#smut coming

[strngegirl]

edit on 2024.12.06: the full fic is finished! here is the link to the post <3

!! nsfw !!

✩ nanami kento as your manager, who manages your idol group all by himself.

✩ nanami kento is the strictest man you've ever met, what with his no-nonsense attitude, making sure the group stays out of trouble.

✩ nanami kento's blatant favoritism towards you, the least popular member of the group, doesn't go unnoticed by you.

✩ nanami kento who scolds the other members with such intimidating words and a serious tone, but with you he reprimands you as if you were something fragile he cherishes.

✩ nanami kento who showers you in the most attention while the other members gets it from your fans.

✩ nanami kento who presses his lips against yours in the darkest corner backstage after an exhausting performance, murmuring gentle praises in between.

✩ nanami kento who slips a hand into your underwear, pleasuring you with his fingers as the cold metal of his watch presses against your abdomen.

✩ nanami kento who tells you how good you did today on stage against your lips as his hand moves skillfully in your underwear.

✩ nanami kento who brings you to your orgasm under five minutes by his hand and praise alone, a rare smile on his face as he watches your body convulse violently against his.

✩ nanami kento who hides with you behind a crate, caressing your head with your body in his embrace as he calms you down from your high.

✩ nanami kento who then cleans you up and brings you back to the members, and proceeds to tell you all about your oncoming schedule as if nothing transpired between you two.

✩ nanami kento whose gaze which lingers on you being the only evidence of his acknowledgment to what you two did.

✩ nanami kento who is your biggest fan, even if you have little to none.

[heavenbarnes]

I used to date an older guy (like mid 40s) a few years back and I always got stupidly turned on when he fixed stuff around his house?? Like, he just knew hot to do it and did it. No googling, just him and his tools. Feel like it would fit somewhere in your older bf Simon stuff.

god love a fully capable “fuck it i’ll do it” type of man 🫶🏼

you know that your older bf!simon doesn’t believe in hiring tradespeople for a service.

“why would i pay someone to fuck about in my home?”

“they’re not fucking about, si! they’d be fixing the sink”

“i’ll do it”

you have no doubt that simon was more than capable of fixing things around the house but you also wanted him relaxing when he was home.

turns out he couldn’t relax at the thought of another man doing something for you.

so you let him do it, you threw your hands up and waved your white tea towel in defeat as you heard him banging around in the garage for tools.

hearing the faint sounds of grunting and the occasional swear word coming from the bathroom, you thought it might pay to go and see how he was getting on.

fucking hell.

simon was on his back, arms stretched up above him as his hands dwarfed the pipe they were wrapped around. t-shirt riding up, lines of his stomach leading right to his belt, knees bent and boots firmly planted on the floor, you could honestly just-

“oi, you gonna’ stare or help me?”

now how the fuck?

“your heads in the cupboard, how did you know-“

“i always know where you are, pass me the wrench”

crouching down beside him, you handed it over and stayed down there to watch him work. scarred knuckles wrapped around the handle of the tool, other palm flat against the base of the sink so you could see the veins.

he was something else entirely.

“how d’you know how to do all this?”

“taught m’self, come hold this”

you reached over to replace where his palm was so he could have both hands back. “but why? surely other people don’t learn all this?”

“other people don’t care about their sweet’art not having to lift a finger- move your finger for me”

the more you stretched to hold the sink, the more you felt yourself losing traction with it. naturally, simon noticed before you did.

“y’need to get closer, cm’ere”

tools landing to the side of him, two large hands plucked you up till you were dropped in his lap. precarious situation but you couldn’t deny the sink was a lot easier to reach.

you stayed like that, letting simon work in peace as you enjoyed your view. honestly, he could invite you to the end of the world and you’d just be happy to hold his hand.

one hand splayed out on his chest, the other holding the sink, you suddenly felt a tickle forming at the end of your nose. before you knew it, you were pulling your hand back to scratch it- the one holding the sink.

you panicked, realising it could very well land on simon’s head. but it didn’t, it stayed completely still. face screwing up, you leant in again to give the sink a nudge only to find out it was totally fixed.

“what the hell, si? why’d you have me doing all that?”

you saw the smirk on his face as he flashed a look over at you. suddenly, you realised you weren’t the only one enjoying the view.

the hand that didn’t have the wrench came out to give you a pat on the side of your hip.

“c’mon sweet’art, i can’t get anything outta’ this?”

[shotmrmiller]

sex pollen trope where you're the one affected, having been exposed to some dense gas while on an op that felt like harsh sandpaper across your throat and lungs, and now you're a feverish mess on some ratty cot in a safe house and with only ghost as company, it's miserable, as the saying goes.

hair sticking to your sweaty skin, plastered onto your forehead and neck, every swallow feeling like you've got a mouthful of sand, your fluttering pulse wild and deafening in your ears, and the throbbing ache deep in your core, the blistering heat right below your navel— it'd only been uncomfortable in the beginning, the faint throbbing incredibly familiar, but the more you ignored it, the worse it got.

and now you're here, with arousal sticking your underwear to your pussy, unable to do anything about it because your lieutenant is seated in a corner that lets him have both you and the front door within his line of sight. a quick, discreet rub under your clothes is not an option.

someone put you out of your foggy misery.

"squirmin' like a worm on a 'ook isn't gonna help." his staring doesn't either, yet he does it anyway.

"got to make sure ya aren't dyin' on me." you want to snap that you don't think proof of life is on the darkened stain between your legs, the retort pressed behind clenched teeth but another thick wave of bestial need rolls over you and god, you're about to shove your hand into your underwear, propriety be damned—

"best you don't do tha'." why the fuck not? "you'll only get relief for a moment 'fore it comes back twofold." he says as if he's reading off the morning paper and not watching you fight tooth and nail to not fuck yourself against the pillow your head is on. (soap's offer to be friends with benefits is only looking better by the hour.)

you hastily decide that it'll be better than nothing. you'll just have to rub your pussy raw until this drug runs its course and you're telling him to piss off or don't, but you've had enough. you're stuck here with him anyway, no flight home until the morn and you're not about to spend it writhing around.

"if tha's wha' you want," ghost bites his gloves off, spitting them out onto the ground before curling his hands around your ankles and dragging you toward him. "i will help." your entire world narrows down to the feel of him touching your skin, his fingers searing as they hook into the waistband of your pants, and you almost kick him in the mouth trying to get them off faster.

"but 'm not fuckin' you." the bite of disappointment is quickly forgotten, his breath warm against your slick pussy, and after three quick glides of his tongue over your pearl, your orgasm crests, pulse after pulse of pleasure so potent it stung.

in less than a minute you're burning again, need thrumming through you and with the heady push and drag of his middle finger over your sensitive nerves, curling in you until he can fit two, three—

you're lost.

(ghost telling you that he's not doing anything else because if he's going to fuck you then you're going to remember it falls on ringing ears.)

[isamoa]

“ WHAT GETS THEM HARD! ”

jjk men x f!reader ࿐ MDNI.

ᰔ、summary. jjk scenarios on how their dicks get hard ofc

ᰔ、tags. (ft. gojo, geto, toji, choso), nsfw, female anatomy, cunnilingus, exhibitionism, sexting, masturbation, etc.

ᰔ、a/n. these are just my silly depictions. if u dont agree idgaf lol

SATORU GOJO has the dirtiest mind and the highest sex drive. his pants definitely start feeling a little tighter at the sight of you eating a popsicle or something. specifically in public. he would have no shame in it either—casually forming a smirk on his face and dropping a snarky innuendo about the way you’re eating. “can you suck me off like that when we get home?” he’d mumble from across the table, his eyes peeking out from the top of his glasses, a smirk plastered on his lips; wet from the constant licking of his tongue. your eyes widen, a small ‘pop’ sounding from your mouth when you took the frozen sweet out to gasp at the man in front of you. “gojo! are you serious?” you’d yell in a whisper, looking around to see if anyone had heard him. “you’re right,” he’d sigh, standing up from his chair to reveal the very prominent and very obvious bulge in his pants. “we should just do it now.”

SUGURU GETO on the other hand is a polite man. like satoru, he’s a real freak in the sheets—but not as shamelessly. the littlest things can get him hard for sure, but unintentionally seeing your undergarments would really get him going. like an accidental peek at your panties from under your skirt, or a shirt thats a little too see-through showing off the print on your bra. he wouldn’t say anything of course, not right away. you would just be minding your own business one minute and then he’s dragging you towards the bedroom the next. “sugu- what are you-?” you would ask in a confusing tone, craning your head to look at the said man who was now behind you—pushing your stomach up against the countertop; a single hand brought up to grope your breast while the other laid flat against your hip. “your bra is showing.” he’d let you know blankly; an attempt to distract you while his hand slid it’s way into your pants. you would look down in response to his comment, noticing that your bra was in-fact showing like he said. unfortunately for him, you also already noticed the hardon pressed against your back.

TOJI FUSHIGURO gets hard from eating pussy. simple as that. he will get embarrassingly sloppy—juices coating his face and dripping down his chin, loving every second of it while his cock slowly grows harder. emphasis on grows. and if you think for a second that he does it for your pleasure, think again. this man will eat you out purely for his enjoyment only. his eyes are closed and his hands are squeezing at your thighs—legs thrashing uncontrollably from the uncomfortable pressure in his pants that’s about to come undone. “toji- let me help you.” you’d beg with a whimper, dragging your hand from the top of his head down to his cheek when you noticed the constant shuffling of his legs and the crease in his eyebrow. he’d laugh darkly, the breathy snicker creating a hum between your core that made a whine escape from your lips. “im fine mama,” he’ll say cockily, pulling a hand away from your leg to undo his zipper. “ill cum soon, you don’t gotta do ‘nun.”

CHOSO is a needy guy. his face will turn red at a simple flirty text—but send him a slutty pic and he might just cream his pants. fully naked or dressed in lingerie, his favorite or not, he will definitely feel some pressure down below. he might ignore you for a while, uncertain on how he should reply; if he’s even able to. “fuck- couldn’t wait till i got home, could you?” he’d whine quietly, trying his best to keep his voice down from the bathroom of his office job; one hand holding the phone up to his ear while the other rushed to unbuckle his belt. “sorry cho,” you’d apologize from the other line, voice rather faint as you posed for another picture to send him. “when are you coming?” you ask doubtfully just as his phone vibrates with another notification from your contact. “now- im comin’ now baby.” he replies with a huff, phone almost slipping from his ear. “really!?” you try to clarify—much more excited than the first time. “no, i mean im cumming. right now.”

[dearieshima]

WANT

✦SUMMARY

╰┈➤ Choso, your big-dick, virgin boyfriend, had never ventured beyond the fervor of deep kisses. His unfamiliarity with human intimacy, coupled with the fear of losing himself in the overwhelming rush of release, kept him tethered to restraint. He wants to overcome his fear and have a mind-blowing experience with you and he needs your help to guide him through.

"Please, please," he panted incoherently, his words a mix of desperate pleading and mindless begging. "Please don't stop... I'm... I'm right there... so close... please..."

✦C.W

╰┈➤ virgin!choso, submissive!choso, dominate!reader, established relationship, hand job (m!receiving), kissing the tip, crying, soft sex kinda, praise, 3586+ words, orgasmophobia, AFAB reader, comfort

The heat between you two was electric as your lips locked in a passionate battle for dominance. Your bodies were pressed close, hearts racing with exhilaration. As the kissing grew more intense, you found yourself tiring from bending on your toes. Your thighs ached, crying out for a change in position.

Slowly, you lowered yourself, allowing your body to sink onto Choso's lap. As you did, you felt his hardness pressing instantly against you through the fabric of his sweats. He hissed at the sudden contact, his hands gripping your tights with a firm grasp.

You began to leave a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses along the column of his neck and down his collarbone. All the while, you grinded your hips against his, relishing the delicious friction. Choso groaned, tossing his head back off the edge of the couch, exposing more of his throat to your eager lips and tongue.

But suddenly, he sat up straight as a board, his back rigid against the cushions. At the same time his chin clashed with your forehead, his hands clenched your thighs, lifting them slightly off him as if to create some distance between your bodies.

He was panting, his mouth wide and his breaths shuddering. "Not yet..." he said, his voice a low, husky whisper. His eyes were dark with desire, and his hands gripped your thighs tightly as he held you in place. "Fuck..."

You raised an eyebrow, concern flickering in your eyes as you slipped off his lap. "Is everything alright?" You pressed a hand to your forehead, your own breath still shallow and uneven. You asked not just because his chin likely throbbed like your head did, but because of the suddenness with which he had ended things, like you were hot coal thrown on his body.

Choso nodded, his eyes squeezed shut as he took in deep, steadying breaths. His hands clenched together in a bundle in his lap, guarding his obvious arousal. Then they unfolded and Choso bent down, his hands now guarding his face in embarrassment. "Yeah," he rasped, his voice rough. "Just... need a moment. Can you turn off the music?"

You reached for the remote, your movements quick and deliberate, and silenced the T.V, the sensual ambient music fading away. The room was now filled with the sounds of both of your ragged breathing.

He straightened and looked back up at you with lust-clouded eyes. "Sorry…” he began, his eyes averting, “I didn't expect you to... get so aggressive," he whispered.

"I’m sorry," you whispered sincerely, concern etched on your features. "Should we stop for a moment? I won't be offended if you need a break, or if you want to stop all together."

Choso shook his head and then chuckled weakly, still trying to catch his breath. "No... it's okay. You just..."

He paused, his hands loosening their grip on his sweats. He took another deep breath and looked up at you with a gentle smile. "You just caught me off guard, that's all."

Choso, your big-dick, virgin boyfriend, had never ventured beyond the fervor of deep kisses, not even tempted during in the intimacy of shared showers. His unfamiliarity with human intimacy, coupled with the fear of losing himself in the overwhelming rush of release, kept him tethered to restraint. The idea of surrender, of being swept away by ecstasy, haunted him. He feared that in offering you all of him, laying his soul bare, he might unravel in ways that would make you turn away.

Yet, beneath that fear, a deep yearning stirred within him. He longed to share those tender, unspoken moments of intimacy with you. He had watched scenes of lovers consumed by their lust, eyes ablaze with passion. Choso wondered how they could give so much, how they could surrender fully and still be loved for their vulnerability, how their eyes could carry so much love and at the same time a burning hunger to devour each other. He ached to know that with you, to feel your skin against his as you moved together in perfect sync, to look in each other’s eyes in worship and at the same time, think of how much you wanted to see the other crumble. He imagined looking into your eyes in that moment, seeing the reflection of love and desire, wanting to watch you break apart, knowing he was the cause.

The thought sent his heart racing - the idea of tracing slow kisses along the curve of your neck, feeling the softness of your body beneath his fingertips, hearing your breath hitch in pleasure. Choso wanted nothing more than to make love to you, share whispered confessions meant only for your ears. But his fear stood like an unmovable wall, holding him back, uncertain if he could ever give in to that kind of surrender.

But tonight, he’s willing to climb that wall, just as long as you scaled it with him.

"How about this," you whispered, your breath tickling his ear. "How about you tell me how I should help you? Tell me what you like."

Choso’s eyes widened, pupils widening like ink spreading in water, his breath steadying as your words sank in. A soft flush bloomed across his cheeks, warm and unbidden, like the first light of dawn catching fire in the sky. If you didn’t know better, you might’ve mistaken it for the stirring of his blood technique.

Choso swallowed hard, trying to gather his thoughts. He took a moment to think, swallowing heavily as he tried to put his thoughts into words. "I... I don't really know," he admitted sheepishly. "I've never done anything like this before, so I don't really know what I like."

"We've kissed before, and touched a little. Did you like anything I did before?"

Choso nodded, his blush deepening. "I... I liked it when you were on top of me," he admitted, his voice slightly hoarse. "And when you... when you kissed my neck."

With a graceful motion, you swung your leg over Choso’s lap, settling into place as your gaze locked with his, deep and smoldering. His hands found your hips as if drawn by an unspoken force, fingers curling gently against your skin, the connection between you as natural as breathing. "Do you want me to kiss your neck?"

Choso nodded, his breathing growing heavier as he imagined it. "Yes," he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath, thick with yearning. "Please," he added softly, the word trembling in the air, as though without it, you might deny him what he so quietly craved.

Slowly, teasingly, you leaned in and brushed your soft lips against the sensitive flesh of his neck. Choso shuddered, his hands gripping your hips as a soft gasp escaped his parted lips. You continued your assault, trailing open-mouthed kisses along his throat, tasting the salt of his skin. "Don't stop," Choso whispered urgently, his voice thick with desire.

You followed the unspoken rhythm, lips grazing softly down to his collarbone, leaving a trail of warmth in your wake. Your mouth lingered at his throat, brushing the delicate curve of his Adam’s apple as it dipped with a quiet tremor of pleasure. With a slow, deliberate path back upward, you paused to let your tongue dance over the quickened beat of his pulse. Choso’s breath escaped in a quiet, low groan, his head falling back in a gesture of blissful surrender, as if yielding entirely to the moment between you.

"You're being so good for me," you murmured against his throat, nipping lightly. "I love how responsive you are."

"More," he breathed, his voice shaky. "I want... I want more."

"What do you want me to do?" you asked, your voice soft and inviting.

Choso's hands gripped your thighs tighter, his body tensing. "I want... I want you to keep touching me," he said, his voice trembling a little. "I want you to keep making me feel good."

"Where do you want me to make you feel good, Choso?"

Choso's breathing grew ragged as he considered your question. "Everywhere," he said hoarsely. "I want you to touch me... everywhere."

As he spoke, his hands moved from your thighs to your hips, his fingers tracing patterns against your hips. "I want to feel your hands all over me," he added, his voice strained with need.

Your fingers trailed from his neck, down the center of his chest, following the contours of his muscles. "Like this?"

His own hands flex on your hips, fingers digging in slightly as if to anchor himself. The air between you is charged, heavy with anticipation. Choso's chest rises and falls rapidly, his skin flushed and gleaming in the low light. He looks utterly debauched already, and you've barely even touched him. "Y-yes," he gasped. "God, yes. That feels... that feels good."

As you run your fingers along his chest, you can feel the warmth emanating from his skin, like a furnace burning beneath your touch. His muscles twitch and ripple under your fingertips, responding to your gentle caresses. You can sense the power and strength within him, and it's utterly captivating. "Do you want me to continue going down?"

Choso's heart rate quickened as your question sunk in, and he swallowed heavily, his throat bobbing. "Yes," he whispered, his voice ragged. "Please, yes."

Your hands move lower, tracing the contours of his abs, feeling the way they tighten and relax as his breathing becomes more labored. You can hear his heart pounding, the rhythmic thumping echoing in your ears like a primal drumbeat. It drums fast, and you have a hunch to where the extra blood flow is traveling to.

When your fingers skim over the waistband of his pants, Choso lets out a choked moan, hips canting upwards in a silent plea. His hands gripped your hips tighter, his body trembling in anticipation when your forefinger hooked both his sweats and boxers.

"Color?"

Choso shuddered as your finger teased the edge of his pants, and he took a moment to catch his breath before responding. "Green," he said, his voice raspy but determined. "Definitely green. Please, don't stop."

You sank to your knees, your hands caressing his thighs as you parted his legs. With deliberate slowness, you parted his legs, revealing the bulge beneath his pants. Your mouth watered in anticipation as you peeled away his restrictive garments, unveiling his rigid, pulsating cock. It stood proud and erect, a deep shade of purple at the engorged tip, the foreskin pushed back, a clear sign of its untouched, virgin state. You noted he was uncut, which also fueled the testament that nobody had ever ventured near his dick before.

Droplets of pre-cum glistened at the tip, hanging like droplets from a leaf, beckoning you to catch them with your tongue. Your heart raced as you leaned in close to adjust yourself, your warm breath teasing the sensitive head of his cock. The salty musk of his arousal filled your nostrils. You couldn't resist any longer. Your tongue darted out, catching one of the droplets, savoring the taste. The sensation of your velvety tongue on his hypersensitive skin caused Choso to gasp, his hips bucking instinctively in a whine. After, you leaned in close, your warm breath ghosting over his skin as you placed a single, feather-light kiss on the very tip.

His hands gripped the couch cushions on either side of him, as if clinging to something to anchor himself. "Color?" you asked softly, your voice gentle and soothing.

Choso took another shaky breath, his chest heaving. "Green," he repeated, his voice hoarse. "I-I'm okay. Just... please keep going."

His hands remained clenched tight around the couch cushions, his knuckles turning white.

"Are you sure?" you asked, reaching out to gently touch his hand. "You seem so tense."

Choso swallowed, his cheeks flooding with a deep blush as his thumb circled nervously at your hand. "I... I'm just a little nervous," he admitted softly. "But... but I want this. I want you," he added, his voice a strained whisper.

Listening to him, you let go of his hand and snuggled up between his thighs, your breasts gently pressing against the soft cushions of the couch. Your fingers, like curious tendrils, began to snake their way down his rigid shaft, tracing the bold, pulsing veins that ran along its length.

Choso let out a sharp gasp, his body involuntary jerking at your touch. His eyes squeezed shut, and he panted heavily, drawing in deep, shuddering breaths until he could steady himself enough to speak. "Y/N..." he breathed your name, his voice a mixture of awe and desire. "That... that feels good..."

"You look like you're about to explode."

Choso's breathing grew even more ragged, his chest heaving erratically as you continued to touch him. "I... I feel like I am," he admitted, his voice strained. "But I don't want to… I don’t want to make a mess…"

He grips the edge of the couch tightly, his knuckles turning white from the force. You can see the conflict in his eyes. "If I keep going, you're going to," you say, stopping your hands. "It's okay to let go, Choso. I promise you'll feel better, and I'll be gentle."

Choso took a couple more deep breaths, his body visibly shaking with the effort to hold himself together. His eyes met yours, a mixture of fear and desire in them.

"I... I don't want to embarrass myself," he said, his voice low and vulnerable. "I want to make you feel good too... I don't want to fail."

"You won't embarrass yourself because it's just me and you," You said, gently. "Making you feel good makes me feel good."

Choso's gaze held a mixture of vulnerability and yearning, and you could see the relief wash over him as he nodded. His voice, a soft, husky whisper, trembled ever so slightly as he spoke, "Just... just go slow, please."

Complying with his request, you allowed your hands to reclaim their position, your fingers tracing languid circles around his hardening length. Your fingers danced along his shaft, tracing the pulsing veins and ridges. You could feel him throb and twitch beneath your touch, his breaths coming faster now. Gently, you swirled your thumb around the sensitive head, smearing the glistening precum in slow, teasing circles. Emboldened by his whimpers, you wrapped your fingers around him fully, stroking up and down in a steady rhythm. Your other hand came up to fondle his heavy balls, rolling them gently in your palm.

Choso's head fell back against the edge of the couch, his eyes pinched shut. A deep, guttural moan escaped his lips, and his body trembled. "Oh God," he panted, his head falling back onto the couch.

"Shh," You said, "it's alright, Choso."

Choso shuddered, his hands clenching the edge of the couch even tighter than before. "I... I can't..." he breathed, his voice ragged. "I don't know how..."

His body tensed even more, the muscles in his thighs trembling. Sweat beaded on his brow, and his breaths came in sharp gasps. "I... I’m going to..." his voice trailed off, too overwhelmed to continue.

"You don't have to think about it, just trust your body." You whispered, your breath hot against his skin.

Your hands moved faster, stroking and squeezing with expert precision. Choso's body writhed beneath you, his muscles tensing and releasing in a delicious rhythm. His breaths came in short, sharp gasps, and his eyes rolled back in ecstasy.

"Please, please," he panted incoherently, his words a mix of desperate pleading and mindless begging. "Please don't stop... I'm... I'm right there... so close... please..."

His fingers dug deeper into the cushions, leaving small indentations behind. His breathing grew more ragged, and you could feel the tremors running through his body. You slowed your movements, teasing him mercilessly, watching as he struggled to maintain control.

"Y... Y/NNN..." he croaked, your name coming out slurred in his mouth, drunk on the feeling you were giving him.

"Don't beg me," You said, gently as my hands continued their speed. "I can't make you release. If you want it, you need to let go yourself.”

Choso's body was taut, his legs trembling from the effort he was exerting to keep control. He took a shuddering breath, opening his eyes to look at you, tears of frustration and pleasure brimming in them.

"It’s going to be okay."

A bead of sweat trickled down Choso's temple as he drew in a labored, quivering breath. His chest heaved, the muscles straining with the effort of restraint. His eyes, heavy-lidded and dark with desire, flickered shut, surrendering to the insatiable hunger that had been gnawing at him. He trusted you, and he trusted his body.

His head fell back against the plush, velvety cushions of the couch, the softness cradling his skull as he succumbed to the tidal wave of carnal bliss. His right hand slammed on his mouth just as the dam within him burst, unleashing a primal, guttural moan that reverberated through the room.

Choso's hips bucked off the couch, his body arching in a frenzied, involuntary response to the euphoria coursing through his veins. Warm, sticky semen gushed forth, painting the air with strings of rampant lust. Some of the thick, pearly essence landed on your face, tracing a hot, wet trail down your cheek before you could tilt your head. Your tongue darted out, tasting the salty favor of Choso's essence.

As the final, shuddering spasms wracked his body, the last of his release coated his abdomen, your fingers traced the path of the spilled cum, smearing it across his skin in a sensual caress.

“Good job,” you whispered softly, your words a gentle anchor, bringing him back from where he had drifted.

Choso's body, slick with sweat and the remnants of his climax, trembled beneath your touch. His chest rose and fell in deep, ragged breaths, signaling the aftershocks of his orgasm. His eyes, still closed, fluttered open, meeting yours with a hazy, satisfied gaze.

Choso let out a long, shuddering sigh as he collapsed back onto the couch, his body spent and trembling. He looked dazed, his eyes half open and his breaths still shallow.

His chest rose and fell rapidly with each breath he took, his body still recovering from its release. "Wow," he breathed, his voice a little raspy. "That was... that was..."

His eyes darted to you, as if trying to find the words to express what he'd just experienced.

They widened, unabashedly taking in the sight of his cum in your hair as you cleaned yourself, the crimson hue staining his cheeks blazed in a vivid blush. His voice, still rough, trembled as he stammered, "I... I'm sorry. I didn't mean for... for that to happen on... on you."

You smiled, the corners of your lips curling upward as you crawled back onto his lap, your body pressing against his, igniting a spark of desire between you. Choso shifted, pushing himself into a sitting position, his fingers raking through his disheveled hair in a mixture of embarrassment and lust. "It's okay," you reassured him, the warmth in your tone inviting. "I liked it, and you were enjoying yourself so it's okay."

Choso's blush deepened, spreading to the tips of his ears as he admitted, "I... I did enjoy myself." His voice quivered, the intensity of his confession palpable. "A lot. Like...a lot a lot."

"That's good," you murmured, your voice a soft caress against Choso's ear, as you eased yourself onto his lap. The heat of his body enveloped you, and you could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat. Your fingers threaded through his hair, each stroke a tender exploration, eliciting a low, contented sigh from the man beneath you.

His strong arms encircled your waist, drawing you closer, their warmth a comforting embrace. Choso leaned into your touch, his body yielding to the gentle pressure of your fingertips, the tension in his muscles dissolving like snow under a spring sun.

"I don't think I've ever felt so..." he began, struggling to find the right word. "So... spent. But in a good way."

Your eyes met his in a brief, intimate glance, and you offered a small, knowing smile. "Do you feel as if the weight of the world has been lifted, if only for a moment?"

Choso considered your words, his brow furrowing before he shook his head.

Your head tilted to the side, an innocent quirk to your expression as you gazed up at him, the flicker of curiosity in your eyes. "Hm? Why?"

He returned your gaze, his own eyes now smoldering with a newfound hunger, the fire of lust consuming the depths of his gaze. The intensity of it shot a shiver down your spine.

"I... I feel relaxed," he began, his voice slow and deliberate, "but I also feel... I feel like I need more. You haven't cum yet."

"I’m okay, Cho. Tonight was just about you."

Choso's head shook from side to side. "No," he said huskily. His fingers drawn circles on your waist as his hold on them tightened. He looked at you, his pupils widening and a blush settling in his face. "I want to make you feel good too. I don't want to be the only one to feel this."

part 2

[bunnyyyuu]

includes: f! reader, aged up! megumi, breeding, short, pregnancy mentioned

megumi is obsessed with cumming inside you.

don't even bring up condoms to him. he’ll shoot you the dirtiest glares.

he can't help it, it's just human nature. it's only natural that he wants to fill you up, wants to finger his cum back into your leaking hole. what's so wrong with that?

he seriously can't cum without being inside you anymore. jacking off isn't even an option. he’s calling you the second he's hard. he needs to have his seed filling your womb, not wasted on his hand. that's how it should be.

you know better than to say anything about pulling out to megumi by now. he's slamming harder into you when he gets close, in fact. his tip rams against your cervix over and over again as his eyes roll back into his skull.

“fuck,” he groans, “gonna—ha—gonna fill you up real good,” he says breathlessly.

he brings a hand to cup your tummy, calloused fingers holding you so gently in contrast to how hard he’s fucking you. he watches the bulge of his cock in your stomach appear and disappear with each harsh thrust and suddenly you feel it.

white, hot, and sticky. it fills up your womb, his tip pushed so so deep inside you as he cums. he squeezes the fat of your stomach just a little tighter as he finishes in you.

thank god for birth control is always your first thought.

on the other hand, megumi is dreaming of the day you'll be getting pregnant.

[sluttysnowangel666]

His Second Wife - cregan stark x reader (request)

summary: two years following the death of cregan’s first wife, he accepts an undesired marriage proposal to rhaenyra targaryen’s daughter. rhaenyra’s daughter, who had loved cregan the moment she first met him as a young girl, immediately loves and accepts cregan’s first child as her own. yet it is still not enough for cregan to find his own love for his new wife.

cw: mean cregan😓, widow!cregan, targ!reader, loss of virginity(reader), rhaenyra’s daughter, angst to fluff, unrequited love, sex, happy ending

do yall notice i always post a long ass story usually around midnight or later ( i’m unwell)also this is long af soz it was a detailed request and I wanted it to be to a T. this is SOO long. i prolly should have done two parts… oh well @lillithsalvatore hope you enjoy it love ❤️

“How do you feel, my love?” Your mother asked, placing a warm and comforting hand on yours.

You sighed. “Nervous.”

She gave you that warm and sweet smile of hers. “I know. I hope you know this choice was not easy for me to make, as I know this was a hard task for me to place upon you.”

“I know, mother.” You say with forgiveness, giving her hand a squeeze.

“Had it been any other lord I would have surely declined but… Starks are the most honorable among men. I know your union will be blessed by the gods.”

You give her a smile, blindly trusting her words. You had met him once, and you knew he was kind. In fact, he had left a paw shaped imprint on your heart. You thought to yourself no union could be more suitable. You knew he had married once before out of a prior marital alliance, but the marriage had been short lived, lasting only a year before his first wife died in her birthing chambers.

It took more than four moons before you arrived at Winterfell, as if every power in the world was set on preventing it. You were not a superstitious person, so you simply thought all the bad things that happened prior to your marriage was coincidence.

Each time you went to leave, something prevented you. Your mother miscarried your baby sister, Lucerys was killed by Aemond, Daemon went silent at Harrenhall, Rhaena ran away and was lost in the eyrie before revealing she claimed Sheep-stealer.

You arrived in the dead of winter, and the journey had not been kind to you. You got a chill on the way up, causing you to stop at an inn for a few nights, you had came across raiders who killed one of the many men escorting you, and your clothes were ill suited for the weather.

You did eventually arrive at Winterfell thankfully, all in one piece.

You stepped out of the carriage cautiously, eyeing the snowy landscape surrounding you. It went as far as the eye could see. You held your hand out, letting the thick snowflakes fall and melt in your hand.

“My princess.” You turn to see Cregan, walking towards you. He bows, forcing a politeness. “Winterfell is yours.”

You bow in return, “No need for such formalities, Lord Stark. This is your home, and I am honored to have you welcome me here.”

He nods, choosing to say nothing else to you.

“Please show the princess to her chambers.” He says to one of the servants, then immediately turning on his heels to leave. Your jaw falls slightly, surprised at his curt demeanor.

You compose yourself, trying to hide the slight hurt in your features before making your way to your private chambers.

You bathed immediately, welcoming the hot water against your skin. No water could be hot enough for your dragon blood, but what they had drawn up for you would do nicely.

Your wedding was a week after your arrival, the lord having given you time to settle in. You had not seen him much during that week so you chose not to bother him, assuming he was busy with duties.

When you walked down that snowy path to the red weirwood, Cregan stole a glance at you. You looked beautiful, and he felt horribly guilty for thinking it. He felt like what he was doing was betraying her.

You said your vows, swearing your love before the old gods. You smiled at Cregan and he gave you a forced one in return. Guilt wracked his whole body. He felt guilty for you, knowing he wouldn’t be able to give you a union where you were loved, he felt guilty for liking your smile, he felt guilty for forgetting hers.

There was a feast following the ceremony, nothing large due to the pains of winter, but it didn’t bother you. The small gathering felt intimate, compared to southern weddings where lords and ladies travelled from all over the realm to witness it.

It was here you met Cregan’s son, Rickon.

“Hi, little one.” You said. He was only two, a fat little babe who looked just like Cregan.

“Rickon, this is my new wife.” Cregan said. The way he worded it made you twitch, it had sounded so strained. He didn’t even use your name. You told the boy the name he could call you, but he said nothing as he hid behind his father’s leg.

“I apologize.” Cregan said, his voice showing no sign that he actually was sorry.

“It is alright, my lord. He is just a babe. He and I will have time to get to know each other.” You said. Cregan tensed up, suddenly remembering again this union was forever.

“Excuse me, princess.” He said, turning and walking away with Rickon. Your heart sunk a bit. You could start to sense it now, Cregan was not in the slightest invested in your union together. You felt lost, out of place suddenly.

You sat back down at the high table, overwhelmed with nervousness. You bit at your nails and the skin around them, biting until they bled. You missed your mother dearly. Being here, in this room among strangers who didn’t care much for southerners to begin with, made you feel small.

You had sat there for an hour or two, not moving or eating once, save for your cuticles.

Cregan came to you, not noticing your nervous state. If he had noticed, he chose to ignore it. “I’ve put Rickon down… Would you please accompany me to my chambers?”

You looked at him, the nail bed of your thumb resting between your teeth. You nodded, standing and staring at the hall one last time. You locked eyes with a man, who noticed you both about to take your leave.

“Is it time for the bedding ceremony, Lord Stark?” The man asked, erupting a few cheers from the men mostly.

“No!” Cregan nearly barked the order. “There will be no bedding ceremony.”

The men in the crowd shuffled awkwardly at his outburst but accepted.

“Princess.” Cregan said, walking away and not waiting to see if you were following.

You did anyway, struggling to keep up with his quick pace. You had the sense he wanted this to be over with quickly.

He held the door as you both entered his chambers. You took in your surroundings. It was a clean and large kept room with a lit hearth and a large bed. A thought passed your mind, even though you tried to push it down.

Did he share these chambers with her?

Cregan began to take off his armor and furs, again not watching to see if you did the same, only assuming you were. If you weren’t, he didn’t care.

“Um, could you help, my lord?” You asked, referring to the laces of your white wedding dress.

He sighed, walking over to you as you turned your back to him. Your eyes welled with tears, but you tried to hide it.

His hands were gentle with the laces, not tugging at them as you expected him to. He obviously had experience doing this before.

He grew emotional as he undid your dress, but he hid it well. It was a weird sense of deja vu. Your hair looked like hers from the back and he felt like he was back at his first wedding.

You pushed the dress off, revealing the sheer linen soft dress underneath. He hadn’t moved from behind you, trying to maintain his composure. You walked away from him, lying on the bed and biting your nails again.

He finished disrobing besides his briefs, and you stole a glance at his back. It was huge, muscular and scarred.

He walked over to the bed, getting between your legs and pushing up your shift.

“Is this alright with you, princess?” He asks. “We need not consummate this if you are not ready.”

For the first time it seemed like he kinda cared about how you felt. His hand still had a hold of your shift, which was resting on your pelvic bone.

You nodded, “Is it alright with you, Lord Stark?”

He nodded, pushing your shift up the rest of the way to reveal your chest. He wanted to fall on his sword for the way he kept stealing glances at your breasts.

He pushed his briefs down, and you choked on your breath at the reveal of his length.

“Oh, gods.” You mumbled under your breath.

He rubbed himself against your slit, and your heart stilled for a minute. The feeling was foreign and intense.

He gently grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand away from your mouth. You hadn’t even realized you were still doing it, it was starting to become like breathing. A natural, unintentional habit.

Your hands fell to his biceps to steady yourself. You looked at him, but he did not meet your gaze. He instead bowed his head, watching himself enter inside you.

You dug your nails into his arm, gasping in shock. He gently shushed you, telling you it was okay.

“Please, please.” You said, not knowing what you were even pleading for.

“What?” He asked gently, his voice low and almost mimicking of your whining. It sent a shiver up your spine.

He was slow and gentle with you, not in it for any pleasure himself.

You touched his chest and his hair and his arms, and while he didn’t stop you he made no effort to touch you himself. His hands rested beside your head, holding up his weight.

Your hands found his arms again and you moaned softly, feeling your peak building in your stomach. You closed your eyes and pressed your forehead to his head, moaning as you spilled onto him. He closed his eyes as he felt it, and guilt wracked him again.

He gently pulled out of you and stood up, immediately dressing himself into his nightwear. You pushed your shift back down and pulled the linen covers over you, immediately going back to biting your nails at his reaction.

He laid beside you, not facing you and not saying anything.

You said nothing, but it hadn’t gone unnoticed how he intentionally avoided spilling himself into you.

———

It had been 3 months since your arrival to Winterfell, and you had adjusted as well as you could given the circumstances.

You did not often see your lord husband, but you were used to it. He spent a lot of his free time in the crypt where she was. It hurt, but you gave him his peace and he appreciated that you didn’t hover.

“Mummy!”

“Sh, sh, love.” You say as Rickon runs into your chambers.

Cregan did not like when Rickon called you his mother. He’d gotten upset with you a few times over it, and you assured him you would correct Rickon when it happened.

“Mummy.” He repeated. You giggled. pulling him into your lap. You shook your head and tapped his nose, saying, “Nooo. Not mummy.”

“Mummy.” He laughed, and you ran your fingers through his thick brown curls.

“What ever will we do with this mop on your head, my son?”

“He is not your son.” You turned to see Cregan standing in the door way. “And his hair is fine.”

“Apologies, my lord.” You said, curtly. He ignored your attitude.

“Come, Rickon.” He said, beckoning his son.

“No, mummy.” Rickon whined, holding you.

“Go see papa.” You told him, and with your blessing Rickon ran to Cregan.

Cregan gave you a cold stare as he left, and you returned the favor.

You were growing ever so agitated with your husband. He had welcomed you into Winterfell, but not his heart. The only time you both had shared a bed was the night of your wedding, to which Cregan had made sure not to give you an heir.

You had no one. Rickon had you, Cregan had you even if he did not want you, yet you were alone here in Winterfell.

You decided to write to your mother on Dragonstone, requesting for Jacaerys to pick you up on dragon back so you could visit your family and hopefully receive advice. You had left your dragon, Silverwing, at home. You did not want to disrespect the already hesitant northern people, and you did not want Silverwing to be cold or hungry.

That night when you were brushing your hair before bed, there was a knock on your door.

“Come in.” You looked in the mirror and saw Cregan’s half sister, Sara, enter.

“Hi, Sara.” You said. She came up behind you, taking the brush from your hand and slowly combing it through your hair. You two had formed a unique bond, given you were both considered outcasts in Winterfell. You were a southerner, she was a bastard. They were two sides of the same coin here in Winterfell.

“I heard what happened today.” She said, and you hummed mindlessly. “My brother can be a bastard.”

You smiled at her in the mirror. “Is that so?”

She nods. “I wish I knew what to do, Sara.”

“We northerners love hard, princess. We are unwaveringly loyal. The wound of losing Aly is still fresh in my brother’s heart. Give him time. He knows you love Rickon, and that scares him. I don’t know why.”

“Was Aly pretty?” You ask.

“You have a southern beauty we do not see often in the North. Aly was not a beautiful woman, but she was a fierce fighter. That is how history will remember her. She was born fighting, and she died fighting. I know you are a fierce fighter as well, princess. You are the blood of the dragon. Do not let the grief my brother holds make you feel small.” She kisses the back of your head. “Throw a fucking book at his head if he acts like that again.”

You laugh, her joke comforting you. She turns and leaves you alone, your head clouded with thoughts of Aly.

You heard back from Jacaerys within a few days that he would arrive shortly to bring you home. You had not yet told Cregan, as you knew he wouldn’t care anyway.

A few days following the letter from the raven, it was Sara’s name day. Cregan had decided to celebrate with a feast, one bigger than your wedding.

You all sat at the high table, your husband and sister in law drinking heavily. Although Cregan was a big man, the amount of ale he consumed that night seemed enough to kill a horse.

“My princess.” A servant rested her hand on your shoulder. You and Cregan both turned to look at her, and she grew nervous, not expecting Cregan to pay any attention or perhaps she would not have asked the princess the request. “Rickon has had a nightmare and wants no comfort of the maids. He is requesting you by name specifically, princess.”

You turn to look at Cregan for his approval. He gives a quick nod, which you hadn’t expected. Perhaps he only obliged since Rickon had requested you by your name, rather than requesting his “mother.”

You walked with the maid to his chambers, opening the door.

“Mummy.” He said through sniffles. You turned to face the maid.

“I thought he requested me by my name.” You said.

“That is your name, princess… to him.” The maid closed the door.

You turn to face Rickon with a gentle sigh. “You know papa doesn’t like that word.”

“Mummy.” He just says again. You walk to his bed, fitting yourself in to lay with him. He cuddles into your chest, and you play with his hair to help him sleep.

“Say it okay.” He says.

“Hm? What do you mean, child?” You ask.

“She say it okay to call you mummy.”

“Who?”

“Mummy did.”

“No, you have to call me my name, sweet boy.”

“Not you, mummy. My other mummy said it okay.”

“You confuse me, Rickon.”

“Mummy says ignore papa.” You chuckle softly.

“Sleep now, my love.” You say, and he slowly falls asleep while you hum him a soft song.

You rise, tucking him in and giving his head a kiss.

You open his door to return to the feast, and Cregan is there waiting.

You gasp, covering your mouth quickly to not wake Rickon.

“Gods, you scared me!” You whisper/yell at him. He says nothing, his eyes in a glossy and drunken haze.

You close the door, nearly standing chest to chest with him.

“I heard you sing to him.” He says softly. “Where did you learn that song?”

“He taught me it.” You say, as you go to step past him when he stops you.

“Cregan?” You say confused, turning to look up at him.

He takes your cheeks in your hands and slams his lips on yours. You freeze for a second in shock, before immediately returning the kiss. He presses you against the door, and you moan into him as you quickly grow wet with Cregan’s sudden change of behavior.

He moves to press gentle kisses on your neck, biting softly here and there. His fingers dig into your hips, grinding himself into you. You moan softly, trying not to cause too much noise against the door.

“Not here.” You moan. He avoids your eyes, taking your hand and pulling you further down the hall to his chambers. It was only your second time in his room. He lifted you into his strong arms, wrapping your legs around his waist and pressing you against the wall.

You both hadn’t even undressed, but you loved the thrill. Your husband finally wanted you after three long grueling months. He pushed your dress up to your waist as you unlaced his breeches.

He took you there against the wall of his chambers, fucking you so sweetly, fucking you in a way that would surely produce an heir.

Your moans filled the halls, and the servants began to spread word that the lord had finally moved on from his first wife.

He carried you to the bed, placing you along the edge as he stood, fucking you with sloppy and drunken thrusts.

You moaned his name, both of you drawing so close to your peak as your hands rested against his stomach. He leaned closed to you as hand moved beside your head to hold his weight, and the other moved under your lower back to lift you slightly off the bed and pull you more into him. The angle sent you over the edge, crying and moaning his name.

Your moans pushed him over, but his next words made you sick.

“Fuck, Alysanne.” He groaned, burying his head in your neck and spilling his seed into you.

You gasped, not even sure you heard him right.

He kissed your neck a few times and then rolled off you, not noticing the look on your face.

You laid there unmoving, still in your dress which was now damp with sweat, and your thighs now sticky with Cregan.

He fell asleep the second his head hit his pillow, still in his clothes.

You choked back a sob, moving your hand to your mouth so he wouldn’t waken. In reality, you could’ve started screaming and he wouldn’t have woke, or even shuffled.

You exited his chambers, trying not to be sick on the way to yours.

“My sister!” Sara drunkenly yelled as she seen you in the hallway. She took notice of your disheveled dress and hair. “Oh my gods, did you and Cregan just…?”

You ignored her, but she noticed the tears on your face. “Wait, sister what is wrong? What happened?”

You slammed the door in her face, throwing yourself into your pillow and screaming.

—

“Mother would be furious if she knew you were sleeping this well past sunrise.”

You groaned, lifting your head from the pillow to find the voice in the room.

“Jacaerys?” You said, when your eyes landed on him.

“I take it the feast for Sara Snow was a success.” He says, making fun of you. Your hair was sticking to your face, wet with a mixture of tears and drool.

“I guess you could say that.” You said, wiping your hair to the side.

“You’re disgusting.” He says.

“Gods, five minutes you’ve been here and you already frustrate me! Get out!” You say, both of you immediately teasing and arguing like you had never left home.

You push him out of your room.

“Don’t touch me, wench!” He whines, smacking your arms.

“Piss off! Go harass the bloody Lord of Winterfell.”

“I’d rather harass the Lady.” You push him out of your doors, turning and pressing your back to slide down the wall.

You hear him knock again and you rise to your feet, angry. “Jace, I said-“

You don’t finish your sentence, since as you open the door it’s Sara.

“I wanna talk about last night.”

“I don’t.” You say, going to close the door on her before she pushes it back open.

“What happened?” She asks, angry. She closes the door behind her and follows you to the bed. You sit on the edge and rest your elbows on your thighs, burying your face in your hands.

“Did my brother hurt you?” She asks, worried.

“No, no.”

She rests on her knees in front of you, placing her hands on your knees. “Tell me what happened.”

You sigh, trying to hold back your tears, but you cannot. “We had sex.”

“Isn’t that good? What went wrong?”

“He called me Alysanne.” You sob out.

“Oh, no.” She says, moving to sit beside you and wrap her arms around you.

“I cannot stay here no longer, Sara. I am being haunted by Alysanne. I find letters she wrote to Cregan, her clothes, her weapons. Rickon thinks I am her and Cregan wishes I was.”

“I am sorry, princess.” She says, sadly. “I thought I knew my brother better than that… Perhaps, if you talk to him about these past few months things can be different. Just give it a try, yes? You have your brother here now. You can leave if things do not work and the marriage can be annulled.”

You did not even wish to think of that possibility. It would be so shameful for both of your houses. You would do everything in your power to make it work.

You cleaned yourself up and went to Cregan’s chambers, knowing he would be hungover.

And you were right.

You entered his room without knocking, finding him in a bath with a warm rag over his eyes. Three times now you’ve been in his chambers.

“You can set it on the table.” He says, not moving the rag.

“What?”

“Oh.” He says, his voice changing in tone. “I thought you were the maid.”

You say nothing, unsure of where to even begin.

“Can whatever you’ve barged into my chambers for wait until I am done.” He asks, only the question is more of a statement.

“No.” You say, angry. You walk over to him and pull the rag off his eyes. He squints at the brightness, then gagging on the air as if he might be sick. “We’re going to talk, Cregan. We’ve been married for months and I don’t think we’ve ever truly had a conversation once. It is all I am asking. You could at least give me that. You’ve given me the cold shoulder for three months, and I’m tired of it. I’ve helped raise your son, I’ve loved you and I’ve cared for you even when you didn’t want it. You owe this to me.”

He sighs, defeated. “You are right in that, my princess. I apologize. We can talk later, alright?”

“No, Cregan. We will talk now.”

“You wouldn’t rather talk when I am of a clear headspace?”

“No. Now.” You say. He sighs again.

“Say your piece.”

The words left your mind the second he said that. You had this conversation in your head many times before, but now it was here and you could not handle the heat of the moment.

He raised his eyebrow at you, as if you were dumb.

“Oh, do not do that. I thought you Starks were supposed to be the most honorable among men. This whole marriage I have been treated with everything but. You are a disrespectful man, Stark. I am truly sorry about Alysanne-“

“Do not speak to me about my wife, ever!” He yells, pointing at you.

“I am your wife!” You cry out. “You chose me, whether you were ready for another marriage or not! I left my home, my family, my dragon to be with you! If I cannot have your love, is it too much to ask for your fucking respect?!”

He goes quiet for a few moments, “You have always had my respect, princess… and I know I have erred in the way I’ve treated you these past moons. But this marriage is just a duty. Nothing more, nothing less. This marriage is not out of love… so do not expect me to love you back.”

You laugh, dryly. “You called me Alysanne last night… Do you remember that? No… I suppose you were too drunk. You never would have touched or cared for me like that sober.”

He says nothing, but his hands grip the side of the tub and his face is contorted with anger. You rise, hiding any sort of emotion on your face.

“The dead don’t need lovers. Only the living.” You said. He threw his rag at the door as you walked out, not even granting him a second glance.

The memories of last night flooded back to him, and he rested his face in his hands, crying at his behavior. He had let down Aly, his son, and you.

He did care about you, he did love you in his own way. He just didn’t know how to show it. He didn’t want to show it. If he had shown it, he only would have betrayed Aly even more.

You went down to the crypt, somewhere you had never gone before. You had no reason originally, no people to mourn.

You stood in front of her plot, staring at the statue of her. She had been a skinny girl, with long dark hair and ‘plain’ features. You thought she was a beauty in her own way. You saw why Cregan loved her.

You cried. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help him.”

Your hand touched her statue, then you stood and left the crypt.

You said goodbye to Rickon, Sara, and then you left with your brother on dragon back, ready to be home with your true family.

———

“You’re a fucking fool, brother.”

“You think I don’t know that? Gods.” Cregan rested his head in his hands. He had sent every raven in Winterfell to Dragonstone, yet not one had responded in the weeks since you’d left.

“We’ll be lucky if the bloody queen doesn’t declare war on us for you scorning her daughter.”

“I am trying here, Sara! I’ve sent my ravens, I’ve sent men to retrieve her. There is nothing more I can do!”

Sara slammed her hands on the table. “Go and get her your bloody self, Cregan. The trip to Dragonstone will give you plenty of time for reflection.”

Sara turned to leave, and Cregan knew it was his only option of getting you back here. He would go and get you and make things right. He had to.

You had your own time for reflection, riding home with Jacaerys made you realize how much you missed being on dragon back.

Your mother of course welcomed you with open arms, but was wracked with guilt that you and Cregan’s union was not working. You paid it no mind however, spending your days patrolling Dragonstone on Silverwing.

Cregan had taken his horse and a few men to retrieve you from Dragonstone. The trip by horse was long, more than several weeks.

The entire time he rode in silence he thought of you. He thought of your last conversation and the final words you had said to him. The dead don’t need lovers. And you were right. Alysanne would not have wished to see him treat you how he had, she would not have wanted Cregan to spend his time sulking or being angry. He only wished he had realized it before he left.

He loved you. If only it hadn’t taken you leaving for him to realize. You were kind, gentle, beautiful. Traits Alysanne didn’t have but it was what seperated you from her. It had been how he was able to find his own kind of love for you, even when he didn’t consciously realize it yet. His own bitterness from losing Aly had made forget his honor.

Cregan arrived about two moons after you had left. He was aching, frustrated, and desperate by the time he reached Dragonstone.

It was dark, pouring rain, and you were playing with your brothers Viserys and Aegon when he arrived.

“Your Grace!” A knight came into the room shouting. Your mother looked up from her book. “Cregan Stark of Winterfell has arrived and requests an immediate audience with you and the princess.”

Your mother looked at you, and you looked like you’d seen a ghost. Your heart sank and your face went pale, but you nodded.

You met him inside the council chambers with your mother and his men. He was soaked, shivering. You could hear your heart beating in your ears, that was how nervous you were.

“Cregan.” You said, walking towards him and pushing him by his arms to the hearth to warm him up. It was another thing he loved about you, your protective nature, so he said it.

“I love you.”

“Cregan…”

“Love her?” You both looked at your mother, whose face was angry. “You love my daughter?”

“Your Grace.” Cregan said, removing his sword and bending his knee. “I’ve come to beg your forgiveness.”

She walked towards you both. “It is not mine you need to beg for… I sent my only daughter to you, and you spurn her for your dead wife?!”

“Mother!”

“You will not interrupt the Queen when she is speaking.” She commands you. “What do you have to say for yourself, Lord Stark?”

He stands. “I have nothing to say, Your Grace. You are right. My behavior was unacceptable. The princess deserved none of it.”

“Why are you here?” Your mother asks him.

“I’ve come to ask the princess to return home.” Your mother scoffs at him.

She looks at you, then back to him. “You are lucky it is not my decision to make.”

She turns and exits, leaving and commanding his men to wait outside the doors so you both could be alone.

You were even more nervous with just the two of you in there. It is silent for a few moments before you speak.

“Why the sudden change of heart?” You ask Cregan.

“It took you leaving for me to realize I love you.” He says, taking your hands in his. You roll your eyes, taking your hands back and stepping away.

“I can’t believe you.” You say, starting to sob.

“I know, I know.” He steps closer to you again, taking you in his arms as you cry into his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

“I loved you, Cregan.” You say, crying. “Since I was a girl I loved you. I thought you were different from other men. But, you’re just like the rest.”

Cregan cries into your hair. “I’m so sorry, my princess. I’m so, so sorry.”

You both stand there, holding each other and crying.

“Please come home.” He says. “Let me take you home.”

“Rickon misses his mother, Sara misses her sister… I miss you, you my wife.”

You pull away to look at him, trying to read his normally stoic features. You can see he means it.

“Okay.”

———

You returned to Winterfell on Silverwing, no longer having the strength to remain apart from your dragon.

Cregan had to endure another long and grueling trip back to Winterfell, which you enjoyed knowing he was suffering while you road through the skies.

Rickon had cried tears of joy when you returned, and a week later when Cregan arrived Rickon cried again.

You and Cregan had remained in seperated chambers while you still navigated your marriage, but Cregan made a point to spend every moment of his free time with you.

But you had been keeping a secret from him.

After you returned home to Dragonstone originally, your blood never arrived. The maester determined you were with a babe, which would arrive several moons away in the dead of winter.

Your thick furs and dresses made it easier to hide from Cregan, as you were not ready to tell him.

The babe had complicated things. If you had not been pregnant, you might not have returned to Winterfell when Cregan came for you. But you knew you had a duty, and you believed if Cregan could love you then you could fix your union.

Cregan had indeed put the work in the second he arrived home. He attended to you, conversed with you, ate with you, laughed with you, but gave you the space you needed and gave you the option to be intimate with him when you were ready.

It was strangely like falling in love all over again. You blushed around each other, got nervous and flushed, made each other’s hearts race, shared a first kiss when you were both ready.

Cregan had undoubtedly fallen madly in love with you, and he regretted not taking the time to do it sooner. He couldn’t make up the time he lost being afraid. All he could do now was love you without guilt, love you without fear, love you without shame.

Normally Cregan always knocked on your chamber doors before entering, but for some reason this time he hadn’t. He didn’t know why he didn’t knock, he didn’t know if it happened unconsciously or if he was too busy wrapped up with his thoughts.

Either way, he entered without knocking and by that point the cat was out of the bag.

He said your name, greeting you with a smile, only for it to fall off his face as if it had never been there.

You were in the bath, relaxing in the burning water, but that wasn’t the problem. He’d seen you naked, although it hadn’t been for a few months by this point, but him accidentally invading your privacy wasn’t the problem either.

It was the bump in your belly that was a problem.

Your head turned sharply, covering your chest quickly. “Cregan!”

“Sorry.” He said quickly, turning around to avoid disrespecting you.

“It’s fine.” You said, dropping your arm from your chest. “You just gave me a fright.”

He said nothing for a moment, only continuing to face the wall.

“What is that?” He finally asked. You sighed, stepping out of the tub and into your robe.

You walked up behind him, resting a hand on his shoulder. He turned around to face you now, and his eyes fell down to your other hand resting on the small bump in your stomach.

“Perhaps it’s time we talk.”

“You think?” He spits at you, immediately apologizing after. “I’m sorry, princess. I didn’t mean to be cross with you.”

You said nothing, walking over to the seats by the hearth hoping he would follow.

He did, and he sat next to you, his eyes never leaving your belly.

“Can I?” He asked, gesturing to your stomach. You nodded, untying your robe so that you were bare. You grabbed his hand, bringing it to the small bump.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I could have accommodated for you, made sure you were comfortable.”

“Truth be told it’s been hard for me to accept I’m truly with a child.” You say, “The reality had not set in until… well until you just now found out... I am sorry, Cregan. I should not have kept it from you.”

He chokes back a sob. “Feels like just yesterday Alysanne had Rickon.”

“He will be overjoyed to know he will have a little brother or sister.” You tell him. He looks at you, his face full of emotion.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks and before you can even finish nodding your head, you’re already leaning in to kiss him.

“I love you. I love you so much, my wife.” He says in between kisses.

His hand did not move once from your stomach the whole night.

[bunnyrafe]

rafe isn’t expecting you to be as clingy as you are when he comes back… of course, he knew you’d be latching to him and sneaking all the kisses you possibly can the second he finds his way back to you— he just wasn’t expecting to not even be able to enjoy a drink on the couch without you pawing at him and crawling into his lap like you’re his little, neglected pet a whole week later. like you’re unable to live without his attention and warmth for more than a fleeting minute or two. you’re craving him, you need him.

and rafe realizes that now, as your hips rock beyond your control and puffy little breaths fall from your cherry tinted lips whilst you pretend you’re not rutting your cunt against his denim clad thigh like a naughty girl, hiding your face in his beefy shoulder but still batting your eyelashes up at his handsome yet stoic face. he doesn’t even look at you— he hums, taking a sip of his beer whilst his other hand trails over your lower back. his thumb strokes your skin, right under where your tank top is bunched up and above the hem of your cotton shorts that are only getting stickier with your arousal as you wiggle around and fight for more friction.

“bet that sweet lil’ cunt missed daddy so much, huh?”

he drawls with ease, warm breath fanning over your already heated cheeks— your eyes nearly roll back into your head from that alone, hips bucking and recklessly knocking into his own even as you continue to straddle his thigh. you force yourself to at least whine in response. any words you attempt to babble will be an unintelligible mess, so you resort to small sounds and mewls, trembling against his strong chest.

“dumb baby…” he continues to coo. he’s finally looking down at you this time, his hand raises to brush his knuckles over the pudgy swell of your cheek before he thumbs at your bottom lip. he throughly enjoys the way your lips instinctively part for him, ready to take the digit into your mouth and slobber all over it….

but rafe stops you before you get ahead of yourself. instead he pats your cheek and regains his own composure, clearing his throat once while he places his empty bottle on the end table.

“go get me another beer like a good girl,” he demands—

because he knows you’ll do it in hopes of him making you cream on his cock until you don’t know where you begin or end. and he gets to watch you walk to the kitchen on wobbly, lovesick legs…

[luffysscraps]

How they eat~

Drabble;🔞;Fem reader;Ft;Luffy;Zoro;Sanji;Ace;Sabo;Law;Kid

Luffy devours you~

-“Shi shi shi~ come’re~”

Gruff hands grab at your thighs and pull you down causing your legs to dangle off the bed. In no time his head is deep in between your legs. He looks up at you and gives you a cute, angelic smile before his slimy tongue slips out of his mouth. In an instant his mouth is against your folds, nose deep on the ridge of your clit while his tongue plunges deep into your gummy walls. His hunger is ravenous. He inhales through his nose while his mouth is busy, not once lifting his head to take away take from his meal. Lots of slurping, sucking, and gulping when he’s eating out your pussy. His arms squeeze around your torso tightly, not allowing you to move an inch. “Stoppp squirming~ ‘m hungryyy~” He came to eat and that’s exactly what he’s gonna do. He’s not letting you go until you cum at least three times on his tongue. Even then his hunger knows no bound, he’ll go until he’s locked jaw and his boxers are soiled with his own cum.

You just taste so good. He can’t get enough~

Zoro’s a fucking tease~

-“Feel good don’t it~? Sounds like it does~”

Zoro speaks in between long, wet, licks. His meaty tongue sinks in between your folds ever so slightly and starts out quick, but once he comes up to your clit he takes his time. Painstakingly so. Short and spaced out licks land on your bundle of nerves and then when you least expect it he’ll dive straight in and start sucking on it intensely. His large hands hold your thighs in place so you can’t squirm away while you lull out in pleasure. He moves away from your clit and extends his tongue as far as he can into your pussy, it swirls around collecting and sucking up your juices. You’re almost to your limit and Zoro knows it. So he pulls away, a trail of your juice and his saliva connecting his tongue to your pussy “Hmm tasty~” He’ll chuckle and look at you with an all knowing smirk. “What… where you about to cum..? Hmm I’ll just have to go back in for seconds then~”

He loves to edge you with just his tongue~

Sanji savors his meal~

-“Thank you for the meal, Mon amour~”

Soft, slow, and gentle kitten licks and kisses trail gently down your stomach until they reach your soaking core. He inhales your scent, softly groaning at the delicacy as his thumbs gently pull apart your folds. His tongue laps at your juices softly, taking in the wetness on his taste buds and imprinting your taste into his mind. He loves it. It’s unlike anything he’s ever tasted and he’s infatuated with your cunt juice. But he’s not a glutton; he takes his time eating you out. Small licks, gentle sucks on your clit, and takes in mouthful after mouthful of your pussy slowly. If you end up cumming he takes his time using his tongue to clean you up and drink up his reward.

You’re just so divine, he has to savor you~

Ace gets pussy drunk~

-“Hmm~ I need ya sugar~ com’ere”

Ace often wakes up with a need to taste you. He’s already under the covers and between your thighs. He lazily scrapes your panties to the side before diving in. His tongue roughly and wildly scraps against your entrance a few times before he parts your folds plunging his face in between your pussy lips. Ace practically melts on your cunt; his tongue curling and twisting inside your entrance, a thumb lazily flicking your clit, and his other hand begins to palm himself through his boxers. “Mmm~ So good~” He can’t help but moan into your pussy at the taste of you. He laps up your juices with lewd and loud slurps, sucks, and licks. He buries himself in between your thighs lulling on your cunt like a lollipop, your juices soaking into his taste buds like a delicious sweet. After you reach your climax all over his tongue he greedily dives back in for another round. He just can’t stop, no matter how sensitive you are.

He craves your pussy

Sabo’s a freak~

-“Sit on my face.”

Without much of an explanation, Sabo’s arms wrap around your waist and brings your body down and clit on to the ridge of his nose. No hovering; He holds your waist down tightly to his mouth. You can feel his short breathes against your clit and while a large smile forms against your pussy lips. He simply watches your pussy from this angle for a while. His hands not letting go of you and you can’t move an inch. Without warning he pulls you down farther, smothering his face in between your cunt. The pleasure hits you like a rocket and you aren’t sure if he can even breathe anymore. He’s sure having his fill, his tongue goes wild against your pussy, licking, sucking and frantically slurping up your juices. He doesn’t let you move from off of him, in fact his fingers sink deep into your waist lightly scratching you as a warning. He rocks his head against your cunt, giving your clit stimulation from his nose rubbing against it. Because of his wildness you feel yourself squirt as you reach your climax. Sabo smirks allowing you to lift off of him just a little bit as your juices soak his face. You’re beyond embarrassed but the blonde just stares up at you with a knowing smile as he licks his damp lips and face. “Delicious~”

What more can he say? He just gets a little feral when he gets to taste your juices~

Law plays with his food~

- “You want more than just my tongue don’t you~? Such a naughty pussy.~”

Right there. In between the ‘D’ and ‘H’ in the word ‘Death’ tattooed on his fingers. Spells none other than ‘eat’, and boy do his fingers know how to devour he has two fingers knuckle deep inside of your cunt, twirling around and tapping along your gummy walls. Every now and again he’ll pull them out with a lewd ‘pop’ and give them a soft gentle lick. “Hmm~ you’re sweeter than usual today~”. He’s such a dirty talker. He thrusts his fingers back in without any warning causing you to squirm a little. “Stay still.” He commands giving your bottom a smack. While his fingers thrust into you, he bends over and gives your clit some attention with his tongue. Lightly sucking on it and rolling it around his tongue. you can feel the small, cold metal piercing clink against your clit which adds to the pleasure. Your juices taste delicious against his tongue and his fingers and tongue switch places. Now his fingers are rubbing circles in your clit while his tongue thrusts in and out of you; drinking up your juices with nothing but primal urge. It doesn’t take long before you cum undone onto his tongue in which he drinks it all up, softly pulling away once he’s satisfied. He even goes so far as to lap up the rest of your juices on his finger and pops it in his mouth.

He knows how to work his fingers; from his devil fruit to the bedroom~

Eustass Kidd loves to bring you to tears

-“What? Can’t take anymore slut~? Isn’t this what you wanted~?”

As obnoxious as Kidd is, he sure knows how to get you to scream out on his tongue. He smirks deviously as his tongue edges in and out of your walls. He’s holding you down onto his face while his hands grip your bottom. His hands practically claw and dig into the side of your ass, not allowing you to get away from him. “ ‘s too much? Slow down? You beg and whine for it all day but can’t take it~?” Kidd laughs as his overstimulation and frantic tongue practically brings you to tears. You’ve already came three times and he won’t let you go, the pleasure is too much; You’ll know to think twice before asking him to do anything for you. “Too bad. I’m enjoying myself now~” He chuckles into your pussy before going back in. Your hands claw at his legs for dear mercy but the pain only drives him further. He sucks at your labia before plunging his tongue inside of you and thrusting wildly as if it was his cock. Even as you cum for the fourth time in an hour he shows no signs of stopping, even licking your hyper sensitive clit as you cum and scream out his name.

He just loves to make you scream on his tongue~

Cum back post <3

[hexxedcore]

18+ MDNI

my head is completely empty thinking of jayce pumping you full of his seed.

gripping you by the hips, bending you over his workbench in a position so lewd sky would probably resign should she have the misfortunate of witnessing you both. thrusts sloppy and shuddering because there is one goal in his mind and that is giving you the family you want.

you want a baby? he’s on it. you want your pussy stuffed with his cock? well, consider it done.

this is a man who is willing to go to any lengths for you.

this is a man who is drunk in the grace of your sprawled out form on his desk, which is currently taking priority over any hextech invention that is due in the presence of the council in hours to come. each shuddering breath and lift of your hips to meet his girthy cock halfway.

and he will never let you doubt that.

[joelsdagger]

only then, i am good || one shot

joel miller x f!reader

masterlist || ao3 || follow @joelsdaggerupdates for fic updates!

pairing: daddy jackson!joel x f!reader summary: you have a bad day in which it makes you question your worth. only joel can make you see the truth. warnings: jackson era [well into the tlou2 timeline but nothing bad happens], implied age gap [i warn you, joel is old old], angst [in the form of internal turmoil], feelings of guilt/burdening, established relationship, dd/lg dynamics, soft daddy dom!joel, daddy kink, praise kink, size kink, finger sucking, pet names galore [baby, sweetheart, little girl, angel] size kink, reader is hella needy, reader has pubic hair bc i said so, smidgen of cockwarming, just the tip mention, dubcon*, dacryphilia, unprotected piv, nipple play, belly bulge, creampie, joel is reader’s personal weighted blanket, fluff, aftercare. *reader is not in the right headspace to properly consent to piv but she’s a-okay with it! word count: 3.8k

a/n: i’ve been to emotional (and physical) hell and back (are we back? who knows) these last few weeks and it had me yearning for daddy jackson!joel. so this is what this is. it’s a tad different from my typical style of writing and it’s not betaed and very very loosely proofread (barely looked thru it while in the waiting room lol), so it’s probably shit but i hope you enjoy it nonetheless xx

You should’ve double-checked the lock. Triple-checked it. As always. Hand to God, it slipped your mind. You were tired. Achy and sleepy, and you just wanted to go home. Back to Joel. Curl your spent body into the thick, burly warmth of his and let him cradle you until the whole day wipes itself from memory. 

You’ve been asking them for more responsibilities — a more serious role within Jackson, for months. After today, you’re sure they’ll never take you seriously. Never see you as one of them. They’re so much older and wiser — experienced. And you…well, you are not.

They never fuck up. Never make mistakes that would risk losing an important asset to this safe haven. And today you have. You fucked up. You don’t know how you forgot. It’s been your only job here, the only thing they let you have, and still — you messed it up. 

You forgot to lock the stall door to the stable for one of the horses. And not only did the horse escape but now the town is technically down one patrolman. You have completely thrown off the patrolling schedule, one that was meticulously crafted and has been in place long before you arrived in Jackson. It very rarely changed. 

You offered to lend a hand, practically begged them to send you out with the rest of the search party. But Maria, Tommy, and Joel all told you to go home while they sent a group (of which included Joel and Tommy themselves) outside the gates, well past dusk, to go looking for him. You felt entirely useless.

Begrudgingly, you scurried home, a beaten puppy in need of licking one’s wounds. Feeling the weight of the day and the frustration that has accumulated over months suddenly seeping into your bones, and you just…broke. You crawled into bed, alone in the dark, and you cried for hours, your mind spiraled, turning over the mistake you made, again and again and again. 

When it stops and the wracking sobs slow into shuddery hiccups, it’s only because you hear heavy footsteps in the hallway. Slow. Tired. But steady — sure. And that nauseating sensation in the pit of your stomach returns as the footsteps grow closer and closer. 

The door creaks open slowly, pale yellow light from the hallway spills through the crack, your puffy eyes squint and flutter against the sudden light, shape of him vague in your blurry vision, but you know it’s him: tall frame, broad shoulders, pale skin, and dark features.  

Joel. 

You curl your body tighter, making yourself as small as possible. Close your eyes, and bury your tear-stained face back into the damp royal blue of his linens, the piney scent of him everywhere: his pillows, his sheets, his mattress, clouding your mind. You hear his footsteps as he rounds the bed, feel him reach over and switch on the lamp beside you. He grunts, his joints creak as you feel his weight sinking the edge of the bed, settling himself down in the ‘c’ shape your body had formed.

“We found him. Fella was out by Hidden Pines,” voice soft, almost cautious. 

You nod silently, but you don’t look at him, not wanting to embarrass yourself even more, not wanting him to see how pathetic you look after spending hours upon hours sobbing into the pillows over a mistake you made.  

A heavy hand cups your knee over the sheets, thumb stroking bone through the fabric there. 

“It wasn’t your fault, baby.” He says, surely.

But you don’t really believe him. 

You sniffle and tilt your face away from the tear-soaked pillows just enough so he can hear you. “Yes, it was. I was the last one in there. It’s my job to take the horses back and settle them in for the night. My job to make sure they stay in the stables. It’s been my job, my only job all this time, and I can’t even do that right,” you ramble, voice breaking, bottom lip wobbling, fat tears pricking your red eyes once again. 

“No. You listen here,” he says sternly, feeling his body turn beside you, bed covers bunching up around your knees. “You did lock it, but the latch was loose, honey. Tommy and I tried ‘em. They’re due for a fixin’ n’ we should’ve been checkin’ ‘em, but that’s my job, not yours. This wasn’t on you, darlin’. You hear me?”

You avoid his eye and stay furled on the bed. Silence swells between you, and you fiddle with a stray thread in his sheets.

“He wasn’t supposed to take off like that, but he’s a younger horse,” he shrugs, and a sigh falls from his lips. “It happens. Whoever was mannin’ the wall tonight should’ve seen him. Many things were at play, baby. It wasn’t your fault.” He says in a matter-of-fact tone.

Your head snaps over your shoulder in a fury. “I could’ve helped fix it. I could’ve made it right,” you bite, shaky voice laced with venom. You don’t mean for it to sound so harsh, but it manages to stifle the sob that threatens to claw up your throat. And for a second, the irritation in your voice doesn’t rattle you until you notice Joel’s shoulders tense, and you regret it immediately. 

A whirlpool of emotions swirls in your belly. A weird noise squeaks out from your lips as you try to fruitlessly blink away the sleep and salt in your eyes. You don’t want to cry in front of him. You bury your face into the pillow again, trying to muffle the sob-like groan as you cringe away from Joel, ashamed. 

His hand drifts up your thigh, broad palm splayed across your flesh, his touch unwavering. “Sweetheart, the only reason I told you to stay here s’because it ain’t safe out there. The amount of infected may be less this time o’year but the cold…” He trails off, his grip tightening around the meat of your thigh unconsciously, “makes people meaner,” his voice grows unsteady at the thought. 

You shiver, and you suspect he feels it. He clears his throat, and tender fingers brush the strands of hair out of your face, then they trail down, and you feel the cold roughness of his skin against the warm softness of yours as his calloused hand cups your jaw, tilting it to face him, forcing you to meet his eyes. 

Your eyes pinch shut, and the dam breaks. You can’t bear to look at him. Your heart sits heavy in your chest, feeling the guilt creeping back in at his touch. His hands, usually warm, are now icy cold, and all you can think about is how you are the cause of it. He had been out in the cold longer than he needed to be because of you. You and he both know his worn bones can’t handle it, and yet, he went out there in the dead of winter as nightfall cloaked over Jackson to right your wrong, and it makes you feel terrible. 

“Baby. Look at me,” he whispers softly.

You do, and through bleary eyes you meet his weary gaze. His lips are downturned into a frown, and with a twist in his brows, that worry line in the middle of his forehead materializes. You hate being the cause of it. Your heart plops to your stomach, your throat goes thick, something rising at the base of it. 

“What do you need, sweetheart? Tell me,” he implores, his voice stern but soft, eyes shifting back and forth between yours — dark amber irises so warm, pleading.  

Teach me to be good. “Just you, daddy – just need you,” you blubber, your voice innocent and small. Weak. 

He knows exactly what you mean. You have been together long enough that he reads you like an open book. You watch as he wordlessly toes off his boots with a thud. Watch as he moves to stand to unbuckle his belt, dropping it to the floor with a soft clink, his jeans, jacket, and flannel following shortly after. Watch as he shifts onto the bed, bones crackling as he lowers himself and presses his broad form into you, his knees popping as they coax yours open. Watch as one of his hands drifts south between your bodies to grip the thick root of his cock while the other bunches up your nightgown to your navel, revealing your unobstructed cunt to him.  

You whimper when the leaky head of his cock notches at the already slippery entrance of your cunt. He glides the wide cockhead between your folds, up and down, up and down, while the warmth of his breath fans across your face when his lips part to murmur, just the tip tonight, baby, s’not a good idea for you to take all o’me right now, alright? 

You nod numbly. You don’t care how much he gives you — you just need to feel him. Need him to fix you. Need him to make the hurt you feel inside go away. Need him to search for the good. Maybe it’s there, buried deep in a place only he can find. 

His hands find yours, pins them firmly above your head, and with his dark gaze holding yours, he very gently pushes his tip inside your tight, wet hole. His mouth pops open in a deep groan, and you catch it with a soft gasp of your own. 

“There you go. S’that feel better, pretty baby?” He murmurs, his jaw ticks, brows twitch.  

You nod desperately, your wide, glassy eyes going hooded. Your thighs tense around him, causing a little more of his cock to push inside, making you whimper and squirm beneath him.  

“Good. Now just listen to my voice. Just focus on me, right here,” he grunts haggardly, voice so low and commanding. And that alone makes your brain go fuzzy. 

You try to focus all your energy on his voice and the heavy weight of him on top of you and the fat tip of his cock stretching your too little hole open, but suddenly, he pulls out, and you almost whine at his absence.

But Joel doesn’t give you enough time. 

Your body moves up the bed with a jolt, gasping when his hips push forward with more force, filling your cunt with the head of his cock, and then some more, only to slip out of you again immediately after. He’s toying with you, and he’s doing so because he knows you really need this. 

He slips his cockhead gently back inside you, and you whine at the soft squelch your slicken pussy makes. The two of you revel in the lewd, wet sounds that ricochet through the room, all while never breaking eye contact. 

“My little girl just needed me to fuck all the bad thoughts away, hm?” he breathes, his nose brushes against yours.

“Mmhm,” you sigh, cunt flittering around him. 

“Needed me to stretch out her sweet little hole and make everything better, s’that it?” 

You nod frantically, moaning breathlessly. 

Joel growls. “Say yes, daddy,” he commands you softly, his fingers squeezing yours.

“Y—ye—yes, d–daddy.” Your words come out broken in between the slow rolls of his hips, but by the smirk that tugs on his lips, you know he’s proud of you anyway. 

“Good girl,” he praises, his touch featherlight as his fingers push the stray strands of hair away from your forehead, and the scruff of his chin tickles your nose as he lays an open-mouthed kiss between your furrowed brows.  

“But daddy—” you start to protest, scrunching your nose. 

Joel harrumphs as he pulls back. All of his features pull into a stern look, and to stop you, the pad of his roughened thumb sweeps across your cheek and sinks between your parted lips. 

“Na-uh. No fightin’ with daddy,” he presses gently. 

By instinct, your lips close around his digit, sucking it into your mouth and swirling your tongue around the thick of it, tasting the salty, woodsy flavor of him, and it only feeds the foggy haze in your mind more. 

Spit pools at the corner of your lips. His thumb moves in and out of your mouth, matching the rhythm of his thrusts as he fucks his cockhead in and out of your hole. Your mind begins to blur, but there’s still a storm stirring in your swollen eyes, and Joel, as always, can see it. 

“Alright, this ain’t workin’,” he sighs exasperatedly. 

And you think he’s utterly fed up with you not obeying him. He unsticks his body from yours, and your eyes search his face — the lines beside his eyes, the hairs in his brows, the muscles around his lips — trying to decode the emotion that flits across his features. Though, as expected, it’s near impossible to read him. Joel may have been able to crack you open, and although the years he has spent in Jackson have managed to soften him up — tiny cracks in his stony exterior over time — he remains inscrutable. 

For a moment, you think he’s going to scold you. Tell you you’re no good for him anymore. You wouldn’t blame him. You can’t seem to do anything right. Maybe he thought he wanted to take you apart, bit by careful bit. But what if he peered through the gap and saw something he didn’t like? What if he had a change of heart — now that he stepped back and assessed the damage? What if the severity of it was too much to mend? Burden too heavy to carry. He doesn’t deserve that. He deserves someone good. Someone not in need of fixing. Someone unbroken. 

But Joel surprises you. His hand retracts from your face, and instead wraps his arm around your middle, maneuvering you onto his thighs so you're straddling him. His free hand fists the hem of your nightgown, and in one swift motion, tugs the fabric over your head and tosses it aside to join his pile of clothes on the floor. His heavy hands find your waist once again, and with the head of his cock still buried deep in between your legs, he sits up and back against the headboard, grunting a low, alright, c'mere, as he takes you with him with ease.

You cling to him like a koala, body putty and pliant as he brings your weak arms to wrap around his neck. And then, a firm hand moves to cradle the back of your neck, lets you nuzzle your wet face into the dip in his shoulder, and breathe in the comfort of his scent while his other traverses the line of your spine.

Slow but steady, Joel bucks his hips up, up, up, until the entirety of his thick length works its way into the slick slide of your cunt. Your soft thatch of curls meets his, softly grazes your clit, and you writhe in his arms, sniffle, and whimper brokenly against his shoulder, but sure, gentle hands pull you into his chest tighter. You feel the strong drum of his heart against yours, thrumming against each other: ga-gung, ga-gung, ga-gung, pace quickening, like they're trying to catch up, trying to sync. Your body melts into his. Skin to skin, heart to heart, heat of your cunt to the heat of his cock; and then suddenly, two become one.

“Shh, shhh, I know, baby, I know. You got it,” he whispers, as he begins to rock you back and forth, back and forth, lulling you gently back into the haze, and everything finally fades away. 

He presses a kiss right behind your ear. “Therrrre we go, just take it, good girl,” he murmurs as a heavy hand pets your hair. And whether he’s talking about his cock or his praise, you obey regardless. Your cunt sucks the heat of his cock in deep. Let him fuck himself into you; let his warmth smolder you until your cunt ignites. Let it roar and burn and spread through your system like wildfire. Let him make you good.

The tips of his fingers move through your hair in small ministrations, gently scratching away at your skull. “Daddy—s–so big—” you whimper, your fingers pulling the hair at the nape of his neck, tears welling up in your eyes as something low in your belly begins to churn. 

“Shhh, angel, it’s okay. I know, s’a lot,” he soothes, feeling his deep voice reverberate against your chest. Your cunt contracts at his praise, and the steady pace of his hips falters briefly; he groans deeply when he feels his tip choked tight within your walls, “you’re doin’ so good for me, sweetheart, so good.”  

He continues his shallow thrusts while he rocks you in his arms. There’s a low static buzz in your ears, but you can still hear the perverse chant that manages to fall from your lips — one that grows louder with every roll of his hips, daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy. And in turn, he murmurs incessant blabbers of, you’re okay, angel, daddy’s here, daddy’s gotcha, into your hair, punctuating every one of his words with a soft kiss to your temple and a slow buck of his hips.  

The tip of his cock nudges that soft ridge deep inside you, and he feels your cunt flutter around him. “You gonna come for me, angel, hm? You gonna be a real good girl for daddy and let me feel this drippy little pussy come all over me?” He coos.  

“Uh-huh,” you murmur. 

Deft fingers curl around the back of your neck, and with the slightest of pressure, he squeezes once, gently instructing you to use your words. A silent command. 

“Y-yes, daddy, I prom–I promise, I wanna be good. I wanna be good,” you mewl.

His nose drags along the side of your face, down, down, down, until his heated lips meet your pulse point. “Go on, baby, let go n’ get daddy all messy. Show daddy how good of a girl you are,” he rambles, his voice a low vibration, goosebumps prickling in its wake.

With your tight cunt full and impaled on his cock, your clit throbs, eager for more friction. You rut your hips against his, humping him like a dog in heat as you rub your puffy pearl against the graying curls there, smearing him in your slick just as he insisted.   

And within seconds, your body constricts, navel pulls taut, and then something fiery in your belly erupts. Your body begins to tremble as stars burst behind your eyelids, liquid heat turns your mind and body molten, melting away completely with the force of your release.

“Daaaddy,” you cry, lips quivering. Your muscles go lax, and your body slumps in his hold, feeling the last of your energy leaving you. Your head lulls back, and his hand slides up the base of your neck in time to catch it in his massive palm.

He clutches you tight, marveling at your fucked-out form in his arms while babbling praises of,  ohhh–that’s it, that’s it, good job, baby, such a good fuckin’ girl— daddy’s so proud of you, as warm tears roll down your face. And it only spurs him on. 

His languid strokes speed up, your body jolts above him violently, weeping cunt fluttering repeatedly around him. Your mouth falls open, wanton moans escape past your parted lips as he fucks you harder. “Christ, that’s it, that’s my girl. Look at you, perfect little thing,” he pants, coaxing you through your orgasm. 

His eyes drop quickly to watch the bounce of your tits, nipples peaked and gleaming with beads of sweat. He dips his head to one sticky breast, and with a flick of his hot tongue, he laps up the salt on your skin. 

It elicits a sharp gasp from you, your chewed fingernails desperately trying to claw at him, your body arching against his mouth, and you feel him grin against the curve of your breast. His mouth drifts, wraps his whiskered lips around your other swollen nipple, tongue swirls the pointed bud, teasing you with a graze of his teeth across the wet peak before nipping it, tugging the stiffened point ever so slightly between his teeth.  

“Daddy–oh!” You choke on a moan, and your spent pussy clenches around him so tight, your cunt is almost forcing him out. His hips buck into you harder in response, his thrusts growing more erratic as he seeks his own release. 

Joel hisses, mouth releasing your tit with a wet pop, “sweet Jesus, m’gonna give it to you real good, baby—like you deserve, fuck—”

He's cut off by the strangled groan that rips through his chest, his back arches off the headboard, and you feel him twitch. His grasp on your enervated form tightens, and then a blazing heat spreads inside you. His sweaty forehead falls to your dampened chest, the swell of your breasts cushioning the drop of his head, his body convulsing as he pumps upwards into your core. Cock pulsing and spasming within your walls as he continues to spill inside you, your belly swelling and set to burst full of his seed.  

Joel slumps back against the headboard, his arms loosen, but they don’t release you, just holds you there on top of him as he presses hasty kisses and whispers shaky sweet nothings into your hair while his hot seed dribbles out around his length, turning the hair at the root of his cock into a pool of sticky milky white.  

You don’t know if it’s minutes or hours that pass by as you stay limp in his lap, breathing in the sweat and sex on his skin as you snuggle back into his neck, the heat a low simmer. But when he runs a warm, wet rag between your legs and uses the same one to wipe your mixed wet off of his shaft before he tucks you in with a peck to your lips, the tip of your nose, a long kiss to your forehead, and lays himself on top of you with the full weight of him, pulling the comforter up to trap the heat of your bodies between you, sore cunt plugged with his softened cock once more, you know that he makes you feel whole. Not ruined or broken. Not stupid or useless or helpless. And in truth, it's all you’ve ever known with him.

As you slip gently into the waiting black, small fingers that draw circles into his silver curls come to a slow, you think you hear a quiet sigh — feel his lips lazily form around the words against your tacky skin — something of, you are good, angel tucked away into the valley between your naked breasts like a secret. And you think you believe him, and for now, that’s enough for you.

[tojjist]

NANAMI is 100% a spanker.

He loves your ass. He could just stare at you for hours on end, no matter what you’re wearing at the time. Be it a pencil skirt, yoga pants, sport shorts or a dress. He could just stand there and watch you move, glutes moving up and down, hips swaying. It makes him swoon.

And while he could stand and stare, he’d much rather feel it up against his palm. He’d slap your buttocks once he walks past you, soft and teasing. Depending on your response the situation elevates. 

More times than not you find yourself sprawled out on his lap, his hands colliding with the skin multiple times over until he can feel it get warmer. His ears are immune to your cries,gasping at the force that comes with the loud clapping. Sometimes he’d stop to tease your clit gently, fingertips rubbing the bundle of nerves to hear a soft moan from you or have you tighten your shaking thighs over his palm. But it’s not too long before his hand is swinging in the air and against your reddened ass.

At some other occasions, he finds himself subconsciously feeling your ass in the morning. His large hands explore the soft flesh, squishing it tightly in his palm and giving it light slaps every so often.

GOJO, on the other hand, is a hair puller.

Honestly, there is no specific reason that he likes to pull your hair so much. Mostly he just likes the feeling of your hair filling into his fist, no matter the length of it, locks running between his fingers. It's an oddly satisfying to him .

He’s very random with it, too. Satoru would approach you while doing the dishes, one second his arms are wrapped lovingly around your waist, and the next his hand fists as much as it can of your hair and tugs at it “A-a- ah- Satoru– let go, seriously,” You’d grumble, face scrunched at the suddenness of it. “Mm, Gotta ask nicely, baby,” his hand continues to grab your hair tightly. Judging by the amused smirk on his face, he’s just messing around. Must get a kick out of it.

It’s another reason he loves seeing you on your knees before him. Your mouth consumes so much of his length, hands pumping whatever your mouth couldn’t fit in. All Satoru has to do is sit back, feel good, and pull at your hair. It’s easy control. And Satoru loves this control, as if steering your head however he likes. Not that your skilled mouth needs direction. 

[heavenbarnes]

thinking about older bf!simon that takes great pride in being your built in pain relief.

“you right?”

delicate as always, gruff voice cutting through the peaceful lull as he stands right in the way of the television you were only really listening to.

“just a headache”

“you taken anything for it?”

you slowly open one eye as far as you can manage, confirming that the look on his face is endearing and he’s not purposefully asking stupid fucking questions.

he’s only man after all.

“i’ll give y’one if y’like?”

before you even have a chance to ask him what “one” might be in this scenario, he’s already nudging you up the couch to sit beside you.

he doesn’t give you the chance to ask any questions, really- not when he’s tucking your back into his side and slipping a large hand down your front.

long fingers slide your shorts to the side and immediately get to work, other hand holding your thighs open (more for his line of sight than anything).

“simon- you don’t have-”

“none a’that, rest y’head and i’ll take care a’ya”

[shotmrmiller]

ghost getting himself a cute, soft girl he doesn't talk about much but is clearly obsessed with and price just thinks it's nice he's finally settled down, approves of the home he's made for himself, definitely approves of the one he's taken for himself.

soap asks kyle if he's seen you and he says, "yep. lovely bird he's got tucked away in her little dollhouse. makes great food, too." soap swears there's a subtle shift in his tone when he says "lovely", a hint of something deeper that flickers in his eyes for just a moment. soap simply sucks on his teeth, letting it slide. (although he knows that kyle's always been one to appreciate the good things in life.)

interest gnaws at him, a persistent itch he can't scratch. price likes you just fine, as does kyle. well what about him? he decides to bite the bullet and goes to simon with a knot between his brows, the corners of his lips tugged downwards. they've shared clothes, bullets, beds. if the other two got to meet you, why can't he?

"ya can come over for dinner on tonight. she'd 'ave my neck if she didn't formally meet ya anyway."

soap then asks, out of genuine curiosity more than anything else, if simon would have kept you in the dark from him hadn't he brought you up himself.

"ya meet 'er when i want ya to, boy, and not a moment before." the tone he takes is unmistakeable. his words are a command, not a suggestion, and soap instantly knows to not push further.

soap nods. "ah'll be there."

"course ya will. she'd be terribly disappointed otherwise."

yeah, he'd hate to have that.

soap sits in the living room, the soft glow of the lamp casting a warm light over the cozy place. with a full stomach and an unfastened belt, nursing a glass of kentucky. he can't remember the last time he ate that well or that much.

maybe it's the alcohol that loosens his tongue, or the fact that he wishes he also had a sweet little thing to keep at his side just like simon's doing with you now, but the thoughts he's been mulling over all evening since he first saw you tumble out of his mouth.

"while ah can attest to yer taste in sweethearts, can't say much about your alcohol. bourbon, LT?" he says, chest warm.

simon's arm tightens around your hips, fingers splayed possessively over your thigh. he shrugs, completely unbothered by the backhanded compliment. "can't be perfect in everythin', can we, sergeant?"

soap's cheeks burn furiously hot when you come to his defense with a smack of your palm onto simon's chest. "be nice to johnny. he's got a face that make up for some of his other flaws."

the teasing lilt in your voice unashamedly gets his southern blood pumping. he can't help it if certain things stir when someone as pretty as you look at him like that. soap swirls the amber liquid gently in the glass while keeping his limpid eyes on you, not even trying to hide the fact that his gaze hasn't wavered since your cheeky little comment.

you then whisper something in simon's ear, your cupped hand not even half the size of his head and soap has to rearrange himself from the outside when your teeth catch your bottom lip. simon looks up at you then, eyes heavy and half lidded, and a smirk plays at the corners of his mouth.

"'m not sure, love. you'll just 'ave to ask 'im yourself. go on."

you open that sweet mouth of yours, but simon cuts you off with a decisive wave of his hand. "no. you know how to ask for things."

your reaction to that is visceral, and you're on your knees faster than his alcohol-muddled brain can comprehend. don't look down 'er shirt, don't look down 'er shirt, don't-

"johnny, will you touch my pussy?"

he splutters at your question, completely taken aback, but it seems you're not done just yet.

"hands to yourself, sergeant. tha' not all."

you pout at simon, one that earns you a look that promises consequence, but do as he says.

"will you touch my pussy, johnny? pretty please?"

[princesssmars]

it's getting sticky!

a little vi x reader

wc : 1.166

inspired by this tweet. don't look at me. sequel and threequel here :3

contains : boxer!vi ib this, fem!reader, scissoring, vi's a horndog wbk.

a/n: can't wait for act 4 to drop next week don't worry they just took a week's break guys. pitfighter vi changed my life i had to keep pausing the episodes to scream into my hands baby girl come home.

ever since vi had met you, she had been discovering quite a few new things about herself.

she is apparently an active sleeptalker, has a habit of biting her lips when thinking, and once she gets you in bed she needs to keep going until she passes out.

she’d always known she had a soft spot for pretty girls, constantly flirting with and taking home the girls who showed up to her matches with her face plastered on their shirts and phone cases. but eventually, she started to grow a bit bored with the routine of a night of rough sex with a stranger before parting ways, never to meet again. well, hopefully. unfortunately, some of the girls could get a bit obsessed. one of the cons of being too good with a strap.

but like a deity above heard her secret prayers she spots you in the crowd at one of her shows, oh-so-pretty face stuck staring down at your phone as a girl she assumes is your friend looks on to the match with glee. as cliche as it was, she was instantly intrigued.

she had no choice but to come up to you after the show, black leather jacket slung over her shoulders as she greets you with a flirty smile and one of her most trusty pick up lines to make you laugh.

you aren't impressed. you do call her cute, which is a win in her book. luckily your friend is a huge fan, and manages to persuade you into giving her your number for an autograph. she swears she hears the girl call her hot when your friend drags you away, and she doesn’t hear you disagree.

you make it very clear at the start of the relationship that you know about her reputation with other women, and that you don't want to have sex until you are sure she is committed to you. and while she obviously respects your boundaries, taking the care to make she never goes too far whenever things do start to get a little more intimate, she has to admit it’s a bit of a struggle to keep it in her pants. she swears after a few weeks you start teasing her, hugging her from behind when you're in a towel fresh out of the shower and wearing tops with lower and lower necklines.

and once you finally do tell her you're ready to go all the way? the girl is stuck on you from sunset to sundown, wringing countless orgasms from you until you have to use the last of your energy to tap out.

she adores how you can keep up with her, especially after she successfully wins a match. the adrenaline from the fight is still pumping through her veins, sweat and bruises dotted over her skin as she rushes over to you once she’s cleared of injuries and lifts you up in her arms, twirling you around until she starts to get dizzy. the sound of your squeals and giggles as she bites and kisses at your neck one of her favorite sounds in the world.

it can only be paralleled by the noises you’re making now, desperate and pitched-up whines and gasps as you sit across from her, eyes drooping and head falling back as you grind your hips into hers. she had been so desperate to get her hands on you that she couldn’t be bothered to pull down either of your underwear, the friction from her boxers and your panties making her eyes roll into the back of her head. she’s sure the grip her hand has on your leg propped up next to her is too tight and sure to leave a slight bruise, but you only subtly push it closer to her grip, biting your lip when her nails dig into your skin.

“come on, come on pretty girl, keep giving it to me.”

her hoarse voice pants, tilting her hips just the slightest to the side so that her clit rubs even harder on the wet fabric below, brushing against yours the slightest bit to make you let out a needy moan. normally her dirty words are enough to send you into overdrive but she can tell that tonight the euphoria is getting to you, too deep in the experience to register what she’s saying. her other hand that's not gripping onto you for dear life reaches over, her breath hitching when her cunt presses even harder into yours, and gently but firmly grabs you by the back of the head so your head is upright again.

“vi, ‘h my god-” your moan is cut off by her plush lips harshly pressing into yours and sticking her tongue in your mouth, muscles massaging each other before she pulls away and watches the string of spit that connects you to each other. a dopey grin grows on her face before she ever so slightly tilts your head down, laughing at the strained gasp that leaves your throat.

even with fabric there you’re obviously both soaked, dark and light materials stained by yourselves and each other and only growing more intense by the second. it creates a perfect blend of embarrassment but arousal in you that forces you to grind yourself into her harder, chasing that high for the both of you as you hear the audible noises of your bodies meeting.

as you both get closer you start to get clingier, your trembling hands resting on vi’s shoulders as a subtle hint that she picks up on immediately. she helps you to wrap your arms around her shoulders as hers moves to your back, squeezing your sides and rubbing over the skin when your teary exhausted voice calls her name over and over as you get closer and closer to the edge.

“vi, vi, ‘m so close, please, oh shit harder-”

“i know, i know, baby. just a little more, fuck you feel so good, prettiest girl, god prettiest pus-”

she smiles and bites into your shoulder when your orgasm finally hits you, the desperate grinding of your hips paired with the breathy whining from your throat right next to her ear sending her to nirvana right after you, broad hands pulling your overstimulated into hers so she can keep using your pliant body to carry her through her orgasm.

you sit in each other's arms for a minute, hands softly brushing through each other's hands and pressing kisses to each other shoulders. she loves these little moments with you where she can just bask in the fuzzy post-sex bliss with you. she loves it even more when she delicately rubs herself into you to test the waters, always met by your lovesick giggle as you hold onto her tighter and return the movement, ready to go as soon as she gives you a sign.

im pregnant and pifighter vi is the father