure and muscle as he settled between your legs—but not fully. Never fully. He was bracing himself, holding back like his self-control was hanging by a thread.

One of his hands cupped your jaw again, the other pressed flat against the mattress beside your head as he kissed you deeper. He tasted like winter air and the last bit of self-restraint. You arched into him without thinking, a soft whimper escaping your lips before you could stop it.

Mark groaned—deep in his chest—and broke the kiss, forehead pressing to yours. “You’re gonna fucking kill me,” he murmured.

You slid your hands up his torso, palms circling to drag over the hard lines of his back. “Awe, we can’t have that…”

That made him laugh, breathless and low and almost distraught.

Then he was kissing down your neck, your collarbone, your stomach, taking his time. Your tank top bunched up inch by inch under his hands, each kiss lower than the last, until you were trembling beneath him.

“Mark—” you breathed, voice thin and shaking.

“I’ve thought about this,” he whispered, lips ghosting across the soft curve of your waist. “Every fucking night. Just… getting to see you like this. Touch you like this. You have no idea...”

Your shorts slid down under his hands, slow and deliberate, tugged just past your hips and down your thighs until they dropped off the bed. He stilled for a moment when he saw you—wearing soft, simple cotton underwear, sweet and unassuming, like you hadn’t even thought twice about it—and exhaled like he’d been punched. No lace, no silk, no effort to be seductive. Just you. Innocent, untouched by all the noise of trying to be sexy—like you didn’t even realize how devastating that made you. It wrecked him.

“Jesus Christ...” His eyes flicked up to yours, dark and full of so much want it nearly hurt. His hands were steady on your legs, but his voice cracked—barely holding on. “Tell me to stop,” he nearly pleaded, like he needed you to save him from himself.

You bit down on your lip, your whole body flushed, trembling under the weight of his gaze. Your chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, but your voice—when it came—was quiet. Sure. Yours.

“Don’t stop,” you whispered, eyes locked on his. “Please… keep going.”

Something broke in him.

His breath hitched like he’d been punched in the gut, and his grip on your thighs tightened just slightly—not rough, but needing. Needing you. Needing this. That look in his eyes shifted, went deeper, darker, like he was past the point of return now.

He dipped his head and kissed the inside of your thigh—soft and lingering. His hands smoothed over your hips, your legs, your skin, like he was memorizing every inch. He didn’t rush. Didn’t tear. He worshipped.

When his mouth pressed gently between your legs—still over your underwear—you gasped, hips twitching. “Fuck,” he breathed against you, trembling.

Then he eased the last layer down, watching you the entire time. Watching your breath hitch. Watching your legs tense and part just a little wider. Mark thought he could cry from the sight. Not just because you were beautiful—though you were, achingly so—but because it was you. Letting him see you like this. Letting him touch something so vulnerable. So sacred.

When he finally leaned in and kissed your core—bare, exposed, soft and already slick with need—it was slow, warm, intentional. His mouth pressed into you like a confession, like he needed it to breathe, like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. You whimpered, hips jolting, the sound spilling out of you before you could stop it. Your hand flew up to your mouth on instinct, desperate to muffle it—but Mark caught your wrist midair. His grip was gentle, firm, anchoring.

“Don’t,” he murmured, voice low and undone as he looked up at you. “I need to hear you.”

He didn’t give you a chance to respond—not with words, at least. Instead, he dipped his head again, tongue sliding through your folds with maddening slowness, savoring every inch of you like he was trying to memorize it. Every flick, every swirl of his tongue was careful, almost reverent. But the sound he made against you—a low, guttural groan—was pure, unfiltered need.

You were already shaking. One of your hands tangled in the sheets, the other still caught in his grip as he kept it pinned beside you, refusing to let you hide any part of yourself. It was overwhelming—how exposed you were, how seen you felt. Like he wasn’t just touching your body but reading it, learning every reaction, and falling harder with every one.

When his tongue circled your clit, slow and featherlight, your hips jerked, back arching off the mattress with a sound you didn’t recognize—high, needy, desperate. Your thighs tried to close in around his head, instinctive and overstimulated, but his hand slid to your hip, steady and grounding, keeping you open for him.

“Fuck,” he breathed, breaking away for just a second. His lips were wet, flushed, swollen from you. “You taste so fucking good.”

He could feel it—your body begging, trembling under him, the way your hips rolled helplessly toward his mouth, searching for more. And fuck, he gave it to you. His grip tightened on your thigh as he buried his face between your legs like he was starving—tongue working in slow, greedy strokes that made your toes curl and your thoughts scatter.

Every time he flattened his tongue against your clit, every time he sucked it into his mouth with just the right pressure, you swore you could see stars. Your legs started to shake harder, and he loved it—fucking lived for it. He moaned into you, deep and desperate, and the vibration of it sent a pulse of heat straight through your spine.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he groaned, barely pulling back long enough to speak. His voice was shot—low, hoarse, addicted. “I could stay here all night.”

And it wasn’t just talk. He meant it. He’d sink into you, over and over, until he had your taste carved into the back of his throat. He was already soaked in you—his lips, his chin, his soul—but it still wasn’t enough. He needed more. You. All of you.

He slipped a single finger down—gently circling your entrance before easing in. And the second he pushed past that first bit of resistance, he froze.

“Oh my goddd,” he groaned, pained. His brows drew together, jaw strained, like the feeling of you was too much. “You are so fucking tight.”

His voice cracked on the words. His finger was only halfway in, and it already felt like you were gripping him for everything he was worth. He swallowed hard, chest rising and falling like he was trying to hold himself together.

“It’s just one finger…” he muttered, almost to himself, like he couldn’t believe it.

He didn’t move, not right away. He just let you feel it—let you adjust, let your body melt around him. His thumb brushed soft, tracing circles on your thigh while his other hand anchored him against the sheets, knuckles white.

“God, you feel like heaven,” he said, finally easing his finger in deeper. “So warm, so soft… so so perfect.”

He began moving—just a little, just enough—fingering you in slow, careful motions while his mouth returned to your clit. The combination was devastating. His tongue was all focus, all devotion, lapping at you like you were the only thing that existed.

You cried out, a helpless, overwhelmed sound, and Mark groaned in response—deep and low, like your pleasure hit him right in the chest.

His tongue was slow, teasing, precise. He licked and kissed like he had something to prove—and God, he did. You moaned, hips stuttering up into his mouth, and he just held you tighter, arm wrapped under your thigh.

He found your rhythm like he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life—like it was second nature. You were falling apart within minutes, panting his name like a prayer, hands tangled in his thick strip of dark hair, tugging as pleasure coiled hot and heavy in your core.

He moaned when you pulled—actually moaned—and the vibration made your back arch off the bed.

“Mark—oh my God—Mark, I—” You were unraveling.

Every flick of his tongue, every twitch of his finger, every growl of your name between his teeth was taking you higher—way higher than you’d ever been before. Your hips rolled helplessly, breath hitching, hands in his hair, thighs trembling around his head as Mark devoured you like it was the only thing he’d ever wanted.

You felt it creeping in—tight and hot and too much—coiling in your stomach, low and sharp and dizzying. Your hands clenched the sheets. Your thighs tried to close, but his arms held you steady, spreading you wider.

Then the pressure shifted.

Something about the way his mouth moved—lower, firmer, deeper—made that pressure drop into a place that was suddenly too intense. And it hit you all at once: “W-wait—Mark—wait!”

He froze instantly. Pulled back just enough to look up, mouth soaked, face caught between worry and restraint. “What? What’s wrong?”

“I—” You squirmed, trying to sit up. Your voice cracked. “I think I’m—I might—I think I’m gonna pee—” You looked mortified. Absolutely horrified. Mark blinked. Then—he laughed.

Not mean. Not teasing. Just this warm, breathless, relieved little laugh, like he couldn’t believe how cute you were. “Oh, baby,” he said, crawling up your body and kissing your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. “You’re not gonna pee.”

“I swear to God I—Mark, I’ve never—” You were red-faced, shaking, trying to hide your face in your hands. “I’ve never felt anything like that, I thought—I don’t know what’s happening—”

“Hey,” he said gently, framing your face with both hands, pressing his forehead to yours. “I promise you. You’re not gonna pee. That’s just—you’re close. Really close. That’s what it feels like.”

Your breath hitched. “Are you sure?”

“Baby.” His voice dropped, low and reverent. “I’ve dreamed about making you feel this good since the first time I saw you again in high school. I know exactly what your body’s trying to do.” He kissed the tip of your nose. “You’re safe. I’ve got you. Just let go.”

You stared at him—still panicked, but unraveling in a different way now. The way he was looking at you—like you were the sun and the stars and the air in his lungs—it made you feel braver.

So you nodded. Just a little.

And his mouth was back on you—hungry, patient, perfect. This time, when the pressure returned—hot and sharp and overwhelming—you didn’t fight it.

Your body tensed. And then it broke.

You cried out, hands fisting the sheets, thighs shaking around his shoulders as the wave crashed through you, harder than anything you'd ever felt. It wasn’t like touching yourself. It wasn’t like anything.

It was like being torn apart and put back together in the span of a heartbeat.

Mark moaned against you, holding you through it, working you through every aftershock until your body finally gave out—soft and limp and trembling in his arms. He kissed your thighs, your hipbones, your stomach—then crawled up to wrap you in his arms.

“You okay?” he whispered, brushing hair from your damp forehead. His cheeks were flushed, lips swollen, but his eyes were so soft it nearly broke you all over again.

“I…” You blinked up at him, dazed. “I think I just… exploded.”

He grinned. “You did. It was beautiful.”

You buried your face in his chest, body still twitching with aftershocks. “Oh my God, I’m so embarrassed.”

“Don’t be.” He kissed the top of your head. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life.” A pause. “…Can we do it again?”

You hit him with a pillow. Weakly. He caught it, laughing, and pulled you closer.

You were still reeling from the experience—overwhelmed, but in a way that made you feel light, like you were floating. Mark held you close, your bodies pressed together as you lay tangled in the sheets, his chest rising and falling with each breath.

You wanted him. More than you’d ever wanted anything before. And you wanted to make him feel as good as he made you feel.

After all, you couldn’t just let him give you everything without showing him just how much you cared. You didn’t know exactly how to do it, but you needed to try.

You shifted, face hot with a new kind of nervousness. Mark was still holding you, his arms wrapped loosely around your body, but when you moved he breathed just a bit harder, looking down at you with that soft, questioning expression.

“What are you doing?” he whispered, his voice still low and rough from earlier.

You bit your lip, heart racing. You were so nervous, but at the same time, the heat in your veins was telling you to just go for it.

“I want to return the favor,” you murmured, voice small but full of determination.

Mark blinked—then immediately his face softened, letting out a single, breathy laugh. “Oh, babe…”

His hands went to your shoulders, his thumbs brushing the skin there, like he was trying to pull you closer, but there was this hesitation in his eyes. “Are you sure? You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you said, a little more firmly this time. “Please let me.”

And that was it. You could see the shift in him, the way his face flushed with something between surprise and overwhelming affection. His voice cracked slightly as he said for the second time that night, “God, you’re gonna kill me…”

You hesitated for a moment, nerves bubbling up, but you pushed through them. You didn’t want him to think you didn’t care. Slowly, you crawled down the bed, your eyes never leaving his face. He watched you with a mix of awe and disbelief, and just the sight of that—the way he looked at you—made your stomach flutter.

You reached down to his hips, fingers gently grazing the tight fabric of his one-piece suit. You tugged at it, trying to maneuver it down, but it was so snug, there was no easy way to get it off without making things way more complicated than they needed to be.

A slight frown pulled at your lips as you realized you were stuck. You glanced up at him, frustration and confusion mixing in your gaze. “Uh… I don’t think I can get this off of you,” you muttered, looking helpless for a split second.

Mark just stared at you with heavy eyes as he slowly started peeling off the suit, the muscles in his arms flexing as he pulled it down, inch by inch. The way he worked at it was so distractingly sexy that you could barely breathe. You watched as the fabric slipped down over his chest, past his abs, and all the way to his ankles. He stepped out of it with a fluid motion, leaving the superhero gear crumpled in a heap on the floor.

Your eyes immediately dropped lower, unable to help yourself. His toned abs, the way his thighs were shaped and strong, everything about him seemed to be carved out of some perfect vision of masculinity. But it wasn’t just that.

No—what made you freeze in place was what you saw between his legs.

You blinked, your breath catching in your throat. For a moment, you couldn’t look away. Holy shit.

Mark was… well endowed—way more than you were prepared for. Your heart pounded loudly in your chest, your mind racing to process what you were seeing. You swallowed, feeling heat rush to your face, your cheeks turning crimson. The thought crossed your mind before you even realized it, your heart thundering in your ears as you tried to breathe normally.

What do I do with that?

You had to blink again, trying to steady yourself. You could feel the heat building between your legs—an ache you couldn’t ignore. But at the same time, your mind was still struggling to catch up.

Mark’s voice cut through your spiraling thoughts.

“Hey, you okay?” His words were soft, genuine, but there was something intense about the way he was looking at you. He wasn’t sure if you were okay with everything or if you needed more time, but he could see the stunned look on your face and the slight uncertainty in your eyes.

You didn’t even realize you’d been holding your breath until you exhaled sharply, your fingers instinctively gripping the sheets as you took in the scene before you.

You nodded, but your voice caught in your throat when you tried to speak. You wanted to tell him everything you were feeling, but it was so overwhelming. Your eyes slid back down to his length, still very much in the forefront of your mind. You swallowed thickly before whispering, “I—I didn’t think...” you swallowed, tried to regain a semblance of composure. “I’ve never... seen a man like this before.”

His expression shifted—an almost possessive, protective gleam flashing across his face. It was subtle, but you felt it. He was ready. He was so ready for you, and he wasn’t going to let you back out now.

“You don’t have to be shy, babe,” he said, his voice deepening with that same hunger from before. “You can touch me. Feel me.” His hands gently cupped your chin, tilting your head back so you couldn’t look away from him. “Let me teach you.”

You couldn’t help the shy, overwhelmed feeling that crawled over you, but there was something about his look—the way he was watching you like you were the center of his universe—that made you want to push past it. He was being so patient, so still, like if he moved too fast he might scare you off or break the moment.

“Sit,” you whispered.

He obeyed without hesitation, backing up until the backs of his legs hit the mattress and lowering himself down. He leaned back slightly on his hands, eyes never leaving yours, muscles still taut with restraint. Naked, flushed, and aching—he looked almost too beautiful to be real. Every line of his body was tense with need, but he wasn’t rushing you.

Not even a little.

You moved to kneel between his legs, and for a second, your confidence faltered. You paused, eyes wide, hands trembling just slightly in your lap. This was… a lot. You’d imagined doing this before—fantasized about it late at night, alone under the covers, biting your lip to keep quiet—but the reality of it was so much more intense. Mark, your Mark, was here, waiting, watching you like he’d never wanted anything more.

Your eyes drifted down again. You bit your lip hard.

He was already thick, flushed, and so, so hard. It felt like your breath had been stolen from your chest just looking at him. You had no real idea what you were doing. You only knew you wanted to try. Wanted to please him.

Mark saw the hesitation in your face and sat up slightly, cupping your cheek with one warm hand.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and tender, “you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you said quickly, surprising even yourself with how certain you sounded. You looked up at him through your lashes. “I just… don’t really know how.”

Mark’s breath left him in a shaky exhale. “Baby,” he said, and it sounded like a prayer, “I promise, anything you do will blow my fucking mind.”

That made you smile a little. You leaned in slowly, your hands sliding up his thighs, nervous but steady, feeling the twitch of muscle beneath your fingers. His breath was already getting ragged as he let his head fall back for just a second, jaw clenched as he tried to stay calm.

You kissed his stomach first—soft and tentative—just below his bellybutton. He shivered under you.

Then lower.

Your lips hovered, breath ghosting over his skin, and he made a sound that went straight to your core—low, needy, barely restrained. Your fingers wrapped around him, tentative at first, adjusting to his weight and warmth, and the way he twitched in your hand nearly made you jump.

“Oh my god,” he groaned, voice tight, one hand fisting in the sheets. You looked up again, unsure, but he was watching you like he was in actual pain. “You’re killing me. Please don’t stop,” he pleaded, desperate.

So you didn’t.

Every little move—every brush of your lips, every stroke of your hand—was slow, careful, reverent. You were learning him in real time, watching how his body reacted, how his abs clenched and his hips twitched and his breath stuttered. The way he said your name like it was the only word he knew.

And when you finally, finally took him into your mouth, just the tip, he choked on a sound—half curse, half moan, full of disbelief—and tangled his hand gently in your hair, not pulling, just holding, like he needed something to anchor him.

You moved slow, careful, nervous but eager, and he was unraveling right there in front of you.

“Fuck,” he growled. “You’re—Jesus, baby, you’re doing so good, you’re so—sweet, so fucking perfect.”

You felt your skin flush all over. You were messy, inexperienced, completely unsure of yourself, and he was looking at you like you were angelic.

He let his head fall forward, eyes locked on you, lips parted like he was about to lose it. You were learning fast. And you didn’t want to stop.

His hand was still in your hair, not tugging, not pushing—just resting there, stabilizing himself, like he couldn’t believe this was happening. Like if he let go, he’d fall apart entirely.

“Baby…” he whispered, his voice almost cracking. He wasn’t even moving anymore, just staring down at you with wide, overwhelmed eyes. “You’re doing so so good.”

The praise made your chest feel too small for your heart. His eyes were glassy and dark with want. “You have no idea what you look like right now. What this feels like. I can’t—fuck, I can’t believe this is real.”

The honesty in his voice made your stomach twist in the most electric way. You leaned back in. Slower this time. Mark was whispering your name under his breath now, over and over like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. His legs were spread wider, muscles twitching under your touch, and his whole body was tight with the effort of not bucking forward, of not losing control.

“God,” he groaned, his voice thick and strained. “You’re gonna make me—baby, please—I don’t wanna finish yet, I wanna—” His breath hitched, sharp and sudden, as your fingers traced the inside of his thigh.

You blinked up at him, lips still touching him, cheeks flushed, utterly lost in the moment.

And in that second—knees on the floor, your touch so tentative and his body trembling under it—Mark looked like he could come undone right then. Not from the pleasure alone, but from the way you were giving yourself to him so fully, so sweetly. Like this wasn’t just physical. Like it meant something. Like it meant everything.

He cupped your face gently, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth, reverent and shaky and tender as hell.

“I love you,” he said, low and struck.

His words seemed to overshadow any nervousness left in your body—folding it into something else. Something deeper. Something needier. Every shaky breath from Mark, every stuttered groan and whispered praise spilling from his lips, made it easier to keep going. To let your hands move with a little more confidence. To lean into his body and feel the way it trembled under you.

Mark looked like he was in pain—in the best possible way.

His head had fallen back, neck stretched, Adam’s apple bobbing with every hitched breath. One hand stayed buried in your hair, not guiding or pushing, just gripping, like he was afraid if he let go, he’d lose himself completely. His other arm was braced behind him, muscles flexed, barely holding him up. His abs were clenching hard under every breath. His thighs twitched under your palms.

And when you finally took him deeper—just a little more, just enough—he made a sound that was devastated.

“F-fuck, baby,” he choked out, the sound torn from his chest like it pained him. “I’m—oh my God, I’m not gonna last.”

You kept your rhythm slow, careful, keeping your hands on his thighs. Mark was falling apart—bit by bit. Every breath came out ragged. His voice was starting to break.

And then it hit him. That edge. Fast and hard.

His whole body tensed beneath you like a drawn bow, and his fingers clenched into the sheets behind him. His hand in your hair twitched, like he wanted to hold on, like it was the only thing anchoring him.

“Wait—baby, wait,” he gasped, voice hoarse. “I—I’m gonna fuckin’ bust, I can’t—fuck, can I? Please, can I—?”

You looked up again, lips still warm around him, and gave the tiniest nod.

And that was all it took.

Mark’s whole body snapped. His mouth dropped open in a strangled moan, and his hips jerked once before he forced himself to stay still, practically vibrating with the effort. His hand covered his mouth like he didn’t trust what would come out—like if he really let himself make the sounds he wanted to, it’d echo through the whole damn dorm building.

He came hard, chest heaving. He was shaking—shaking—with the force of it, the release ripping through him like he’d been holding it back for months.

Because he had.

And when he finally started to come back to earth, his whole body sagged forward. He looked dazed. Flushed. Wrecked. His hand slipped from your hair to your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin like he needed to center himself. You blinked up at him, cheeks pink, breath shaky, lips swollen and a little unsure.

“Was that… okay?” you whispered.

Mark looked like he was going to cry.

He exhaled a laugh, soft and stunned, and pulled you up into his lap without a word. His arms wrapped around your waist, holding you so tightly you could barely breathe—but you didn’t want to pull away. You settled against his chest, your legs straddling his, your face tucked under his jaw.

“Okay?” he murmured, kissing your temple. “That was… life changing.” You giggled shyly, hiding your burning face in his neck. “I love you,” he murmured, voice low and serious against your ear. “So much. I don’t think you even know how much.”

Your heart thudded, swelling in your chest. You didn’t say anything right away. You just held him. But in your mind, all you could think was: I love you too.

———————

#invincible #mark grayson #invincible fanfic #invincible x reader #mark grayson x reader #invincible show #mark grayson fanfic #mohawk mark #mohawk mark x reader #mark grayson variant #variant mark grayson #mark grayson x reader smut #mark grayson smut #invincible smut

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skyrim-forever · 3 days ago

Text

WIP Wednesday

Thank you @sulphuricgrin @saltymaplesyrup and @umbracirrus for the tags :)

I'm tagging @theoneandonlysemla @dirty-bosmer @pocket-vvardvark @changelingsandothernonsense @silly-little-diary @pyre-of-pages @labskeever

@firefly-factory @thequeenofthewinter @scholarlyhermit @sanzas-reverie @ladytanithia @captain-of-silvenar @heavy-metal-dick @sunsettemplar @friend-of-giants @v1ctory-or-sovngarde

We got some beading done!!! I'm now full-fledged into his hair again and it's coming along well. I'll probably make the back a bit bigger so it's better proportioned.

I also got some writing done and wanted to throw in this funny scene of Ondolemar working out some "logistics" ;)

“There are reports of a gathering tonight.” The Justiciar spoke firmly. “Supposedly the heretics are convening south east of the city at dark.” He places the map on the war room table, his two subordinates keep their gaze on him. “You will be observing them for now, I’d rather any arrests be made within the city walls and one at a time. The Ambassador has made it clear our forces are stretched thin, do not broach more than you can handle.” It’s convincing, his manufactured assignment, as much as it needs to be given that Cisephona and Ganlian have already shown countless times their loyalty. Unwavering and unquestioning, such is expected of them under his command. Years of leadership paying off in a very unanticipated way as the true objective of this mission was not to crack down on heresy but rather to make his corner of the Keep empty; he did have company coming, after all.

“If I may Commander.” The male guard says.

“You may.”

“Is it wise for both of us to go? If we are to be gone into the night then that leaves you more open to threats, especially if our absence is noticed.” Ondolemar’s body tenses ever so slightly, no doubt unseen by the others.

“He is right, Commander. Perhaps I shall remain here, if the goal is to merely gather intel then that can be done alone.” Absolutely not. The Altmer had put far too much effort into this evening to let it be squandered because his subordinates were too good at their work, too concerned in their role of protecting him rather than the broader Dominion goal to root out Talos worship. A part of him was thankful, not every member of their ranks was as competent as the two of them were; especially among those on assignment in Skyrim. But this part pales in comparison to the majority of him that is preoccupied thinking of all the ways he could have that Imperial woman if he was not limited by time. The hand he plays is not one he’d normally use, but such desperate times require such measures.

“Correct me if I am wrong,” a new, small part of him a touch disgusted that he is about to say what he is because he wants to get laid this evening. “But it sounds as though you are implying I am unable to handle any threat that may arise.” Awful. “I am aware I do not see as much active conflict as I used to, however, I am more than capable of dealing with anything that may occur in a night.” Disgust vanishes as the desired reaction is achieved.

“My complete apologies, Commander Ondolemar. That was not at all what we intended.” Cisephona responses, her breathing audible, I see some of the training has not fully taken.

“We will leave immediately.” The upturn of his own lips indicates he too, has forgotten some of his training. Controlled expressions were always harder to maintain with those you were fond of.

“Excellent.”

#wip wednesday #my beading #beading wip #very happy to have made some progress in both writing and beading #the mohawk is mohawking #and the baldmer is being silly #he's just trying to get laid is that a crime? (yes yes it is)#the logistics of getting pussy ;)

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chaos--s · 3 days ago

Text

platonic yandere! vampire

general warning for transformation and injuries

The pain was overwhelming, you laid against the brick wall trying to control your breathing. The stab wound in your torso was still gushing out blood. You were going to die, cold and alone in an alleyway.

"Ah," Someone. A person, you muster the remaining bit of your strength to call out to them. They shush you and a cold hand brushes the blood dripping from your mouth. "A young thing... I could smell you from miles away."

They hum as you whimper in pain again. "A little fledgling, full of youth." They whisper, the blood from your wound coating their fingertips. "Would you like that? Being mine?"

You didn't know what it meant but you nod anyways. "I wonder how you'll be like, darling." You feel your arm being lifted up and you move again.

"Keep still sweetheart, it'll be over soon." They coo softly. A sharp pain shot through your body. You open your mouth and all you could do to protest it was pathetic whines.

"We're done, we're done." They reassure, kissing the new puncture wounds on your wrist.

The pain stops and you started to feel even more woozy. Maybe the person who stabbed you in the first place came back to finish you off, you black out and fall limp right into the expecting arms of your sire. Unbeknownst to you.

Orion catches you, watching as your wound started to slowly heal itself. Once you were a fully fledged vampire wounds would heal in an instant, but for now you had your sire to look after you. For once in the centuries he has existed for, he has something to care for.

Someone, he cradles you closer to him. Your head dropping so that it lays perfectly against his chest. "All mine."

Thirsty. You feel so fucking thirsty, it's as if you have been starving for years. Your head feels heavy as you move, trying to sit up. But everything you did felt so heavy.

"Well hello there sleepy head, feeling hungry?" A man you hadn't noticed was in the room practically glides to your bed and sits near you. You don't know why he feels so familiar, a small part of you yearns to be near him but you don't know why.

You didn't know who he was. But you reach out towards him anyways, he smiles as he pulls you onto his lap. You feel small as he hums softly, comfort washing away your worries.

"Here, drink up," He lifts.... something to your mouth. You don't know what it is but the smell. The smell was delicious, you immediately latch on.

"You're going to drain me," He chuckles, watching fondly as you drink his blood. He needed to establish a bond between his fledgling, the best way to do so is let them feed on their sire for their first few weeks. "Good, huh?"

When you're done, you finally let go. Your head a little clearer now after finally drinking something, you turn to look at the man that has been cooing at you.

"Who are you, why am I not dead?" Remnants of your near-death experience are still fresh in your mind. You should be dead.

"I saved you, darling."

"How am I- I was about to die." You muttered. You looked down, expecting to see a gaping wound in your torso but, nothing. Well, there was a scar in its place but it was slowly fading.

"How-" He shushes you, slightly rocking you as if you were a fussy child.

"So many questions, from such a tired little fledgling. Go back to sleep, sweetheart. Maybe I'll answer your questions when you feel less sleepy."

You do feel tired. Why were you so tired?

"Shhh, shhh. You'll feel better when you sleep more, hm? Plenty of time for us to talk later on." His voice was soothing. Maybe you will listen to him, this stranger.

–

It's weird. How normal it was to just sit next to the man who technically kidnapped you.

Hanging out on a couch, curled up next to Orion as you enjoyed the heat from the fireplace in his grandiose living room. It felt right, something was tugging in your brain to stay next to him. Next to your sire.

Which you still hadn't gotten used to. It felt like you were living on autopilot, a cycle of yearning and hunger. And somehow being around Orion helped it quieten down. Orion, his name that he gave to you unwillingly.

"Why don't you call me father, hm? Seems fitting seeing as I'm your sire." He had told you when you asked for his name.

"Orion." You tug on his sleeve, he was reading a book as he always did. He looks down at you who was currently curled at his side and smiles softly. "Hungry?"

You sheepishly nod. "It's alright to ask when you're hungry, no need to be shy." His tone is light as he reassures you, lowering one of his hands down. The wrist that has been the source of your 'food' for a few days now, yet you still hesitate.

"It doesn't hurt me, sweetheart." He reassures you again. Orion thinks the universe blessed him with bumping into you, having you in his life even if it's only been a few days. It feels like you were missing from his life all this while.

It doesn't take much more reassurance for you to finally bite, enjoying your sire's blood. Your mind calms down as you take your fill, letting go after a while. You watch as the wounds heal back, as if you hadn't done anything in the first place.

You wince, prodding at your sensitive fangs. "Ow..." They always hurt after you feed, it was annoying.

Orion notices this and laughs softly. "It's been years since I've experienced feeding with sensitive fangs."

"When will it stop?" You pout slightly and he coos. "When you grow up to be a big strong vampire sweetheart, and even then you'll remain my little fledgling."

You huff an annoyed sigh as he pats your arm. "It's alright, the pain will go away in a bit. Want me to tell you a story to distract you?" You nod and move closer to him, leaning your head on his chest as he retells another one of his stories from his long life.

#platonic yandere #yandere platonic #tw yandere #parental yandere #familial yandere

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papathe5th · 1 day ago

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Vampetua x f!Reader x Dracopia

The following WIP has gotten an out of my control, stretching for more paragraphs than I had initially planned.

Still, seeing as it’s the only original work I have to offer on Skeletá Eve, I decided to post what I have written so far.

The twins are at each other's throats when they are not on either side of yours.

From the outside, it appeared as if they needed someone to stand between them lest they kill each other, leaving The United Clergy of Ghost without a Frater Imperator and a Papa.

From where you were standing, on the vintage couch in Frater's new office, they looked like two boys vying for the attention of the entire world, stubbornly refusing to share it with one another.

“You set me up for failure,” Papa V Perpetua snarled, showing his teeth.

He never snarled at you. And, when he would flash you his fangs, he sharpened them with his tongue, licking them clean of your blood.

“Your face on the promotional material wouldn’t have sold a single ticket,” Frater Imperator said under his breath, not even sparing his brother a glance. “Thought you knew this and that’s why you…” He interrupts himself, covering the upper half of his face with both hands. “You know.”

“Bastardo,” Papa blurted out, barely holding himself back. His hands were twitching in his black leather gloves and his eye were burning in the socket of his half-mask skull.

From where you were standing, Frater seemed like he was in the mood for a fight. “I know you are, but what am I?”

“Papa,” you called to him, trying to be calm, but your voice was already cracking. “The reviews for the first leg of the Skeletour are overwhelmingly positive. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Sister.” What you could see of his face was now relaxed, his lips resting atop each other again in a straight black line. “At least one of us is paying attention to what our congregation wants.”

“They want to have their taints tickled and watch your ass wobble.” Frater Imperator huffed.

“Of course,” you bowed your head slightly, a small smile spreading across your face. “Papa took your advice and it paid off.”

“Of course,” he nodded, standing up a little straighter.

“Then we are in agreement,” you spoke up before either of them could think of an another insult to hurl at the other.

Papa crossed his arms over his chest, defensive of his own pride. “Are we?”

“Ghost is more popular than ever. You two make the best team,” you beamed, smiling brightly, pushing down the nervousness deep into your belly.

It was your third time mediating them. And, from where you were sitting on the couch, still fully clothed, it looked like it was the first time you didn’t have to use your body and blood to do it.

They looked at each other, though they were facing you, and finally - finally! - silently declared peace. For the rest of the night, at least.

“You’re…not wrong, Sister,” Frater conceded, stepping closer to where you were seated. With his eyes still on his twin, who was mirroring him in motion, he speaks to you. “We do make a good team.”

“The best team,” Papa corrects him. “She said the best, fratello.”

“I know, fratello,” he sighs, surrendering every fighting urge and focusing solely on you.

They were once again in agreement, as Papa V Perpetua uncrossed his arms and also looked over to you.

You were wearing your habit, the same one you did when you got pulled into the office the first time and ordered to be their third neutral party, the wall that would keep the two sides going to war.

Tonight, you had on the same outerwear, but what you were hiding underneath was what they would rather you wore when summoned.

Frater Imperator had sent you a lace negligee wrapped in a satin bow while Papa V Perpetua gifted you a black box of lingerie fitted with leather fastenings. And you decided that, as their mediator, you would be wearing both tonight.

Tonight, they were looking down on you with big, blown-out, famished eyes, like two wolves when stumbling upon a wounded lamb. And you were as nervous as you were excited.

“Sister.”

They synchronised, stretching a hand out for each one of yours, and it made you stand up as if springs sent you off the couch.

Either you would be excused for the night, or they needed to cover up the furniture with the already bloodied sheets lest they ruin the plush pillows.

It turned out there was a third option.

“Would you join us in my room?” They asked in unison, even squeezing your hand at the same time, stopping your heart from pumping blood to your legs for a beat.

The twins turned towards each other one more time, as perplexed about the proposition as you were.

“Your room?” They questioned each other.

Frater knitted his eyebrows together and curled his upper lip. “Your room? I have a king.”

Papa pursed his lips into a pout. “I thought you couldn’t fit a king.”

“Yes, well, your room can’t,” he confessed.

His twin mouthed “bastard,’ but settled his lips again as well as his exasperated expression. “Your room it is.”

“Excuse me?” You bring their attention back to your baffled state and big bulbous eyes. “What are you asking of me again?”

“Sister,” Papa pressed his lips against the back of your hand, sniffing your skin for a second. It was long enough for you to feel the night air as he sucked it into his nose and it blew past the saliva and face paint his mouth left behind. “Would you care to join us tonight?”

Frater brough your fingers to his mouth and kissed each of your knuckles, watching your own mouth as it whimpered. “For a drink?”

Your own legs couldn’t carry you to Frater Imperator's room. He and Papa V Perpetua had to offer you an arm of theirs for you to hold onto for dear life. And, from where you were standing in the doorway, they bowed on either side of it, welcoming you inside.

The bed was massive, a king size just as he promised. The sheets were a scarlet so deep it might as well have been a blood well. And you feel your legs hive under you again at the thought of your own pouring out onto the pillows tonight.

You were grateful to be invited to sit at the end of it. And they were more than happy to join you, Frater on your right and Papa on your left.

“There is pomegranate juice. And peppermint tea. Water, if you’d like.”

You turned to Frater, throat drenched: “No, thank you.” Thirsty as you were, his hunger was what you craved.

“Would you like a kiss?”

Your head snapped towards Papa, his black lips pulled away from his teeth in a grin. He was as hungry as his twin, and wasn’t hiding his primal needs behind politeness.

“Yes, please.”

They each placed a hand on your knee, over your habit, each one creeping up your thigh, and joining halfway. That was where that their fingers unfurled and grasped the flesh of your thigh through the fabric.

Papa’s other hand was at the back of your head, holding you still as he dived into your mouth. He leaves you no room to breathe, his tongue snaking into your mouth and his lips locking with yours. All of your air was wasted on whines he ate as they came up your throat. You were already full of him, and his fingers haven’t even reached your sex, slowly stroking your skin through your skirt.

And he only had time to tease your bottom lip with his teeth before his brother tore you away from his jaws.

A string of saliva still tattered you to his twin’s mouth when Frater Imperator snached you by the chin and dove in. While your moans had plenty of room to slip out of your mouth, he didn’t let you get used to the pressure of his fangs before sinking them into your plush bottom lip.

Papa was huffing and puffing against your hot cheek, scenting the copper spilling down your chin and onto Frater’s leather glove. “We promised to share.” He nuzzled you, a gentle gesture that made you stop struggling while his brother was suckling. “Fratello.”

It didn’t stop the sounds coming out of you and you suspected it wasn’t meant to.

“Here,” Frater spoke to him by blowing the words into your mouth. “You big baby.” Then, he offered him his blood-soaked glove-covered finger to suck on.

The sound of Papa moaning around the taste of you on his brother’s thumb beat against your eardrums, beat against your heart and squeezed your thighs together.

And that involuntary action cost you.

Frater Imperator hooked his arms under your knees and lifted you legs, while Papa V Perpetua pulled you up the bed and pressed you into the pillows. It all happened in the blink of your eyes, their own blowing up into dark pits in the meantime.

You’ve seen the night enter their eyes before. As you saw the stars sparkling in their white one, you were blinded. And you didn’t even catch them tearing at your threads, habit, robe, collar and headpiece tossed in the air and floating down to the floor.

#ghost #the band ghost #papa v perpetua #frater imperator #papa v perpetua x reader #frater imperator x reader #vampetua #dracopia #papa emeritus iv #cardinal copia #papa v #papa 5 #wip #fan fic

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baezen · 2 hours ago

Note

“Fucking doesn’t involved this much talking, usually.” With Dr. Robby pwease

say “ahh” | m.r

pairing: michael robinavitch x f!reader warnings: smut, nsfw [18+ only], dom!robby, fingering [f receiving], implied unprotected sex, word count: 583

summary: in which robby threatens to put your mouth to good use

author’s note: liz this is filth just for you <3

drabble day | masterlist

Robby’s hands gripped your waist, lips moulding to yours before you had a chance to ask him how his day was. By this reaction, it hadn’t been great.

You pushed your hands through his short hair, one settling on his shoulder, the other at the nape of his neck. His kiss was fierce and desperate, one you knew a little too well.

The first time he’d shown up at your place after a particularly gruelling shift, you had only been dating a short period of time. It was a nice surprise. He’d brought dinner, attempted small-talk, but even then you knew he needed something more. Something he wasn’t sure how to ask for.

It had started out as offering to give him a massage. You thought you’d be able to relieve some of his stress that way, but he was too wound tight. Too tense. His shoulders and back had more knots than you knew what to do with, but you quickly learned what he was needing after you placed a taunting kiss to the spot behind his ear, while your fingers gripped his hips.

You weren’t sure what kind of sound he made, but it sent shivers down your spine. You felt a thrill of arousal course through you.

Robby needed to fuck. He needed complete control over something…someone, and you were more than willing.

Robby’s kiss was dominating, commanding. You loved when he was in these moods because it gave you the chance to fully submit to him. You knew he would take care of you, knew he would make you feel good, and in turn, he was relieving the stress of his day. Two birds, one stone, or however the saying went.

Today it seemed as though the bedroom was the last place on his mind. He’d managed to rid you of your shorts and back you up against the kitchen counter so the lip dug into your lower back. His kiss was bruising, relentless. It left you gasping for air, desperate in anticipation of what was to come next.

Robby slipped his hand between your legs, deft fingers spreading your slit, a pleased groan falling past his lips as your legs spread a little further apart, welcoming the intrusion. His lips attached to your neck, feeling your sharp intake of breath. Hearing the gasp, and squelch of your heat, as his fingers worked you over.

“Robby,” you panted. “Please.”

He chuckled lowly, curling his fingers and stroking your innermost wall, feeling your body tremble.

“That’s my good girl,” he praised, knowing how words would tip you over the edge.

“Please,” you begged again, rocking your hips to meet his fingers. You threw your head back as your body convulsed, constricting around his fingers, shaking with the euphoria of your orgasm, his name falling from your lips breathily.

And then he was there, giving you no time to recover. The thick head of his dick nestled between your thighs, your leg hooked over his arm as he drove in deep. Wasting no time in filling you, taking you.

“Fuck,” you gasped. “Robby.”

“Fucking doesn’t involve this much talking, usually,” Robby commented, his mouth covering yours. Swallowing the moan that ripped from your chest. He was everywhere. He was everything.

“God,” you whimpered.

“You want me to fuck your face instead?” He asked. “Is that it?”

“I wouldn’t be opposed,” you admitted, earning a hard pinch to your nipple as he drove into your sopping heat, chuckling lowly as you yelped.

#michael robby robinavitch #michael robby robinavitch x reader #michael robby robinavitch x you #dr. michael robinavitch #dr. michael robby robinavitch x reader #michael robby robinavitch smut #michael robby robinavitch fanfic #the pitt

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emotionlcss · 3 days ago

Text

if he wanted her to shout it from the roof then she would, and the blonde would do it happily. she'd let everyone know that she was his, nobody else could touch her, and that nobody would ever make her feel the way that he did. he was able to reach her in ways that nobody else ever had, and she would have been stupid to deny that. coming home in the middle of the day was the best thing she'd done since moving into this place, and now she was pissed that it hadn't happened sooner. they could've been doing this for weeks now, but she'd take what she could get. there was no missing just how much she'd needed him, and brynn could only hope that this wasn't a one time thing, as she knew that nobody would ever be able to sastify her like he did.

as his hand slid down her body she sucked in a breath, fully ready and prepared for his touch, though he was still teasing her and she hated it, begging for the touch. for a moment she thought if she angled her hips, his thrusts might somehow manage to brush against her so she hadn't needed his hand, but it was a fleeting thought as she was stuck to his embrace. the way his cock twitched inside of her had brynn moaning out once more for him, nodding in response. ❝ please! touch, spank, pinch, something - anything. i just need you! ❞ brynn cried out, not sure how much longer she'd be able to make it whout some kind of release.

❝ i'm all yours. ❞ she spoke again, knowing the rules that she'd have to wait until he allowed her. as his fingers finally made contact with her clit, she couldn't get the moans out fast enough, they were fast and loud, nearly out of breath as she couldn't control it. it was getting harder and harder to control herself, to not push herself over that edge, she knew there would be consequences if she didn't listen to him, and while she wasn't looking to find out what that might be, brynn also felt like she was going to burst. the teasing was relentless, her body sore, itching for more, needing it. then finally, after what had felt like so long she heard his voice, clear as day, telling her that she could finally cum. the permission was everything that she'd needed, and brynn wasted no time in full force pushing herself over that edge. she came hard around him, walls tightening around his cock, fluttering against him as she rode out the orgasm. her hips thrashed against him, surprised within herself that she even had any strength left in her body after everything. her hands gripped at his arm around her waist, feeling as if she let go that he'd disappear and that this would've all been a dream.

That voice. God, that fucking voice. Raspy, strained, barely hanging on, and still moaning his name like it was the only word she knew. It was wrecked, already gone from screaming for him, and Jamie wanted to ruin it all over again. Her body was trembling, slick and hot and utterly limp in his hold, but she kept giving him more. He knew she meant it when she said she was his. And he believed every breathless word. "Say it again," he growled, mouth against her ear, his teeth grazing her skin as he dragged her tighter against him. "Say it louder. Let the whole goddamn world hear you." His arm locked around her waist like steel, anchoring her in place as she struggled to stay upright. Knew she was so close, teetering on the edge, her body clenching down on him like she'd shatter if he didn't give her what she was begging for. But he didn't rush. She needed his touch. She needed him. And Jamie loved that power. Loved the way she was unraveling without him even needing to touch her clit. He hadn't even given her that mercy yet, and she was already nearly there, so fucking sensitive he knew that one flick would send her crashing into him, crying his name, breaking in the most perfect way. Her words hit him like a fucking drug. Take it. Destroy it. Write your fucking name on it. He'd do all of that and more. She was his, every inch. And fuck, if he wasn't about to make sure she never forgot it. Jamie's free hand slowly slid down Brynn's stomach, letting her feel the anticipation like it was another form of torture. She was shaking in his arms, rolling her hips against him like her body didn't know how to stay still. That desperation made his cock twitch inside of her, thick and deep, still pounding in a slow, punishing rhythm that had her walls fluttering around him. "You wanna cum?" He muttered darkly against her ear, lips brushing her skin. "You want Daddy's hand on that needy little clit?" He finally let his fingers brush down between her thighs, grazing just over that soaked bundle of nerves, "Goddamn, you’re dripping for it," he groaned. "Been begging so pretty, fuckin' taking this cock like it was made for you. And you are, aren't you, baby? You were made to be mine." Jamie circled her clit once, slowly. Just once. Enough to make Brynn gasp, enough to make her legs nearly give out again. "Hold on for me," he ordered, voice low and rough. "You don't cum until I say. You hear me?" She was right there. He could feel it. That pulsing heat building between them, the way her pussy was clenching so tight around him he could barely keep from losing it himself. And still, he pushed it just a little more, drawing it out, making her earn it. The, finally, finally, he set a relentless and unforgiving pace with his fingers circling her clit. He could feel her shaking, so close to the edge with every flick of his fingers. Her pussy was fluttering wildly around him, squeezing like her body was begging him to finish it, to give her that high she'd been chasing since the second he buried himself inside her. She'd earned it. Every second of this. Every cry. Every desperate little plea that fell from her lips. Jamie's voice dropped, rough and low in her ear to finally give her the permission she'd been craving. "Cum for me, baby. Right now. Let go."

#seriallcver

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epickiya722 · 3 months ago

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You ever read something and you try to make sense of it?

Listen, I write quite a few posts and I say it myself that I don't expect people to ever agree with them. (Honestly, I don't write the posts to be right. I write them to share my thoughts.)

But sometimes... I just read other articles and by the end of it, I'm confused. I need to stop being recommended ScreenRant articles because I saw this...

And thought "HUH?!"

What was the scene?

Oh, Geto strangling Kenjaku apparently was the "wasted potential" scene. "It could have drastically changed the story".

Apparently, by Geto taking control over his body again. Gets better!

When you're a manga reader...

My question though is... why did Geto need to come back? What exactly is the purpose that would have served to the story when his death did make an impact. AS STATED LATER IN THE SAME ARTICLE!

Was that scene "wasted potential" because Geto didn't come back? Again, how? His death did mean something to the story as well to (some) individual characters.

Geto coming back and taking full control of his body would have made a totally different story. That would have also knocked out Kenjaku, who other than Sukuna, is one of the major villains who, yes, is important to the story.

From Geto as a teenager to his death, he served his purpose!

I get there's AUs of Geto not dying and him not turning evil, but sometimes canon (regardless if you think it needs to be better) is already good as it is.

Yes, Geto gaining control of his body would have changed the story, but in a good way? I wouldn't say so. After all, JJK is a story of tragedy. Characters should be dying in this kind of story.

That scene being "wasted potential"? Just me, but no. It was enough for Geto to gain just that little bit of control. That scene did its job pulling the heartstrings of many. It was meant to do that.

And spoiler, this person mentions how in that scene Geto and Gojo could have reconciled.

In that scene? No... think about it.

An underground subway station with bodies, bodies and would you look at that... more bodies with blood splattered on the wall and floor with Gojo held hostage by one of the creepiest boxes I have ever seen in a manga?

I think I prefer the airport.

Ooh, and what else? They did... they did probably reconcile AT THE END OF JJK 0, WHICH THE PERSON WHO WROTE THE ARTICLE MENTIONS!!!

#stretch and take it from someone who does enjoy what geto's character for the story and as a satosugu shipper...#so again take this with a tiny gain of salt...#i feel like this person is lowkey a satosugu shipper who wanted the story to be about gojo and geto #or maybe not a shipper but lowkey still wants the story to be about those characters #I'm sorry as much as I enjoy the ship i do like to see other characters shine #geto and gojo had enough spotlight okay? no geto does not need to come back for them to reconcile #or need to fully control his body again no...#like i always say you can have your opinions #but those opinions can also be disagreed with #just kiya's thoughts #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk spoilers #shibuya arc #shibuya incident arc #geto suguru #suguru geto #satosugu

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melodiesz · 2 months ago

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Sukunas staring problem ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

pt.2: Sukuna needs to be around you <3

⊹₊⟡⋆ Thinking about Sukuna whose second pair of eyes never leave you… .

It doesn’t matter if you’re across the hall or right in front of him, he’s always sneaking glances at you. His eyes could be glaring at someone else or have the most disinterested look, but the pair below them would always remain on you with a look you could never fully uncover.

If you ever pointed it out he’d deny it, offended you could even consider that he doesn’t have full control over his body, especially for something so ridiculous.

Yet as soon as you turn away, without missing a beat, you can feel that sharp gaze landing on you again. This had to be on purpose now ..

It had started out a little unsettling, but it had grown to be a comforting feeling you were accustomed to by now. He refused to admit it, but it was the same for him. Always knowing you were safe and hadn’t run out on him.

Whether it be to give you a curious glance, a loving gaze, or just to be sure you were still there with him, Sukuna always kept at least one pair of his eyes on you no matter what—consciously or not.

જ⁀➴ tw:violence

.ᐟ when you walk in on him slaughtering someone, his eyes crazed as he slashes his target with terrifying precision, those bottom eyes flicker to you with a warm gaze so opposite from the one above them that it makes your head reel.

#melo!writes #melo!jjk #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x you #jjk x gender neutral reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna fluff #sukuna ryomen #ryomen sukuna #jjk sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x gn!reader #sukuna blurb #bro Is NOT nonchalant ❌#sukuna ryomen smut

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sunni-stuff · 5 months ago

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Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 This is part 4 Part 5

His question hit like a punch, and the pressure of it lingered in the air, heavy and suffocating. Armed Forces Day? Three years ago? A sharp jolt of recognition hit you, though the details of that night remained fuzzy. The memories were there, but they felt distant—like something you hadn't allowed yourself to fully remember after becoming a mother.

You steadied yourself, trying to mask the unease rising in your chest. “What are you talking about?” you tried to sound steady but the tightening grip on your purse betrayed the rush of nerves running through you.

Simon shifted, his broad frame nearly eclipsing the dim light of the bar. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he seemed to wrestle in his own head, as though each word carried a burden too heavy to bear. “There was a night,” he began, his tone low and rough, every syllable deliberate. “Here. Three years ago. You were here. So was I.”

Your heart skipped, a wave of realization hitting with an almost physical force. The hazy recollections of that night flooded back, slowly accumulating together—laughter, drinks, an unexpected connection. Something that hadn’t felt planned but had burned far too bright to ignore.

The knot in your stomach twisted painfully, every part of you urging you to push it away, but the truth had already begun to sink in. “You’re…” The words stalled in your throat, heavy and lodged, the sentence unfinished as the reality stung like an accusation between you.

Simon exhaled sharply, part sigh, part laugh—but there was no humor in it. His gaze locked onto yours with unsettling intensity, and for a moment, it felt like he was waiting for you to break. “Yeah,” he replied simply, the word thick with certainty. “And she’s mine, isn’t she?”

A cold shiver ran down your spine, your body instinctively stiffening. The truth strung in the silence between you both, too glaring to avoid. Heart racing, every sense screamed to deny it, to distance yourself from this conversation before it spiraled out of control. But anything that could be said felt wrong, heavy on your tongue as you forced them out: “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Simon’s eyes held yours, filled with something you hadn’t seen before—a desperation that cut through his usually composed demeanor. “Please,” he urged, the plea more potent. “Just tell me.”

How could this be happening? How could something so raw, so unspoken, suddenly spill into the air between the two of you? The weight of the moment anchored you, and for a moment, you couldn’t find a way to move past it.

“She is,” you muttered at last, the confession slipping out like an unwanted secret. Fingers clenched tightly against the table’s edge, grounding yourself against the suffocating reality pressing in. “I never thought… never thought you'd come back into the picture.”

A brief silence stretched out before you spoke again, everything tumbling out in a rush. "I didn’t even know your name. All I recall was you kept making me." The admission hung in the air, lighter than it was, an attempt to lighten everything you didn’t want to say.

The memory refused to stay buried. His face from that night, the intensity of his stare under the bar’s muted glow, how his presence seemed magnetic and overwhelming all at once—it all surfaced, unbidden. The connection had been undeniable, but that was your secret to carry. He didn’t need to know the details you still clung to..

“I don’t even know how it happened,” The sentence barely made it past your lips. “We used protection.” Doubt crept into your mind, unraveling the careful narrative you’d built for yourself. Did we? The past, fogged by alcohol and blurred moments, refused to come into focus.

Simon blinked, the blankness in his expression giving way to confusion, then disbelief. “Did we?” he asked with an edge of uncertainty. He was searching for answers neither of you seemed able to provide. Silence filled the space between you, heavy with unspoken questions.

"That parts a bit fuzzy," you admitted quietly, thoughts drifting away, the edges of the remembrance blurring with every passing second. “And clearly we didn't given our current situation.”

Meeting his gaze, you knew this was the man from that fortunate night. Only different. More mature as if life hadn’t been kind to him. “All I know is… I woke up, and it was just me.” The recollection hung heavier than expected, twisting in your chest. "I never imagined I’d run into you again."

A heavy silence settled between the two of you, the gravity of everything left unsaid pressing down on the air. Neither of you knew how to move forward, or even if moving forward was possible.

“I knew she was mine,” Simon muttered, his hand clenching into a fist at his side. He looked like he was trying to hold something back, fighting against his own emotions threatening to break free.

You blinked in disbelief, the reality of his revelation settling in like ice in your veins. “You saw her?” The shock was evident. The idea that he had been so close—watching, perhaps even knowing—yet remained silent was almost too much to process.

Simon nodded, his gaze never meeting yours as he began. “Last month. When you were leaving the café with her. Johnny stopped you, and I was there.” He hesitated, swallowing hard as if the bulk of it all was pressing on him. “Johnny and the lads, they were the first to say they saw a little girl with my face. I was skeptical at first But then… then I saw the two of you together. And I saw it. Saw me in her. I had no idea she was even a possibility. Or that you were, for that matter."

Your breath hitched, a sharp sting rising in your chest. The anger that had been simmering beneath the surface, the hurt, and the confusion all collided in one sudden wave. “Why didn’t you say anything?” The question shot out before you could stop it, the accusation sharp and loaded with all the frustration. He had been so close. Watching. Why didn’t he speak up?

Simon paused, his gaze dropping to his hands, fingers flexing as if he were trying to grasp for something he couldn’t hold. The silence stretched long between you, the tension palpable, as if the room itself was holding its breath. He wanted to say something, anything, but nothing came.

“I…” He started, staring at his hands as though they might hold the answer. “I’m not good with things like this, love.” He rubbed the back of his neck, having a hard time fully expressing how he felt but this moment needed authenticity. “I needed time to figure out if I could step into a life that was already doing fine without me. I was afraid of complicating things, of ruining something that was just fine without me."

You didn’t expect what he said to hit you so hard. The impact of his confession—that he had stayed away because he wasn’t sure if he was fit to be a part of your life, Adira’s life—settled deep within you, heavier than you could have imagined. You’d been fine, hadn’t you? Raising Adira, carving out a life on your own. But there's always been that lingering voice in the back of your mind, that small, quiet thought of “what if?” What if things had been different? What if he had been there from the start? Maybe you wouldn’t have had to quit those overpriced mommy-and-me classes because of those judgmental women who gossiped behind your back. Maybe things would’ve been easier.

“I wasn’t about to just waltz in, love,” Simon’s voice softened, more vulnerable now, like he was carefully weighing his thoughts. “I needed to know if you’d even want me here. You and her…” His gaze darkened for a moment, his voice trailing off as though unable to bear too much out in the open. “I wasn’t sure if I was the right person to step into something already so… perfect.”

In those words, there was something you hadn’t expected to hear from him: honesty. He was afraid. Afraid of being the one to ruin what you had built. Afraid of not being enough for you or for Adira.

“I guess I understand,” you said quietly. "I just wish you showed up sooner."

Simon didn’t answer right away. Something within him flickered with guilt, and for a moment, you both stood there in silence. He glanced down at his hands, fingers twitching like he wanted to reach out, but wasn’t sure if he had the right to.

"Can I meet her?" Simon asked nervously, a grown man fidgeting in his seat, the weight of his request sinking in.

"Now?" You chuckled, trying to brighten the moment. "It's late. I'm sure she's already asleep."

Simon’s gaze flickered with hesitation, but the desire was clear. He was barely holding it together, as if afraid that the chance to meet his daughter would slip away if he didn’t ask now.

"I understand," he mumbles after a pause, almost to himself, but there was a longing there you couldn’t ignore. "I just…I need to see her. To know her. Even if just for a moment."

The magnitude of the situation pressed down on you again, this wasn’t something you had expected when you woke up this morning. You had no clue what to do with all of this, with him, with Adira’s future—your future. But still, you could hear his sincerity.

"Tomorrow," You decided. "We can meet up tomorrow, but it has to be on her terms. She's not exactly the warmest with new people."

Simon nodded, his expression a mix of relief and determination. "I can wait."

You gave him a small smile, a silent acknowledgment of the moment. There was still so much to figure out, but at least now, for the first time, there was a possibility. A chance to rebuild what had been lost. "Bring toys," you suggested sincerely, thinking about what would make her happy. "She likes trains. Doesn’t need to be anything cartoon-ish, just a proper train."

Simon blinked, a touch of confusion in his gaze. "She doesn't like dolls? Like most girls?" His tone had a hint of disbelief, as though he couldn’t quite picture a little girl who wasn’t into the typical, pink frilly things.

The thought of dolls made your stomach tighten, and you shook your head vehemently, as if to expel the very idea. "God, no," you replied, unease creeping into the conversation. "Please, don’t bring dolls. That’s the last thing I want." You shuddered as you spoke, recalling all the unnerving memories. "She gets all Sid from Toy Story with them."

Simon’s brow furrowed even deeper, clearly unsure. "What does that mean?"

You visibly grimaced, the image flashing vividly in your mind. "It means I wake up to doll heads scattered all over the place," you say, your voice low and serious. "And it's... creepy. Like she's planning something with them. It’s like waking up in a horror movie."

Simon chuckled at first, but as he saw the unflinching seriousness in your expression, his laughter quickly turned uncertain. His grin faded, and the unease that filled his eyes told you that he was realizing this wasn’t some joke. "You’re messing with me, right?"

Your stare at him, completely deadpan. "I wish I was."

For a moment, Simon just stared, taking in your unwavering expression. His lips parted, a nervous laugh escaping him as he absorbed warning. "Alright," he said slowly, now understanding your cautious warning. "No dolls. Trains. Got it."

You gave a relieved sigh, feeling the baggage lift off your shoulders. The tension hadn’t fully gone, but for now, at least the toy issue was settled. There were plenty of bigger things to confront later, but this? This was a small victory.

This one is a little shorter than the rest, simply because I want the meet up chapter to be really long for yall! :3

taglist: @smdnai @liliemb04 @montenegroisr @lunamoonbby @sapphire-jelly26 @angelrissa @redroserabbit @tiramisa3 @insomniacticartist @nommingonfood @scaleniusrm @creepingeva @armycaratlover @hbaasaad @illusionistlover @janeety @emptyboxeslot @oniiloma @yearninglustfully @lockofspades @danielle143 @gifted-aurora @lil0witch666 @axdjelx @kvirzz @pawnthedice @limeleag @skylarmitchell @mxtokko @sillylittlereader @gaida-511 @sharkybabe9 @arrozyfrijoles23 @eevily @maciswack @lveegsoi @cold-deep-water @a-lil-bit-nuts @mehjustalasshere @just-lilita @r0s3luvr @melena83 @melena83 @blueplant69 @inneedsoffanfics @uchihabucketlist @serafina-nyx @dragon-bubs @rowsandrowsofnothing @amaraabbz @tacticalgirlboss @tajanabuh-blog @creepumiku @nemuranaifukuro @nikt-wazny-y @shadowdark00 @red-in-my-veins @t3a-bag @doodle-cat16 @natdu @opposumman @takeyour-pants-off @despairinglakepasta @thychuvaluswife @watersquirtpewpewboomm @danika1994 @fancymilkshakewitch @littlemisspropaganda @anndraco0523 @makimamybelovedwife @mishaglass @gg-trini @topaz125 @captainchrisstan @zedis2007 @midnightprocrastinator @lem-hhn @bibisbooktalk @awkward-slime @xxravenxstarxx-blog @yourlittlehoe @mklovesbagels @nhlfs @sebastiansstanswhore @chaos-on-stand-bi @codcosplayer @athenianharpy @personwhosucksassatmath @krembruulee @singshoutshaxx @callsignang3l @doingitfortheplot @huehuehuehuehehe @g-l-o-b-e-w-h-o-r-e @blueladys-world @livvrosesblog @honey-teaaaaaaaa @ginghamandkitsch @hannas16 @captianjacksparrow121 @whore-for-viktor @onespecificcheese @soph5547 @beautifuleaglealpaca @nicolebarnes @wwe1rdc0re @multy-fandom-lover @echo9821 @blackhawkfanatic @kat-the-kit @just-pure-trash @shadowlinn @reyy001

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #sunshine-sunni #singlemom!reader

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cinnamorollcrybaby · 15 days ago

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tying alpha!toji down because he can’t keep his filthy knot to himself during your heat.

cw - smut, bondage, a/b/o mechanics, omega!reader, fem!reader, not proofread

“toji, i’m being serious. you’re not touching me until you can learn to pull out,” he didn’t even know why you were complaining. you loved being knotted by him, but apparently, it’s some sort of issue now that you’ve ran out of your birth control pills, and toji absolutely loathes condoms.

he expected you to last maybe half a day during your heat without him bedding and satiating you. you’re historically very needy during heats, and he’s more than willing to placate you over and over again. you’ll surely forget all about that pesky birth control and allow him to take care of you.

he ended up being the one coming to you. it had been a full day of your whines and cries filtering in and out of the bedroom. your scent was intoxicating, causing toji to have a permanent boner straining in his pants.

it was absolute torture, listening to his omega sob from dissatisfaction… especially when he knew that he had everything you needed. you were just so damn stubborn.

you were such a pretty sight to behold: arched up with your head thrown back. your eyes were squeezed shut as dewy tears slid down your cheeks. your body was flushed and trembling as you desperately rubbed your fingers in tight circles around your swollen clit.

“are you gonna quit being stubborn and let me help, princess? or am i going to have to keep hearing you all night?” he asked with a smug smirk, figuring you’d start begging for him right away.

“i-i don’t know. have you learned how to pull out?” even while completely wrecked, you were standing firm in your convictions.

“i don’t know. i haven’t tried yet,” he grinned, prowling closer to you in your nest. he knows that he could pounce on you and take an advantage of your… compromise positioning, but he much prefers when you beg and plead for it.

“ugh— you made me lose it,” you let out the most adorable frustrated growl that toji had ever had the pleasure of hearing, causing him to chuckle at your displeasure.

“you weren’t getting there anyway, doll. let me help ya,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest as his eyes cascaded over your body hungrily.

“shut up,” you snap, making him to raise an eyebrow at you. he doesn’t give up his amusement from your sudden attitude. no, he actually finds your bratty side just as endearing to him.

you get up and walk out of the bedroom briefly, letting toji’s confusion and curiosity eat at him until you return to the bedroom with a dining chair.

“sit,” you demand, and toji obeys after ripping his clothes away from his body with an expectant grin on his face.

“oh fuck yeah, you want to take what you need from me?” he asks as you reach into a bedside drawer. he’s assuming that you’re grabbing a bottle of lube even though he can see your glossy slick pooling and seeping from between your thighs. he licks his lips, feeling his mouth water from pure animalistic drive.

when you lean back up with ropes in your hand, his eyebrows furrow in confusion. how are you to ride him while being tied up..? he could easily jostle you around, throw you up and down his cock until your crying and gushing, but he didn’t necessarily know if that was safe to do while you’re bound.

imagine his surprise when you start restraining the ropes around his pretty scarred skin. the rough fabric hugged his muscles perfectly, creating the prettiest harness for him.

“what d’ya think you’re doing, doll? you aren’t that mad at me, are ya?” he asked as he sat still for you, letting you do your thing to him.

once he was fully restrained, he’d struggle against the ropes, letting out small grunts and disappointed groans when the bright red rope only tightens around his muscles, rubbing small burns into his skin that make him growl in displeasure.

your honeyed scent is killing him, absolutely filling the room to the brim with your scent of need. he knows you need him. right? you need toji to fix it for you, but you’ve went ahead and tied him to this damn chair at the foot of your bed.

he didn’t know a lowly omega in heat would be so ruthless when knotting the ropes over his bare abs and biceps. his wrists are even bound together behind the god forsaken chair. worst of all, there’s a band of rope looped over his waist so he can’t buck his hips. the thick braided thread rubs deliciously over his hardening length. only the thin fabric of his boxer briefs are protecting him from rope burn on his most sensitive appendage.

alphas are suppose to remain in control, but he absolutely let you play him like a fool.

all he can do is sit and watch as you crawl back into your nest, settling down on your back with your legs spread for him to gaze at your glistening pussy.

“let this serve as a lesson, toji,” you say to him, slowly bringing your fingers to your pouty lips before sucking on them to coat them in spit.

toji watches closely, studying every move your body makes while you’re on display for him. his jaw clenches, knowing that should be his fingers you’re sucking on.

when you pull them from your mouth with an obscene pop and slowly rub them over your swollen clit, toji immediately pulls hard from the chair. no way in hell is he going to watch you pitifully try to satisfy yourself while he can’t do a damn thing about it.

he’s your mate for crying out loud. his literal existence is tailored to pleasuring and treating you, but you want him to sit and watch as you do a piss poor job at doing his job?

“c’mon doll,” he pants, clenching his jaw as his dark green eyes flutter between staring at your pretty face and pussy. “i was only messin’ with ya. i’ll pull out— promise.”

you ignore him, knowing that he’s saying whatever he can so you’ll release him. you hum as your fingers continue to lightly rub and tease yourself for his viewing.

toji growls and curses. his body is aching for a taste of you. he knows he can bring you more pleasure than what you’re doing right now, but also, his cock is straining so hard against the ropes, it feels like he’s about to burst a blood vessel.

when you slip two fingers into your slick channel, something akin to a whine flees toji’s lips. he’s been reduced to a dog — sitting at the foot of your bed, watching helplessly as you leisurely pump your fingers in and out.

his hips try to buck upwards, and he lets out a strangled groan as the rope rubs up and down his length. it’s the only friction he can get right now.

“tojiii~” you whine, trying to reach the spot with your fingers that he knows all too well.

“i know, baby, i know,” he grunts, still awkwardly rocking his hips to get the smallest amount of friction. “let me out so i can take care of ya. c’mon, let your alpha take care of you,”

that sounds like a perfect idea, you think as you reach back over to the bedside drawer, pulling out a dildo that was completely modeled after toji’s cock — every ridge and vein for when he was gone on overnight hits.

“no,” he growls, seeing the look of mischief on your face. “that’s not—“

his words crumble as soon as he sees you wrap your pretty lips around the tip of the dildo. you’re so fucking stunning like this. he flexes his muscles, trying to break his way out of the chair to get to you.

the chair creaks in protest, and the ropes only grow tighter against his skin. he realizes he’s sweating as he watches you get up on your knees on the bed. your dildo on the mattress, pointed upwards so you can ride it right in front of him.

the look of relief on your face as you slowly stretch yourself out on his fake tip makes him nearly whine. he’s never begged for anything in his life, but he’s close to begging for you to let him out.

he’s completely enamored by the way you’re taking fake him so well. you’ve got tears in your eyes, undoubtedly feeling the slight burn of being filled so full, but he knows you can take it.

his hips move in sync with yours, letting the rope rub against his fat cock as you slowly adjust and bounce on your dildo.

“please—“ he finally grunts in a breathy whisper when you bottom out. he can barely take it anymore, watching you while not being able to touch himself.

“please what?” you taunt in a breathy tone, still slowly dragging your hips up and down along the pretty dildo.

toji doesn’t even know what he’s begging for. he only knows that he needs you carnally. “fucking, brat— you know i need you,”

“mmmph! sounds like you haven’t learned your lesson.”

oh and you look oh so pretty while taking his fake dick. he can’t even pull his eyes away from you. his hips are shakily rutting into the ropes, taking what little friction he can get in stride.

“fuck, toji..” you gasp, causing him to let out a strangled growl. his head tips back, and you take a moment to admire his big beefy body all tied down and sweaty. his pheromones are honestly starting to overpower yours, and it’s dizzying.

he’s basically whimpering, humping the air like a dog as his eyes are glued to how your slick folds are accepting the dildo so well. he can feel just how well you’d take him in this situation. he’d be able to feel every little flutter and clench around his thick cock.

“please,” he tries again. he’s broken for you. never in his life would he think that he would beg for anything, but you’re too sweet of a prize to let his pride ruin. “please doll… let your alpha come take care of you. i’ll… i’ll be good.”

meanwhile, your hips are bouncing up and down aggressively. the dildo modeled after his cock feels so damn good, filling you up entirely and nudging against the spot that makes you see stars, but it’s no where close to the real thing. still, toji’s scent and whimpering is enough to keep you going.

“yeah?” you pant, “you’ll be g-good? how so?”

the chair creaks as toji’s hips are working hard. he’s matching your pace, trying to picture you riding him like that. “i’ll lay down and let you use me.. fuck, you can take what you want from me, doll. i’m yours.. just please…”

the wet sounds of your sliding up and down the girthy rubber dildo along with the chair violently creaking with each pathetic hump toji’s hips make fill the air. he’s completely whimpering now, damn near sobbing about how he’ll be a good boy for his omega. you fear you’ve unlocked something deep inside him.

it’s all too much. your body begins to quiver as your muscles draw taut. you’re so close, and the nagging fear of not being able to finish without toji’s help slithers into your brain.

“god— fuucking dammit,” a strangled growl get your attention, and you look to see toji with his head tilted back. his rutting is messy and losing it’s rhythm. then, you see the wet spot in his boxers.

he came without any touch.

the pathetic sight is enough to throw your right over the edge, sending you into oblivion as you cry out on the dildo. toji’s still pumping his hips like he’s trying to telepathically fuck you through your orgasm.

after a moment, the room falls into a deadly quiet. you look at toji while panting, knowing you have to untie him and some point, and he’s going to give you hell to pay.

@theuniversesnepobaby here’s sub toji that you’ve been wanting

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pin-k-ink · 2 months ago

Text

NO SAFE DISTANCE ⋆✦⋆ ushijima wakatoshi

synopsis ➸ ushijima has never been good at self-restraint—especially not when it comes to you. but after one too many warnings from family and friends, he tries to take it easy on you. it doesn’t take long for him to realize he’s absolutely terrible at it.

tags ➸ extremely rough séx, size kínk, breéding kínk, cúmplay, overstimúlation, obséssive!ushijima, possessíveness, mild somnóphilia, unrestrained libído, degrádation, power imbalance, prímal play, impáct play, creampíe, implied dub-con, body worship, orál fixation, hair púlling, edgíng, forcéd orgásm, dírty talking, markíng, extreme sexúal tensíon, objectifícation, free use(?)

wc ➸ 7.9k

From the very first time Ushijima Wakatoshi saw you in high school, he was completely consumed by an overwhelming desire. You had a body built for sin - every lush curve and tantalizing swell crafted to turn men into drooling, subservient wrecks. Ushijima had never felt such an intense, primal craving to possess someone so thoroughly before.

He didn't bother trying to pursue you through conventional dating or courtship. The second he got you alone after volleyball practice, Ushijima wasted no time in pinning your smaller frame against the locker room wall and ravaging your mouth with hungry kisses. You melted instantly into his powerful embrace, whimpering as his calloused hands eagerly mapped every inch of your softness.

From that moment on, Ushijima was utterly addicted to having you. An insatiable hunger possessed him to constantly bend you over, hike up your skirt, and take you from behind in every public nook and cranny he could find on campus. His friends lost count of how many times they caught him rutting into you like a wild animal, his powerful hips jackhammering mercilessly as your cries of ecstasy echoed through the hallways.

"Damn 'Toshi, you're really putting that body to work!" They would joke breathlessly. "Just wait until after you put a ring on it - you'll never want to leave that!"

Ushijima merely grunted at their defeated prophecies, thoroughly convinced his sheer force of will would allow him to control his ravenous cravings once you were officially his bride. How laughably wrong he was...

Your wedding night in Bali lasted all of five seconds before Ushijima had you naked and screaming, impaled on his thick length as he took you like a lust-starved animal against the resort balcony doors. The entire honeymoon suite still reeks of your mingled scents and the obscene squelches of his cock ruining your soaked pussy for all other men. By the time you checked out a week later, the staff had to completely strip and discard the stained bedsheets you'd been ruthlessly bred upon day and night.

Two years later, and Ushijima's hunger to dominate and claim his wife's body has only grown more rapacious. He delights in keeping you perpetually stuffed full of his potent seed - bending you over at any opportunity to slake his thirst inside your abused holes. You've long since given up any notion of dignity or shame, instead reveling in your role as his cock-warmer cumdump, spread open and overflowing with his virile leavings every hour of the day.

Ushijima adored having you as his devoted, stay-at-home wife to ravage at his whim. From the moment he returned from practice or a game, you were expected to be awaiting him fully nude and presented, ready to be claimed like the obedient little bride you were. He loved seeing you in that submissive display - limbs splayed wantonly, glistening folds already dewy with arousal just from the thought of taking his thick cock again.

There was no need for clothes or modesty when Ushijima was home. Your flawless form was meant to be admired, worshipped, and thoroughly decorated with his possessive marks. He took immense satisfaction in ensuring your silky walls were never empty, always stuffed to overflowing with his potent seed. Ushijima would thoroughly breed you in every room of the house, delighting in your whimpers and tremors as he hilted himself balls-deep and flooded your quivering womb.

Despite his rough, animalistic claiming of your body, there was no denying the depth of Ushijima's love and adoration for you. In those moments after reaching his climax, he would gently gather you against his chest, raining tender kisses over your disheveled hair and face as he stroked your curves adoringly. You were his precious, beautiful wife - the only person who could inspire such paradoxical tenderness and ferocious passion within him.

However, something shifted after one particularly enthusiastic lovemaking session left you unable to walk for nearly a full day. Ushijima had carried your trembling, spent form to the bedroom and spent hours meticulously bathing you, replacing the sheets, and ensuring you were settled comfortably. Yet the sight of your listless, overstimulated state shook him deeply.

His teammates and even parents had begun remarking with more frequency about the dark circles under your eyes and how utterly depleted you seemed. "Give the poor woman a break, son," his father had chuckled, though there was a glint of concern. "Before you run her into the ground completely."

Ushijima knew they were right. As much as he treasured being able to take his wife whenever and however his formidable lust demanded, he was perhaps taking that privilege too far. You deserved to be cherished and rested, not treated as a glorified fleshlight to be used until you were an unresponsive, overstuffed mess.

So for the first time since your honeymoon, Ushijima made the difficult decision to give you a temporary reprieve from his implacable carnal urges.

At first, he'd felt confident he could control himself. How hard could it be to keep his hands off of you for a little while and allow you to recover? Ushijima was a man renowned for his incredible physical stamina and willpower on the volleyball court. Surely denying himself the intoxicating softness of your body would be simple in comparison.

He was dead wrong.

The first morning after instituting the hands-off policy, Ushijima awoke with you blissfully draped across his powerful frame in the usual naked tangle of limbs. Your bare breasts were pillowed enticingly against his chest, making his morning wood twitch traitorously against the scorching heat of your thighs.

Ushijima had to grit his teeth and squeeze his eyes shut, fighting back the overpowering instinct to roll you onto your back and spear that soaked entrance smothering his arousal. He'd been waking up to this exact same scenario for two years, instantly burying himself to the hilt and reveling in your broken gasps as he staked his claim yet again. Just because you weren't feeling well didn't give him license to deny himself his usual indulgence of your body's splendors.

It took nearly an hour of careful, measured breathing for Ushijima's lust to finally subside enough that he could safely extract himself and leave for practice. The entire grueling commute, he could think of nothing but the way your legs had been obscenely parted, glistening arousal coating your pretty lips in anticipation of him taking what was his. He'd nearly swerved into oncoming traffic at the thought of you lying there waiting for him, to be stuffed and bred and marked with his possession yet again.

But Ushijima held firm in his conviction, somehow making it to the gym in relative control of his faculties. That iron restraint lasted all of five seconds once practice began and his blood started pumping hot and hard once more.

Teammate after teammate kept offering innocuous comments that felt like a savage gut-punch: "You look extra intense today, 'Toshi. Everything okay at home?"

His eye twitched at the innocent jest, visions of your sumptuous naked frame instinctively bent in offering filling his mind. Ushijima could practically smell the addictive, slightly musky aroma of your arousal clinging to the sheets he'd been forced to abandon. He grunted in response and merely intensified the ferocity of his drills.

If only his so-called friends knew the truth of what defined Ushijima's entire home existence — namely, burying his face and cock between your heavenly thighs at every opportunity. Using your pliant form as an infinite wellspring to quench his thirst and stake his claim over and over until you were nothing but a boneless, sobbing mess glazed inside and out with his seed.

The thought alone almost made Ushijima's knees buckle right there on the court. He was sweating, shaking, utterly consumed with the need to rush home and alleviate this rapidly building feverish pressure in his loins. You'd looked so perfect laying there that morning, every lush curve and glistening crevice begging for his reverence and possession.

But he'd robbed himself of that masculine privilege, however temporarily. Now Ushijima could only grit his teeth and endure the agonizing emptiness of being denied his sweet, slick accommodations as your husband. Of not being able to simply take you and use your body to slake his basest urgings whenever the need inevitably struck.

Even after the torturous morning waking up beside your nude form, Ushijima's day was far from over in terms of temptation and denial.

Upon returning home from practice, he was immediately assaulted by the soft sounds and enticing smells of you puttering around the kitchen preparing an early dinner. Ushijima felt his arousal spike anew, mouth watering not for the food but for the memories.

There was the island counter where he'd bent you over just last week, holes already soaked in anticipation as he mounted you from behind. He could vividly picture the way your fingernails had scrabbled for purchase, mewling pleas to "give it to me" falling on deaf ears as Ushijima simply took what he wanted with rough, claiming strokes.

You didn't even have to ask anymore - he would simply spread those luscious thighs and sheathe himself home whenever the whim struck. Your role as his doting wife was to remain constantly bred and aching around the thick bulge of his cock, no matter where or when he desired to rut.

Steam billowed from the oven as you inevitably bent over, back arched and ass presented in that same wanton offering Ushijima was intimately familiar with. Just a few days ago he'd had you bent at that same angle, slamming into your ripening pussy with abandon as his heavy balls smacked that perfect jiggling rump raw.

He could practically hear the vulgar squelch of his cock excavating your insides with each punishing stroke while you squealed and begged for "more, more!" That greedy, slurping cunt audibly protested each time he hilted himself fully, never satisfied until you were swollen and seeping his thick seed in obscene rivulets.

Ushijima's jaw clenched hard enough for his temples to throb sickeningly. You didn't even seem to register his presence, too focused on preparing a meal that would ultimately end up splattered across the messy kitchen once he reasserted his marital rights. He'd made it a personal mission to christen every possible surface of their home with your mingled fluids over the years.

That table you were idly wiping down? He could clearly make out the faint indentations your nails had worn into the lacquered wood from relentlessly clawing into it while he was rutting atop you hundreds of times before. Just picturing the way your head would loll back, mouth parted in fucked-out bliss as he pounded into your welcoming depths was enough to make his cock twitch needily.

The kitchen was far from the only location drenched in such lascivious memories, either. Ushijima's hungry gaze trailed over to the plush living room sofa where he'd taken to alternating between facefucking your spit-soaked throat and slapping his heavy sack against that pretty cunt until you were a delirious, choking mess. More times than he could count, you'd ended up splayed in a helpless tangle of limbs, wheezing as he pumped load after thick load directly into your convulsing womb.

That tightness would then be stuffed into whatever spare orifice remained - be it your gasping mouth or even your perfect, puckered little asshole begging to be reamed and seeded next. You were Ushijima's personal cumdump, built to be adorned with his creamy leavings inside and out until you were rendered a gooey, thoroughly ruined wreck of fucked satisfaction.

As the days crawled by in achingly slow torment, Ushijima could feel his grasp on sanity slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. The persistent ache in his groin had bloomed into an all-consuming inferno, singeing away every ounce of his once-vaunted restraint.

He tried valiantly to cling to rational thoughts - reminders that you were the love of his life, his precious wife who deserved to be cherished and appreciated rather than rutted into oblivion at his basest whims. Ushijima wasn't some feral beast incapable of controlling his formidable lust, no matter how heavenly your body's siren call might be.

But such lofty ideals were rapidly crumbling against the onslaught of vivid memories and temptation at every turn. Simply watching you go about the most mundane household tasks was enough to reduce Ushijima to a vibrating mass of desperation, obsessively recalling every decadent way he'd claimed you in that same setting before.

The living room where you idly straightened decorative cushions immediately morphed into a garishly pornographic tableau in his mind's eye. He could clearly envision the way you'd been splayed across that very couch, legs hoisted over his straining shoulders as he pumped into you with harsh, jolting strokes. The debauched rhythmic sounds of skin smacking wetly against skin, punctuated by your broken gasps and whimpers for more, more, harder, deeper...

Ushijima's hands curled into white-knuckled fists as he willed the sordid visions away, jaw clenched so tightly he could hear his bones creaking in protest. Get a grip, he chastised himself harshly. She's not some depraved cocksleeve put on this earth solely for your pleasure. He adored and cherished you deeply - had sworn binding vows before the heavens to love, honor, and respect your sanctity just as fiercely as you committed your heart and body to him.

Yet those noble convictions crumbled like a flimsy sandcastle under the raging tide of his basest impulses whenever you wandered within arm's reach. Ushijima could practically feel the scorching phantom grip of your silken walls clinging to his aching length as you bent at the waist to gather laundry or retrieve items from lower cabinets. The sight of your lush backside wiggling hypnotically immediately triggered his body's muscle memory - of mounting you from behind, hips already pistoning greedily as he stuffed himself balls-deep into that creamy paradise with a guttural groan.

You didn't even seem to register his heated stare, focused as you were on domestic chores. But in Ushijima's mind's eye, you were already whimpering and keening, insides convulsing with each rapturous thrust as he took his well-earned marital rights over and over without reprieve. He could practically smell the musky aroma of your compounded arousal permeating the air, begging him to shed the last threads of his tattered control.

The longer he was forced to endure this agonizing denial of relieving himself inside your body's heavenly accommodations, the more Ushijima's composure began to unravel. His hands felt perpetually clammy with suppressed longing, hard cock straining needfully with every subtle wiggle or bend of your lush feminine frame as you remained blissfully unaware of the tempest brewing within him.

It was only a matter of time, Ushijima knew, before this torturous drought finally reached its breaking point and he reasserted himself as your virile, dominant caretaker. As your husband, staking his primal claim to breed you full over and over until you had no choice but to lie disheveled and sloppy with the sloshing overflow of his heady cum.

In a way, perhaps Ushijima mused feverishly, robbing you temporarily of his godly seed was an act of mercy. Because once the floodgates were finally breached, there would be no tempering the ravenous onslaught with which he intended to ravage and stake his ownership yet again. At last he understood the dire warnings his own friends and family had issued about not being able to control himself around his little wife.

So for your sake as much as his own, Ushijima continued his white-knuckled struggle to maintain the shrinking barriers of propriety and restraint, however momentary the reprieve. But with each passing moment in your smoldering presence, he felt those final fortifications crumbling at an exponential rate.

The couch cushions seemed to envelop Ushijima as he sank back, trying in vain to relax his tense muscles. His eyes were inexorably drawn to you, perched so tantalizingly on his lap as you happily snacked on treats from the pantry. Even this simple act of indulging in sweets somehow made his heart swell with tenderness.

You were a vision of cozy domesticity in that moment - casually dressed, hair slightly tousled, entirely at ease within the sanctuary of your shared home. Yet Ushijima couldn't help drinking in the sensual details of your form pressed against him. The gentle swell of your curves molding to his powerful thighs, the subtle floral scent of your perfumed skin surrounding him. Just being this close after days of forced distance made his insides churn with longing.

As if sensing his scrutiny, you glanced up with a warm smile. Ushijima's breath hitched at the unguarded adoration shining in your eyes. You were so beautiful, so precious to him. Without really thinking it through, he found himself leaning in, powerless to resist tasting those inviting lips.

The whisper-soft caress of your mouths meeting ignited an instantaneous firestorm within Ushijima's veins. He sucked in a harsh breath through his nose, hands tightening reflexively on your waist as the kiss deepened with heady fervor. Every fibre of his being thrummed with awakened desperation after being starved of your affections.

When you finally parted, you let out a breathless giggle. "Well someone clearly needed that," you teased gently, eyes sparkling with mirth and fondness. "The great Ushijima Wakatoshi getting so worked up over a little kiss..."

The warm ribbing sliced straight through Ushijima's haze of rekindled ardor, allowing clarity and a flicker of sheepish chagrin to return. Of course you'd find his churning restraint silly and overblown. To you, the past few days of self-imposed celibacy amounted to little more than a temporary, unnecessary hurdle of his own making.

"You’re making fun of me for holding back?" he couldn't resist rumbling in response, quirking one eyebrow challengingly. "Even when it’s taking everything in me not to ruin you right here, my wife?"

Rather than looking properly chastised, your eyes fairly danced with that same teasing gleam. "A struggle you seem to be failing at spectacularly, my love. This whole 'abstinence' idea was sweet but utterly pointless."

Ushijima drew in a sharp breath as your hand boldly traced the hard planes of his abdomen through his thin shirt. The simple caress felt like a lick of flame setting his insides ablaze with rekindled hunger. "You underestimate the importance of proper restraint and respect, my dearest. A man shouldn't mindlessly take and rut like some sort of—"

"Beast?" you cheerfully cut him off, emboldened fingers now trailing higher to fan against the sculpted ridges of his chest. "Is that what you were going to say? That you're some kind of ravenous animal who can't control their own lust around me?"

Despite your playful tone, your words sliced straight through Ushijima's tenuously reformed restraint. Because in his most unguarded of moments, that's precisely how he saw himself - a primal, shuddering mess reduced to bestial desperation by your very presence.

Chest heaving, he captured your meandering hand and quickly pinned it against the couch cushions in a vice-like grip. Your teasing grin faltered as you suddenly found yourself caged beneath his powerful frame, entire body radiating a scorching intensity.

"You mock what you don't understand," Ushijima growled in a low, gravelly timbre that made you shiver. “Every second near you is pure torture. Just one touch, and I lose all control…”

To punctuate his point, he rolled his hips firmly against yours, allowing you to feel the undeniable ridge of his cock straining needfully against the thin barriers between you. Your pupils flared, a tiny whimper escaping your lips in reflexive response as liquid heat flooded your features.

Ushijima continued in that same low, intense purr that seemed to reverberate straight to your core. “So you were right—I couldn’t fight it. Trying to deny how badly I want you is useless. Because in the end, I’m just a man who falls apart at the thought of being inside his wife again…”

After that heated moment of intensity, Ushijima took a deep, steadying breath and gently extricated himself from your provocative position. As much as every fiber of his being screamed to surrender fully to his primal urges, he couldn't bring himself to completely obliterate the last vestiges of his self-restraint.

Not yet, at least.

You let out a small huff of disappointment as he shifted away, leaving you flushed and aching on the couch. Ushijima's dark eyes drank in the petulant pout on your kiss-swollen lips and had to summon every ounce of willpower to avoid lunging right back in.

"Patience, my love," he rumbled, more to himself than to you. "We've waited this long..."

You shot him a look of pure skepticism. "Waited? For what, exactly? For you to completely lose your mind over some made-up idea that I need to be protected from your absolutely vanilla desires?"

Ushijima felt his brow furrow at your blunt phrasing. He opened his mouth to protest, but you barreled onward before he could get a word in.

"This whole self-imposed celibacy thing has been utterly ridiculous from the start. When are you going to get it through that thick skull of yours?" You rose up on your knees to bracket his thighs, leaving you eye-level and effectively trapping him against your soft warmth. "I'm your wife, Wakatoshi. Your partner in every sense of the word. I don't need sheltering or restraint - I need you. All of you, utterly unrestrained."

Your hands cradled his face with unexpected tenderness even as your eyes burned with determination. "So stop holding back and treating me like something fragile that needs protection. I can handle everything you have to give and more."

The challenging spark in your gaze was like a physical caress against Ushijima's resolve. He could feel it shuddering under the weight of your conviction, cracking nearly beyond repair. You always had possessed an uncanny ability to strip away his loftiest barriers with just a few choice words and that utterly arresting stare.

"You know I only ever want to cherish and respect you," he managed in a hoarse murmur. "To keep you safe and honor the sanctity of our—"

Your lips sealed over his in a searing kiss that obliterated whatever noble justification still clung to the tip of his tongue. A harsh rumble reverberated up from Ushijima's chest as his arms instinctively wound around your body, returning the embrace with rising fervor. He could already feel his restraints unraveling, fragile hold over his brazen desires slipping with each ravenous clash of your mouths.

When you finally broke away, you were both panting harshly. Foreheads pressed together, you stared up at Ushijima from under your lashes in a way that made his blood pound.

"Keep your sanctity," you breathed in a tone of husky challenge. "I'll take the unchained desire of a man utterly obsessed with making me his..."

Ushijima's chest seized with a shuddering inhalation at the blatant gauntlet you'd thrown down. He could feel the quivering threads of his propriety and misguided chivalry rapidly fraying against your onslaught of temptation. You always did know just which buttons to push to bring him inexorably to the edge.

This time, he sensed you wouldn't be satisfied until he well and truly plunged over the precipice into the yawning chasm of his most selfish, rapacious hunger. And you knew perfectly well he lacked the fortitude to deny your deliciously provocative demand, even if he wanted to.

"Minx..." Ushijima growled, the endearment dripping with a low rumble of burgeoning capitulation. "You'll very much regret poking this beast until it—"

Whatever vaguely ominous warning he'd been about to issue evaporated the second your lips crashed against his once more. Ushijima instantly melted into the searing kiss, thick arms winding around your body as you pressed flush against his powerful frame.

For several heated moments you simply lost yourselves in the messy, urgent melding of your mouths. Tongues tangled and hands roamed with escalating fervor as you both surrendered to the smoldering need that had been cruelly denied for too long.

When you finally parted for air, Ushijima's eyes were dark twin pools of want, boring straight into your soul. His chest heaved with each ragged inhale, drawing your entranced gaze to the taut ridges of defined muscle and the V-lines which pointed lower still...

A soft whine nearly escaped your lips at that tempting visual. God, you wanted - no, needed - to feel all of him against you again with no barriers. The hot brand of his weight pinning you to the sheets, thick cock sheathing itself to the hilt in your aching, neglected depths—

Ushijima seemed to read the feverish need blazing across your features. His jaw clenched almost painfully and you saw the tendons in his neck strain as he visibly fought to maintain the last threads of restraint already disintegrating between you.

"Easy, sweetheart..." he managed in a low, guttural rumble that did absolutely nothing to soothe the burning riot of arousal dancing under your skin. If anything the pet name tumbling so naturally from his lips in that gravelly tone just stoked the flames higher.

You squirmed impatiently against him, purposefully pressing your softness against his hardening length in a silent, wanton entreaty. "Don't 'easy' me, Toshi," you huffed without an ounce of real rebuke, gaze locking blatantly on his kiss-swollen mouth. "I want you so damn bad right now, it's driving me crazy."

A rumbling groan vibrated from the depths of his chest at your blunt admission. You could see his composure rapidly unraveling at the prospect of your mutual desperation - the scorching temptation to shatter that fragile control and ravage one another without further restraint.

"You have no idea the willpower this is taking..." Ushijima ground out, calloused hands flexing against the swell of your hips almost involuntarily. "To deny myself the sweetness of being buried deep inside you again after being starved of it for so long..."

You felt your core clench at the hot promise laced into his strained words. Without consciously deciding, you hooked one leg around his thighs to pull his hips flush against your own. The thick ridge of his arousal ground deliciously against your clothed heat and you sucked in a sharp breath at the exquisite friction.

"Then stop denying us," you whispered throatily into the charged air between your lips, even as Ushijima stared down at you with a look of rapt, blazing torment. "Stop being so careful and just take what you-what we- need already, dammit..."

For one tantalizing heartbeat, you saw the naked desperation and hunger flare across his strong features. You held your breath, dizzy with hope and anticipation that he would finally let his deeply leashed passions loose upon you.

But then, almost as quickly, a muscle ticked in that sharp jawline and Ushijima's expression settled once more into a mask of strained resolve. He pulled back from the tempting cradle of your heat and thighs with a shuddering exhalation. "No...not like this," he rasped out, sounding more like he was trying to convince himself than you as he averted his burning gaze briefly. "You don't know what you're asking for, my love..."

A sliver of real frustration lanced through your lust-fogged thoughts at his continued refusal to let himself surrender fully. "The hell I don't!" you snapped. "I'm asking for my husband to give me what I want, no holding back!"

Ushijima stared at you, chest heaving with the force of his inner restraint as you glared back defiantly. The simmering tension could have been cut with a knife. For a long moment, neither of you moved or spoke - you issuing an unspoken challenge, him fighting viciously against his instincts.

Then a sly look stole across your features. "You know what?" you said in a tone of feigned nonchalance. "Clearly I'm not going to get what I want from you tonight..."

You slid off the couch in one smooth motion, back pointedly turned to Ushijima as you sashayed towards the stairs with deliberate sway in your hips. "So I'll just take care of my needs myself, since you're too busy wrestling with your precious control."

The implication in your words was as blatant as it was effective. You heard Ushijima's sharp intake of breath behind you and couldn't resist glancing back over your shoulder. His entire body had gone rigid, fingers digging into the couch cushions as his eyes bored into you with an intensity that made your core clench.

Holding his burning stare, you very slowly dragged your hands up your body until they cupped your breasts through your thin shirt. You gave them a gentle squeeze, lips parting on a soft sigh of pleasure meant just for his viewing torment.

That seemed to be the final straw shattering Ushijima's tenuous grasp on restraint. With a guttural growl that sent lightning zinging down your spine, he surged off the couch in a blind rush towards you.

A bright peal of laughter burst from your lips as you whirled and bolted up the stairs, the thunder of his footsteps rapidly closing in behind. You could practically feel the scorching heat of his presence at your back as you raced down the hallway towards your bedroom sanctuary.

Just as you reached the open door, Ushijima's powerful arm whipped around your middle and wrenched you back against his heaving chest. You let out a breathless squeal of surprise and delight, struggling half-heartedly against his restraining hold.

"Let me go!" you gasped out between giddy giggles, even as your hips instinctively pressed back against the undeniable ridge of his arousal. "I told you I'd just take care of myself since you won't—"

The rest of your words were abruptly smothered as Ushijima spun you around and sealed his mouth over yours in a searing, desperate kiss. You melted against him with a muffled moan, dimly registering the way he easily scooped you up with one arm banded around your waist. Then you were moving, stumbling the few steps to fall in a tangle of limbs across the rumpled bedsheets.

When you finally surfaced for air, Ushijima was looming over you - body taut with barely restrained intensity, chest heaving, eyes dark molten pools of banked hunger. His fingers thread almost roughly through your hair, tilting your head back as he held your heated stare.

"You'll be the death of me, woman," he growled in that low rasp that never failed to make you shiver. "Pushing me to the very edge of control like some insatiable vixen..."

You shamelessly pressed your thighs together, feeling a fresh gush of arousal at his words and commanding presence towering over you. "Maybe I wouldn't have to push so hard if you'd just give us both what we desperately want already..."

The blatant challenge hung heavy in the charged air between you. Ushijima's jaw clenched almost painfully as his willpower seemingly waged one final war against his blazing desires. You could have sworn you saw a vein throb in his neck as he struggled to maintain his fracturing grasp on restraint.

Then, as if a switch had been thrown, the last of that iron control appeared to snap. Ushijima's features contorted into a look of dark rapture as he ducked down to rasp directly against your parted lips.

You could feel the scorching heat of his quick breaths fanning across your mouth as he held your unwavering stare. Ushijima's eyes had gone hooded, pupils blown wide with undisguised yearning in a way you'd never quite witnessed before. There was no pretense, no filtering or constraint remaining - just molten, primal need gazing back at you.

"Fuck..." The guttural profanity rumbled out before he could stop it, lending a gravelly edge to the deep timbre of his voice that made your insides turn to liquid fire. "You really weren't playing around, were you? Practically begging me to lose it and take what I want..."

His powerful body was pulled taut as a bowstring where it hovered over yours, every ridged muscle and tendon standing out in harsh relief. You could see the white-knuckled strain in his hands where they fisted the rumpled sheets on either side of your head. Ushijima appeared to be vibrating with the monumental effort of maintaining what little restraint still remained.

Shamelessly, you arched your back slightly to increase the tantalizing friction where your bodies weren't quite touching. You heard the sharp sound of Ushijima's indrawn breath and couldn't resist dragging your hooded gaze down his frame to the prominent ridge tenting against his pants mere inches away.

"Don't act so surprised," you murmured, proud of how your tone remained measured despite the escalating tension coiling low in your belly. "We both know how long you've been dying to wreck me like you haven't been able to all week..."

Ushijima visibly shuddered at your candid vulgarity, but didn't rebuke you. If anything, his eyes seemed to darken further into bottomless pools of banked fire. "Say it again," he demanded in a low rasp that bordered on guttural. "Tell me exactly what I've been too weak to take..."

You felt a burst of fresh arousal flood your veins at his blatant request, at the undisguised savagery flickering behind his intense stare. Ushijima wasn't playing coy or dancing around the issue with courtly pretenses any longer. He was stripping away every last veneer of propriety to reveal the rapacious, unrestrained beast you'd been trying to rouse all along.

Holding his heated regard, you deliberately shifted your hips in a slow, circular grind against the tantalizing bulge of his cock. A punched-out groan reverberated from Ushijima's parted lips at the blatant provocation.

"I want you..." you breathed out, voice already gone husky with burgeoning desire, "...to use this needy pussy however you need to, whenever you want. No more being a good little housewife, waiting for you to tie yourself into knots over being 'gentle'..."

Ushijima sucked in a sharp breath through his bared teeth, hips twitching minutely in an aborted grind against you. His mouth seemed to work wordlessly for a moment, transfixed by the searing promises tumbling so shamelessly from your lips.

"Keep going..." he all but growled when he finally regained his words. "Don't stop now, my love...not when I'm this fucking close to snapping completely and taking you up on that offer..."

You felt another frisson of heady arousal tingle through your veins at Ushijima's rasped demand, at the way his desire-darkened eyes bored into you with a blazing intensity.

Squirming against the mattress, you hooked one leg deliberately around his tensed thighs, savoring the low groan that punched out of his chest as you effectively trapped his rigid length against your scalding heat through the thin barrier of clothes.

"I want you to stop holding back..." you husked, lips brushing tantalizingly against the sharp line of his jaw as you rolled your hips in a slow, filthy grind. "No more being so careful, like I'm some fragile thing that needs protecting..."

Ushijima's thick forearms flexed against the sheets, muscles straining with the herculean effort to keep from pinning you fully beneath his massive frame and slaking his feral need. You could practically see the last fragile threads of his vaunted restraint disintegrating before your very eyes.

"I can take whatever you want to give, Toshi," you continued in a breathy murmur against the thundering pulse at his throat. "I'm your wife, made to take that big fucking cock however you crave it...to be stuffed so full over and over until I'm nothing but a shaking, sloppy mess drowning in your cum..."

A harsh, strangled sound rumbled out of Ushijima at your filthy words, hips jerking helplessly to grind his steel-hard length against your molten center with bruising force. His eyes slammed shut, sharp features contorted into an expression of rapturous abandon as he finally surrendered what little control still remained.

In one explosive motion, Ushijima crashed his mouth against yours in a messy, claiming kiss that left you both gasping and devouring each other with unbridled desperation. His thick arms wrapped around you like bands of steel, crushing your pliant curves against his unyielding hardness as the kiss rapidly descended into frenzied need.

"Fuck yes..." he growled out harshly between messy clashes of tongue and teeth, divesting you both of clothing in a frantic blur. "That's it, darling...beg for it like the filthy little cumslut you are..."

The vulgar profanity tumbled so naturally off his tongue in a way you'd never experienced before, stoking the bonfire in your core to incandescent levels. You could only whine in answer, nails dragging stinging welts down his sculpted back as Ushijima at last sealed your naked bodies together with low, rapturous groan of pure masculine satisfaction.

He was already rock-hard and throbbing where he lay flush against your thigh, the scorching heat radiating off his thick arousal making your mouth water. Without conscious thought, you found yourself grinding up against his length, coating it in a sticky sheen of your dripping arousal.

Ushijima groaned at the delicious, filthy friction, large hand gripping the swell of your ass in a viselike hold. "So wet already," he rasped out, dark eyes drinking in the sight of your bodies grinding shamelessly against one another. "My dirty wife is practically creaming herself just from the promise of getting her needy little cunt wrecked..."

You felt a shuddering moan bubble up from the depths of your chest at his crude assessment, at the unrepentant savagery gleaming in those molten eyes. Ushijima's gaze locked on your face, his free hand dragging through the slick pooling at the apex of your thighs before he raised it to your lips.

"Open," he rasped out in a voice gone hoarse with lust. You eagerly obeyed, parting your swollen lips just enough to lap up the taste of your own arousal coating his fingers. A shudder wracked through Ushijima's powerful frame as he watched your sinful ministrations, hips twitching involuntarily in search of friction.

"Good girl..." The endearment dripped like honey from his mouth, a stark contrast to the savage gleam of his eyes and the thick cock straining insistently against your hip. "So sweet for me, always eager to please and be used, aren't you?"

His words sent a hot shiver down your spine and made you clench with need. With a low, throaty whimper, you pulled away from his fingers and gazed up at Ushijima with a look of burning supplication. "Please, Toshi...I-I need—"

A soft, startled cry escaped you as his fist closed around the front of your top and ripped it open in a single rough motion. You watched, spellbound, as he did the same to the rest of your garments with little finesse, shredding them like tissue paper and tossing the scraps aside without a second glance before turning his ravenous gaze back to your exposed form.

For a few seconds, he just stared at you in awe, blatant reverence and hunger written across his chiseled features as his fingers worked to remove the rest of his clothing. Then, his entire body covered yours once more, hot flesh pressing you firmly into the sheets as Ushijima captured your mouth in a scorching kiss.

"I need to be inside you, darling," he gasped out between hungry nips and licks, "right now."

Your thighs instinctively parted in open invitation, hips canting towards him in blatant need. Ushijima settled into the cradle of your pelvis and his eyes locked onto the lewd view of his rigid length sliding against your glistening folds.

A guttural, animalistic growl vibrated up from the depths of his chest as he gripped his shaft and slowly dragged the thick head through the slippery mess pooling at your entrance. His other hand tangled in the sheets next to your head, fisting them tightly as his eyes snapped shut and he shuddered above you.

Your nails raked down the tensed muscles of his back as he repeated the motion, teasing your hypersensitive folds with agonizing deliberation. A soft whimper bubbled from your lips at the slow drag of his cockhead against your clit, at the searing heat and girth rubbing tortuously against you.

"Toshi..."

He was poised at your entrance now, tip notched just inside and pulsing enticingly, but still he hesitated. Your hands gripped his hips, silently pleading him to give you what you craved so desperately.

Ushijima's eyes opened, blazing down into yours as he held himself perfectly still. "Tell me again..." he rasped out in a tone laced with an underlying note of dark command. "Tell me exactly how much you need this."

You let out a frustrated moan and squirmed beneath him, trying desperately to press him deeper. "Need it so bad, Toshi, please!" you begged, shamelessly arching into him and spreading yourself wider. "Need you to fuck me and fill me with cum until I can't move—please, Toshi, please—"

His thick length slicked through your drenched folds in one slick glide, sheathing itself to the throbbing root with a single rough snap of his powerful hips. The harsh stretch of being reamed open by his girth made your eyes roll back, mouth dropping open on a broken keen of sheer bliss.

"That's it...ahh fuck, missed this gorgeous little cunt so damn much..." Ushijima's harsh rumble was utterly wrecked, all sense of composure or decorum evaporating as he drilled himself home over and over in a ruthless cadence.

You could only cling to his heaving shoulders, completely unraveled beneath his ferocious onslaught and utterly drunk on the searing stretch and delicious ache of being so thoroughly taken once more. It had been a week since you'd been stuffed full, and your body hadn't quite adjusted to his sheer size after the long absence.

The friction was mind-blowing, the way his girth speared you so full and deep, forcing your walls to accommodate his unyielding length with every powerful stroke. It was all you could do to breathe and hold onto Ushijima's broad shoulders, body trembling as he hammered you into the mattress with ruthless intent.

His dark eyes roved hungrily across the way your breasts jiggled from the force of his thrusts, the way his cock disappeared so completely inside you, the lewd mess he was making of your cunt. Your name slipped past his lips, a guttural curse, a plea, a prayer as he pounded into you, his gaze flicking back and forth between where your bodies were joined and the unabashed pleasure etched across your flushed features.

"Look at that...you can see where I'm splitting you wide open..." he grunted out in a strained tone, his free hand dragging roughly down the length of your torso to press against the bulge that appeared in your belly with every punishing thrust.The other braced his weight against the headboard, fingers clenching the wooden slats with bruising force.

Your mind went blank as he increased his pace, the lewd sound of your sloppy, dripping core echoing throughout the room and driving you closer and closer to the edge. You could feel the telltale tension coiling tighter and tighter in your belly, a familiar pressure mounting in response to the delicious stretch and friction of Ushijima's relentless rhythm.

"Ahhh, god, Toshi—I-I'm close—" you babbled, feeling the coil wind ever tighter, teetering precariously on the brink of release. "I'm gonna cum, please, harder, fuck—I need—"

The rest of your desperate plea was swallowed in a low moan as Ushijima leaned back on his knees, hauling your legs up and over his shoulders and folding you in half. You felt the change immediately, his cockhead now slamming ruthlessly into your deepest, most sensitive spots.

A choked sob spilled from your lips as you clung to his shoulders, overwhelmed by the sensation of being so thoroughly stretched and filled. You'd lost all sense of time or control, reduced to a quivering, sloppy mess as your husband's thick length pistoned into your overstimulated pussy.

The angle was even deeper than before, his powerful hips snapping with a vicious, rapid-fire intensity that stole the breath from your lungs. He was hitting the perfect spot with every brutal thrust, his heavy balls slapping against your ass with every drive of his hips, the lewd, wet sounds of your dripping core filling the air and mingling with his ragged grunts.

"Cum for me," he growled, eyes locked on your face as his tempo grew even more brutal. "Be a good girl and cum on this cock, just like you promised..."

As if your body was obeying his command rather than your own, a white-hot, overwhelming pleasure crashed over you. You arched and shook as wave after wave of blinding euphoria rolled through your veins. Ushijima continued pumping into you, riding out the aftershocks and prolonging your release as you cried out and trembled beneath him.

He groaned deep in his chest as your walls clenched and rippled around him, his own orgasm rapidly building with each passing second. "Fuck, I can feel you milking me," he bit out harshly, hands gripping the meat of your ass and angling you higher to better suit his frenzied pace. "So fucking tight and greedy, my darling wife..."

Ushijima's thrusts were growing more erratic, the rhythm of his hips stuttering as his cock swelled even thicker and longer. You moaned softly, feeling his girth stretch you almost impossibly wider. Your fingers tangled in the sheets, body quaking and oversensitive but still wanting more.

"F-fill me, Toshi," you begged breathlessly, gazing up at him with a look of sheer supplication. "Need to feel you cum deep inside, please..."

With a sharp groan, Ushijima's eyes slammed shut and his entire body tensed as the first thick spurt of his seed pumped into you. You shivered, moaning at the feeling of his hot, sticky release coating your insides. He was still cumming, his throbbing cock pulsing with each successive pump of his release.

Your walls fluttered around him, milking him dry and prolonging the mind-blowing pleasure as he continued to fuck you through it. Ushijima's eyes remained clenched shut, features twisted in a look of pure rapture as he pumped you full.

After several more thrusts, he finally came to a stop, breathing heavily. A satisfied smile stretched across his face as his eyes opened and fixed on your fucked-out expression. He slowly pulled out, a mixture of his cum and yours leaking from your well-used hole and dripping down your thighs.

"Mmm, look at the mess you made..." he murmured, fingers trailing down to gather some of the slick and smearing it over the reddened, swollen lips of your pussy. "Maybe I should make it even dirtier and stuff it all back inside, hm?"

Ushijima didn't wait for a reply before his thumb dragged through the sloppy, frothy mix and pushed the mess back into your twitching cunt. A small sound slipped past your lips as you felt him work his thick load deeper inside, fingers lazily pumping the rest of his cum into your dripping pussy.

He was already hardening again, his shaft throbbing where it lay thick and heavy against his thigh. You moaned softly at the sight, hips grinding involuntarily as your spent cunt clenched around his fingers.

"What should we do for round two, hmm?" Ushijima's dark gaze burned into yours, voice gone rough with desire once more. "I have several ideas in mind, but I think I'd love to see you ride me...show me what a good girl you are and take what you need, just like you promised."

Your cunt gave another helpless spasm, arousal flooding anew through your veins. It was going to be a very long night, indeed.

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