#still little not over letting go of his green nails

[creamflix]

Hiiiii queen, not sure if your requests are open but what are your thoughts on a reader x gym instructor Toji fic? as a gym girly, I’m feining for that shit bjsjsbsh 😭 If you’re not into it, no worries at all, just ignore this! thankyou loveyou 😛 hope u have an amazing day <3

HOT GIRL SUMMER! — toji fushiguro x female reader 

18+ content, minors and blank blogs do not interact. gym trainer toji, gym trainee reader. mentions of gojo satoru. toji's kinda a dork. lots of sexual tension. big dick toji yessir. orgasm control & denial. doggy style. fingering (f. receiving). big four: dirty talk, degradation, teasing and praise. slight dacryphilia. overstimulation and mindbreak. hair pulling. semi-clothed sex. locker room sex. p in v sex (protected!! no creampies today folks). crack + fluff ending, somewhat aftercare?

thank you to anon who requested this <3 i hope you enjoy!

— general masterlist ☆ read on ao3 

your first day at the gym felt a little like the first day of school — except instead of a backpack full of supplies, you had a duffel bag stuffed with coordinated athleisure and just a tiny bit of misplaced confidence. 

toji fushiguro. the name echoed in your head like a mantra, which was completely coincidental and not at all the result of a quick late-night “gym instructor thirst trap” google search. nope, not at all.

as you walked in, the gym smelled of disinfectant and...testosterone? was that what testosterone smelled like? you weren’t sure, but it had a distinct, musky gym-bro-y vibe. before you could question your life choices, a deep, gravelly voice boomed over the general clatter of weights and treadmills.

“alright, rookies! welcome to hot girl summer bootcamp. i’m your instructor, toji. keep up, and you’ll love me. fall behind...and you’ll still love me, just a little less. maybe. let’s go!”

oh. 

my. 

god.

this man wasn’t just hot. he was illegal. broad shoulders that could probably carry a family of four, a scar on his lips that somehow made him hotter, and those arms — did the gym air conditioning suddenly malfunction, or were you overheating just looking at him?

play it cool, you thought, adjusting your cropped tank top and hoping you looked effortlessly sporty rather than like someone who stayed up all night watching his gym tutorials on youtube.

“you, newbie,” toji pointed in your direction, his sharp green eyes locking onto yours. “what’s your goal for the program?”

your brain short-circuited. goal? what goal?

“uh, uh...i want to — uh…” you stammered, your mouth suddenly drier than a protein shake with no milk. “be able to...carry all my groceries in one trip?” nailed it.

he raised an eyebrow, smirking as if you were the funniest thing he’d heard all morning. “realistic. i respect that.”

as he moved on to interrogate another poor soul about their fitness dreams, you caught yourself staring at the way his tank top clung to his chest. focus! focus! groceries!

the first warm-up nearly killed you. 

it wasn’t even anything extreme — just high knees and jumping jacks — but you were convinced your spirit left your body halfway through. toji, however, didn’t seem to notice your imminent demise.

“c’mon, grocery girl,” he teased, jogging over to you during a plank hold. “don’t tap out on me already. what’s that, two minutes?”

two minutes felt like two hours.

“easy for you to say,” you panted, glaring at him. “you look like you eat kettlebells for breakfast.”

toji crouched beside you, his smirk growing wider. “nah, i eat waffles. protein ones. maybe i’ll make you some when you hit your first milestone.”

oh, so you’re a malewife too? just take me now.

you managed to survive the rest of the class, though it involved more wheezing than you’d like to admit. as you grabbed your water bottle, toji sauntered past, giving you a casual, devastating grin.

“good hustle, grocery girl,” he said. “see you tomorrow?”

you nodded, cheeks flaming. “yeah, tomorrow,” you replied, already dreading the soreness that was about to hit you in waves.

walking out of the gym, you made a mental note:

stop chanting his name during your nightly activities, because that would definitely get weird if you slipped up in class.

figure out how to be normal around the human equivalent of a greek god.

spoiler alert: you wouldn’t succeed.

— ☆

toji leaned against the front desk, arms crossed and brow furrowed as he eyed satoru, who was fiddling with his phone instead of paying attention to literally anything else. typical.

"seriously, satoru," toji grumbled, his voice a low growl. "five grand for this program? five? you think these rookies deserve me for that price? do you know how many squats i had to watch today? squats, done wrong."

"aw, c’mon, toji," satoru drawled, not even looking up. "think of it as community service. you're making the world hotter one newbie at a time." he flicked his snow-white bangs out of his annoyingly perfect face. 

"besides, you love attention. what are you complaining about?"

toji's scowl deepened. "attention doesn't pay my rent, dipshit. if i wanted praise, i'd do push-ups on the street. and don't call this ‘community service.’ i ain't some saint."

satoru grinned, finally setting his phone down. "you're just mad because you can't charge extra for...specialized instruction." his grin turned wicked. "you know, one-on-one, intense focus...maybe a hand here, a hand there."

"you're disgusting," toji deadpanned, though he didn’t bother denying the accusation.

"but i'm not wrong," satoru shot back, leaning on his elbows. "soooo? any student caught your eye yet? some sweaty rookie got your heart racing?"

toji huffed, his lip curling into a smirk. "isn’t it obvious?"

satoru blinked, genuinely curious. "wait, for real? who? the one in the neon pink outfit? or the guy with the weight belt who clearly didn’t need it?"

toji ignored the question, grabbing his water bottle from the counter. "none of your business, dipshit. but let’s just say someone’s got a long way to go before they’re carrying groceries in one trip."

“groceries?” satoru cackled, almost doubling over. “oh, man. you really know how to pick ‘em, huh? let me guess, rookie can’t plank for more than thirty seconds without praying for salvation?”

toji’s smirk widened just a fraction, and he turned toward the gym floor. "thirty seconds? generous. more like twenty. but...they've got potential."

“potential or a cute face?” satoru called after him, earning himself the bird as toji disappeared into the weight room.

satoru shook his head, still chuckling. “toji, you greedy bastard. just don’t make it weird, yeah?”

as if that was possible.

— ☆

day three, and your thighs felt like they’d been personally cursed by the devil himself. you were convinced that even sitting down was a workout at this point. 

but toji? toji looked fresher than a damn protein shake commercial — biceps bulging, sweat glistening, and his sharp green eyes scanning the room like a predator hunting his next meal.

and maybe, just maybe, you were on the menu.

you caught him staring again. or maybe that was just wishful thinking? nah. those weren’t just glances — they were slow, deliberate, and paired with that cocky little smirk that said he knew. knew you were stealing glances at him every time he turned his back. knew you were biting your lip and adjusting your shorts every time he got too close.

“grocery girl!” his voice cut through your haze, and you nearly tripped over your own feet.

“y-yeah?” you stammered, clutching your water bottle like it was a lifeline.

“plank position,” he ordered, stalking toward you with a towel slung over his shoulder. “let’s see if you’ve improved since day one.”

improved? babe, i can’t even look at my floor without flashbacks to this torture.

still, you dropped down, doing your best to hold the position without trembling too much. but then he crouched next to you — close enough that you could smell the clean, heady scent of his sweat — and suddenly, holding anything became a challenge.

“hips down,” he murmured, his voice low, and your brain went static.

before you could process it, his hand was on your lower back, pressing gently to correct your form. “like this. don’t cheat yourself.”

cheat myself? i’m about to cheat on my sanity if you don’t move that hand.

“you good?” he asked, his tone dipping into something almost teasing.

“uh-huh,” you croaked, feeling the tremble in your arms spread to every inch of your body.

“ya sure?” he leaned in just enough for his breath to ghost against your ear. “y’er shakin’ like a leaf.”

if you weren’t so oxygen-deprived, you might’ve said something snarky. instead, you clenched your jaw, determined not to crumble under his gaze — or the weight of his stupidly attractive hand.

“good girl,” he finally said, pulling back.

your entire body locked up.

did. he. just.

“keep it up,” he added casually, walking off like he hadn’t just detonated a dirty bomb in your brain.

you managed to hold the plank for another ten seconds before collapsing into a heap, thighs burning and mind spinning.

grocery girl? more like gone girl.

but as you left the gym that night, legs wobbling and sanity in tatters, you couldn’t stop replaying his words.

maybe next time, you wouldn’t just be locking in groceries. maybe you’d be swinging something a little more...muscular.

— ☆

you burst into the gym like a bat out of hell, duffel bag slung over your shoulder, cheeks flushed, and already out of breath — and you hadn’t even started the workout yet.

the weeknd’s smooth, sultry vocals blared from the speakers, which only made the scene more ridiculous. this wasn’t exactly the kind of music that screamed “fitness bootcamp.” but then again, satoru — ever the chaotic piece of shit — was in charge of the playlist. because why not let the white-haired menace control everything?

“late again,” toji’s voice sliced through the air, sharp and low, cutting right into your frazzled panic.

you froze mid-sprint, your brain short-circuiting as you turned toward him. he was standing at the front of the gym, arms crossed, one brow raised in a perfect arch of judgment.

“got caught up,” you said, lamely holding up your water bottle like it explained anything.

toji didn’t budge. he didn’t even blink. instead, his eyes dragged over you slowly, assessing. it wasn’t the fun kind of eyeing-up you hoped for; it was the “how much time are you about to waste” look.

“class started fifteen minutes ago,” he said, his tone laced with that signature mix of annoyance and condescension that had you wanting to melt into the floor.

“yeah, well, blame the playlist,” you blurted, motioning toward the speakers. “you ever try running on time to ‘earned it?’”

the corner of toji’s mouth twitched, but he quickly covered it by rubbing the back of his neck. “don’t try blaming satoru for your inability to read a clock.”

you swallowed, your cheeks heating up even more. “i’ll make it up, promise!”

toji snorted, shaking his head as he stepped closer. “oh, you’ll make it up alright.”

you blinked. “huh?”

“stay after class,” he said simply, his gaze locking onto yours. “you can finish the session one-on-one. wouldn’t want you wasting that bargain-bin fee you paid for this ‘hot girl summer’ thing.”

your jaw nearly hit the floor. stay back? alone? with toji? 

your brain immediately jumped into overdrive, filling in all the blanks with...decidedly non-fitness-related scenarios.

“uh, sure,” you managed to squeak, your voice somehow two octaves higher than normal.

“good,” he said, already turning away. “get moving, grocery girl. we’re doing circuits today.”

as you stumbled to the nearest mat, still reeling from the interaction, satoru leaned out from behind the front desk, earbuds dangling.

“one-on-one, huh?” he sing-songed, loud enough for you to hear over the weeknd’s crooning. “careful, rookie. toji’s not great with boundaries.”

toji flipped him the bird without even looking back, and you bit your lip to stop yourself from laughing — or screaming.

you didn’t know whether to be mortified or excited, but one thing was certain: this program was about to get a whole lot more interesting.

toji leaned against the squat rack, arms folded over his chest, watching you with a smirk that had trouble written all over it. sure, he didn’t care who rolled into class late — hell, he didn’t even care if they showed up. paycheck was a paycheck. but you? oh, you were special.

watching you stumble in all flustered and breathless, making excuses about playlists and time management? priceless.

now, you were sprawled out on the bench, your brows furrowed in determination as you pushed up a whole ten kilograms like it was the weight of the world. your form was...passable, at best.

“careful there, champ,” toji drawled, stepping closer. “don’t wanna overdo it. wouldn’t want you pulling a muscle with that massive load.”

you shot him a glare, though the pink creeping up your neck betrayed your attempt at nonchalance. “’s fine. i’ve got this.”

toji crouched down next to you, resting his forearms on his knees as he tilted his head, studying your face. “uh-huh. ya sure? y’er arms shakin’ like a chihuahua in a thunderstorm.”

“they’re not!” you protested, though your voice wobbled a little.

“mhmm,” he hummed, leaning in just enough to make your pulse spike. “y’er breathin’ all wrong too. gotta pace yourself. in through your nose, out through your mouth. like this.”

before you could argue, he demonstrated, exhaling slow and deliberate, his lips quirking into a smirk when your eyes flicked to them.

“got it?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

you nodded quickly, your grip on the bar tightening as you tried to focus.

“good,” he said, standing up and moving behind the bench. “because i’m upping the weight.”

“what — wait!” you yelped, nearly dropping the bar as he added an extra plate to each side.

“relaaxx, grocery girl,” toji said, his smirk widening. “y’er stronger than ya think. or is it all talk?”

your jaw dropped. “i’m not all talk!”

“prove it.”

you gritted your teeth, determined not to give him the satisfaction of backing down. with a deep breath, you pushed up the bar again, your muscles screaming in protest.

“there you go,” toji said, his voice annoyingly calm. “juusst like that. keep goin’. you wanna make it to after-class, don’t you?”

you nearly dropped the bar. “excuse me?!”

toji chuckled, his eyes glinting with mischief. “you heard me. gotta be in top shape for...extra training. wouldn’t wanna disappoint, would you?”

you sat up, face burning, and watched him walk away, his broad shoulders and infuriating smirk seared into your brain.

what the hell had you signed up for?

— ☆

toji cursed under his breath, leaning on the counter at the front desk where satoru was spinning a pen between his fingers like he had nothing better to do.

“the hell are you even doing here?” toji grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “you’re not even working today.”

“who says ‘m not working?” satoru chirped, not bothering to look up. “i’m in charge of morale. and you look like you could use some.”

toji rolled his eyes. “whatever. just...ya got a condom or what?”

that got satoru’s attention. the pen stilled, and his blue eyes flicked up, wide with mock surprise. “toji fushiguro asking me for protection? man, didn’t think i’d live to see the day!”

“shut the hell up,” toji growled, looking around like the floor might swallow him whole.

“relax, big guy,” satoru teased, standing up and fishing through his gym bag. “why do you need one anyway? didn’t know you were into ‘safe sets.’”

toji’s eye twitched. “just hand it over.”

“ohhh,” satoru grinned, pulling out a foil packet and dangling it between two fingers. “don’t tell me this is for grocery girl? you finally gonna ask her if she’s dtf?”

toji swiped the condom out of his hand, shoving it in his pocket. “shut up, and dtf doesn’t mean what you think it does.”

“doesn’t it?” satoru grinned, leaning on the counter. “down to flexibility? full-body workout? man, she’s been killing those planks lately. bet she could handle it.”

toji muttered something incomprehensible, walking away before he could throttle the smug bastard.

back in the gym, you were finishing your last set, your face flushed and sweat dripping down your temple. despite the tremble in your arms, you racked the weights with a triumphant sigh.

“better late than never,” toji said, his voice low and smug as he appeared beside you.

“jesus, do you ever not sneak up on people?” you snapped, though your smile betrayed the irritation.

“you survived,” he said, ignoring your jab and eyeing you with a mix of approval and something darker. “good. now you ready for your after-class session?”

you blinked, tilting your head in confusion. “after-class? i thought we were done.”

toji smirked, leaning in just enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him. “oh, we’re just getting started.”

his eyes flicked over you, lingering just long enough to make your breath hitch.

“now let’s see how flexible you really are,” he murmured, straightening up and motioning for you to follow him.

your heart pounded as you trailed behind him, the faintest smirk tugging at your lips.

maybe satoru wasn’t entirely wrong about the full-body workout after all.

— ☆

you may have looked like the epitome of gym-girl confidence on the outside, with your matching hot pink spandex set, a perfectly executed high ponytail, and that “accidental” giggle whenever toji smirked your way, but inside? absolute chaos. a full-blown mental spiral.

did you stink? like...bad enough to ruin the vibe? gym sweat wasn’t exactly the kind that screamed sexy glisten. and no, BO unfortunately didn’t stand for bend over — though give it a few minutes and maybe that could change. if you played your cards right.

was your hair still in place? you couldn’t even check without making it obvious. sure, it felt secure, but your elastic had seen things today, and who’s to say it wasn’t moments away from snapping like your sanity?

and your lips — oh god, your lips. you’d spent twenty minutes on that routine before leaving the house, crafting the kind of pout that was supposed to say “effortlessly kissable.” the process itself had been more intensive than a skincare regime, involving a lineup of:

a honey sugar scrub (scrub, rinse, repeat),

a hydrating lip mask (because you weren’t about to let crust ruin the vibe),

a peach-toned lip liner to enhance the shape (read: fake plumpness),

a glossy pink-tinted balm for the natural flush, and

a strategically placed clear gloss dab right at the center for that “i’m dewy and so is my life” illusion.

now? that careful work had probably melted into oblivion, and you were too chicken to check in case it looked like you’d been eating barbecue wings during your bench presses.

but there was no time to worry about any of that now. because toji — yes, your gym instructor toji — had waved you into the locker room with one of those stupidly smug smirks, the kind that promised trouble.

and now here you were, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the empty space, his broad frame taking up way too much room as he leaned against the lockers, arms crossed.

“so,” he drawled, his deep voice practically dripping with amusement, “you gonna stand there all day, or did you actually wanna get to the...extra training?”

you swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry despite your meticulous hydration schedule all day. “oh, um, yeah. totally. i’m ready.”

toji arched a brow, taking a slow step toward you. “you sure? because you look a little...distracted.”

“i’m not distracted!” you blurted, louder than intended. “i’m just...focused.”

he chuckled, low and gravelly, closing the space between you in two strides. “focused, huh?” his gaze flicked down to your lips, lingering just long enough to make your knees wobble.

“then prove it,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “show me just how much you’ve been paying attention.”

your breath hitched as he leaned in, his hand coming to rest on the locker beside your head.

mental checklist? forgotten. lip gloss? nonexistent. your name? who even knows.

but whatever was about to happen, you were damn sure it was about to be worth it.

— ☆

toji had this all planned out — or so he thought. 

he was supposed to be the cool, non-chalant one here, the collected gym instructor with the alpha energy. though just thinking that phrase made him grimace. alpha energy? 

yikes. he’d rather drop his dumbbells on his own feet than lean into that nonsense.

but still, he had a role to play, didn’t he? lead the charge, keep it professional until it wasn’t. you know, manly things. hot-gym-instructor-guy things. 

except now, as he leaned casually (or so he hoped) against the locker, one arm propped above your head, his brain was running through a thousand different scenarios, none of which involved him being the one to lose his cool first.

toji couldn’t help it though — he was sweating. not just the faint gym sheen kind of sweat, but the sweating bullets kind, the kind that made him worried he’d be the one stinking up the confined space of the locker room. which, really, was the last thing he needed when he was trying to exude effortless charm.

he opened his mouth, ready to play it smooth. “so, you —”

and then your lips were on his, crashing into him with so much urgency it almost made him stumble.

oh. okay then.

toji froze for half a second — half a heartbeat — before the message clicked loud and clear in his brain. whatever he thought he was going to say, whatever stupid quip he had lined up, melted into nothing as he cupped the back of your head, pulling you closer like the damn door to the locker room was about to disappear and leave you stranded.

you tasted faintly like strawberries, probably from whatever overpriced lip product you’d slathered on before this, and toji had to suppress the urge to groan. the kind of groan that might make you think he was more desperate than he wanted to admit. but the way your hands fisted in his tank top, tugging him even closer, made him reconsider — maybe desperation wasn’t so bad.

he pulled back just enough to look at you, your lips flushed and eyes wide, and gave a low chuckle that felt more confident than he actually was in the moment. “well,” he drawled, his voice rougher than he intended, “guess we’re skipping the warm-up.”

you rolled your eyes, but your breath hitched as his hand slid down to your waist. “don’t act like you weren’t waiting for it.”

toji smirked, leaning in until his lips brushed against your ear. “message received, loud and clear, sweetheart.”

he might’ve thought he was supposed to be in charge, but hell, he wasn’t complaining about this turn of events.

“now let’s see if you’ve been keeping up with your endurance training,” he murmured, his voice teasing, but his grip on your hips told you he was already taking this challenge seriously.

training? oh, the session was just getting started.

— ☆

you thought you had an idea. you’d done your research, watched enough videos of the kind of stuff that should’ve prepped you for moments like this. but this? this was an entirely new level of freaky, toe-curling, brain-melting insanity.

toji had a system, a stupidly cruel system that you were 90% sure he cooked up just to mess with you. it was simple: he’d trace a muscle on your body, one agonizingly slow swipe of his rough fingertips at a time, and if you guessed the name of it right? well, you’d cum that many times.

easy, right? wrong. so wrong.

especially because right now, this cocky little shit had your gym spandex yanked down to your thighs, your ass perched high in the air, and was treating this whole situation like it was a damn trivia segment on who wants to be a millionaire. except the prize wasn’t cash — it was a full-blown ride to pound-town.

“alright, genius,” he drawled, his voice dripping with amusement as his fingers brushed over the curve of your shoulder, down to your upper arm. “name this muscle.”

you froze, your breath hitching as the cool air brushed against your heated skin. “uh — uh, the...deltoid?” you stammered, hoping the few snippets of your high school bio class would come in clutch.

toji snorted, clearly unimpressed. “correct. guess you do pay attention sometimes.”

the next second, he was gripping your hip, his free hand sliding between your thighs in a way that made your brain short-circuit. 

oh.

“‘s one,” he muttered against your ear, low and teasing. “don’t get cocky yet, though. we’ve barely started.” 

you barely had time to catch your breath before his hand trailed lower, stopping just above your thigh. “now,” he continued, his tone infuriatingly calm for a man currently wrecking your ability to think straight, “what’s this one called?”

you blinked, frantically rummaging through the dark corners of your mind for an answer. shit, what was it? quad? hamstring? quad-something?

“uh...quadricep?” you ventured, your voice shaking.

toji hummed, the sound vibrating against your skin. “good girl. maybe there’s hope for you after all.”

then he moved. his hand, his lips, the sheer weight of him — every part of him was suddenly everywhere at once, dragging you so close you could barely breathe.

and just when you thought you might lose it, he leaned back, smirking like the devil himself. 

“next question,” he said, his fingers brushing over the curve of your back. “get it wrong, and we start all over again. think you can handle that, doll?”

you groaned, face buried in your arms. “‘s isn’t fair,” you muttered.

toji chuckled, dark and low. “oh, sweetheart, life isn’t fair. but this?” his grip tightened, his breath warm against your ear. “this is me being generous.”

generous? you’d show him generous. if you didn’t pass out first.

— ☆

“well, well,” toji murmured, his breath hot against your neck as he trailed his lips down your spine, his rough palms kneading the soft curve of your hips. “looks like someone paid attention in class after all. didn’t think you’d actually pass my lil’ quiz, but here we are.”

you should’ve felt victorious, proud even. but all you could focus on was the heat pooling between your thighs and the way his voice dipped into that gravelly tone, each word laced with promise.

“so here’s the reward,” he drawled, sliding a hand beneath you to spread your thighs just a little wider. “two orgasms. back to back. think you can keep up, sweetheart?”

you shuddered, biting down hard on your lip to stop the whimper threatening to spill out.

toji smirked, watching you squirm under him. “oh no, no. don’t get shy on me now,” he teased, his fingers dragging along your slick folds, collecting the evidence of just how desperate you were. “your little cunt’s doin’ all the talkin’ for ya anyway. she’s real chatty tonight, huh?”

you buried your face in your arms, heat blooming across your cheeks as the filthy squelch echoed in the confined space of the locker room.

“awww, embarrassed?” he chuckled darkly, pressing two fingers into you without warning. “don’t be. she’s got a lot to say, and trust me, ‘m alll ears.”

you gasped, clamping a hand over your mouth as he started a slow, deliberate rhythm, curling his fingers just right.

“ah-ah,” toji chided, grabbing your wrist and pinning it to the locker above your head. “none of that. i said quiet, but not that quiet. lemme hear you, baby.”

you whimpered, hips bucking against his hand as his pace quickened, his free hand gripping your ass to keep you in place.

“fucckkk,” he muttered, glancing down at the ruined fabric of your hot pink pants. “look at that. already makin’ a mess, huh?”

your head shot up, panic flashing across your face. “toji! these are new —”

“not my problem,” he interrupted, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he pressed his thumb against your clit, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. “you shoulda thought about that before you wore somethin’ so tight. can’t even blame me. ya lil’ cunt’s the one makin’ all the mess.”

you groaned, half from frustration and half from the sheer overwhelming sensation as he added another finger, stretching you just right.

“tell ya what,” he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as he leaned closer, lips brushing against your ear. “if you make it through both without ruinin’ those pants completely...maybe, just maybe, i’ll pay for the dry cleaning.”

“but if ya don’t?” toji chuckled, biting gently at your earlobe. “well...guess you’ll just have to wear ‘em messy next time.”

— ☆

“fucckk, you’re s’tight,” toji grunted, his fingers dragging slick trails over your thighs as he teased his tip against your entrance. “first with those tiny-ass weights, now this? guess i gotta stretch you out for the real deal, huh?”

you whimpered into your forearm, legs trembling from the aftershocks of the first orgasm he’d just coaxed out of you with his damn fingers alone. your head was a haze of pleasure and overstimulation, too lost in it to even realize how thoroughly you’d ruined your cute pink pants.

“hey,” he rasped, smacking your ass lightly to snap you back. “don’t go floatin’ off on me just yet, sweetheart. we’re just gettin’ started.”

his voice dropped lower, the sound rolling through the locker room like a growl as he pressed the fat head of his cock to your slick entrance, giving just the slightest nudge. “shit, you’re fuckin’ drippin’ already. you want it that bad, huh? bet you couldn’t even tell me when your pants hit the floor.”

“toji,” you whimpered, trying to form a coherent thought, but it all shattered the moment he pushed just the tip inside.

“ohh fuucckkk yeah,” he groaned, his head tilting back, a shudder running through his massive frame. “ya feel that, baby? nice and slow…fuckin’ perfect fit.”

he sank in another inch, his girth forcing you to stretch around him. the burn was sweet, electric, and you couldn’t stop the high-pitched cry that escaped your lips.

“shi, don’t go cryin’ on me now,” he muttered, though his voice was laced with a smirk. “or is it just ‘cause s’too big, huh? couldn’t handle me even if you tried.”

your walls fluttered around him at his words, and he hissed through his teeth, gripping your hips to steady you. “oh, ya like that? filthy lil’ girl. already squeezin’ me like you don’t want me to pull out.”

you tried to push back, eager to take more of him, but toji’s hand slammed down on the curve of your back, holding you in place. “nuh-uh, not s’fast. you’re gonna take me slow, jussst like this,” he grunted, rocking his hips forward and shoving another few inches inside.

“fucccck,” he hissed, leaning down so his chest pressed against your back, his voice all gravel and heat in your ear. “you’re gonna break under me, baby, but you’ll fuckin’ thank me for it later.”

you moaned, gripping the locker for dear life as he finally bottomed out, his cock buried so deep you swore you could feel him in your stomach.

“there we go,” he growled, pulling back slightly before slamming back in, the force jolting you forward. “shit, look at you, takin’ it so good. bet you’ll be thinking ‘bout this every time you put those tight little gym pants on again, huh?”

he thrust again, harder this time, his cock dragging against every nerve ending as he set a brutal pace.

“fuckin’ mess,” he groaned, looking down at the slick mess coating your thighs and dripping onto the floor. “but don’t worry, baby. promise i’ll make it worth ya while.”

toji’s pace was merciless, each snap of his hips pushing you further into the lockers as your trembling hands scrambled for something — anything — to hold on to. the metal surface was cold under your palms, a sharp contrast to the fiery heat pooling low in your belly.

“fuck, look at you,” he grunted behind you, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “all that attitude earlier, now ya can’t even keep your knees steady.”

you whimpered, trying to push back against him, but your legs were too weak to cooperate. toji didn’t seem to mind, one arm looping around your waist to pull you flush against him as his other hand dipped between your legs. the first stroke of his fingers over your clit had your head lolling back against his chest.

“shit,” you gasped, barely able to form the word as he worked tight, relentless circles against the swollen bud.

“what was that, baby?” toji’s voice was a rough purr in your ear, laced with amusement. “can’t hear you over all that babblin’. ya sayin’ somethin’ real important, huh?”

you weren’t, not really. every attempt to speak came out as a mix of incoherent cries and choked moans, your brain too fogged up to string together a single coherent thought.

toji chuckled, leaning back just enough to grab your tit through the snug fabric of your gym top. “shiit, look at these,” he murmured, giving it a firm squeeze that had you arching into his touch. “what’s this one called, huh? c’mon, grocery girl, don’t tell me you’ve been skipping anatomy class.”

you blinked rapidly, trying to summon any semblance of a logical response, but the only thing that tumbled out of your mouth was a breathy, “b-boobs.”

toji froze. for a moment, the locker room was silent except for the wet, obscene sounds of your slick and his choked laugh. “boobs?” he repeated, his tone a mix of disbelief and amusement.

“uh-huh,” you nodded dumbly, too far gone to register the trap you’d just walked into.

toji groaned, but not the kind that promised satisfaction. he pulled back just slightly, the absence of his cock stretching you leaving you whining in frustration. “wrong answer, sweetheart.”

“w-what?” you stammered, your brain slowly catching up.

he pulled his hand away from your clit, ignoring your desperate whine. “told you, you gotta earn it. and what ya just said? ain’t even a muscle.”

“but —”

“nah,” he interrupted, gripping your hips to keep you from squirming against him. “you don’t even get the extra credit for effort.”

you felt him shift behind you, his cock brushing against your inner thigh, just out of reach.

“toojiiii!” you practically wailed, your voice pitching in desperation.

“naaahh, don’t ‘toji’ me now,” he drawled, smirking even though you couldn’t see him. “guess you’ll just have to wait for round two to get it right.”

the realization hit you like a truck: no correct answer, no dick. 

“it’s the pectoralis major!” you blurted out, your voice cracking with panic.

toji chuckled low in his throat. “shit, there’s my smart girl,” he murmured, thrusting back inside you with one sharp, fluid motion that knocked the air out of your lungs.

“fuck, baby,” he grunted, picking up his punishing pace once again. “next time, don’t make me work so hard for it, yeah?”

you’re not sure who to thank first — god, your ancestors, or that one stray eyelash wish you made last week — because the way toji’s pounding into you feels like some divine intervention. maybe all of them had a hand in it. you’re sobbing — like, genuinely sobbing — and not just because of the hair-pulling or the fact that toji’s filthy mouth has been spewing the most degrading things you’ve ever heard.

“shit, cryin’ already?” his voice is rough, tinged with smug amusement as he fists your hair tighter. “can’t handle it, baby? nah, you’re tougher than that. gotta be — still lettin’ me wreck this tight little pussy like it’s mine.”

you hiccup a broken moan, legs trembling so violently you’re barely upright, and the lockers are the only thing keeping you from collapsing. your second orgasm hits you like a freight train, ripping through your body so hard you swear you lose all sense of time and space.

“therrre she goes,” toji groans, his grip on your waist tightening as he drives into you harder, chasing his own high. “look at this mess. got you so fucked out you don’t even know where you are, huh?”

you can’t respond — not with how your body’s spasming, clamping down on him like a vice, dragging him closer to his edge.

“fuck, gonna cum with me, yeah?” he growls, voice strained, his hips stuttering as he holds you so close it feels like you’re merging into one.

him cumming is the final nail in the coffin, sending you careening into an aftershock so intense you’re genuinely concerned you might pass out. both of you stay locked in place, panting heavily, sweat dripping off your bodies as the reality of your very messy situation sets in.

toji’s the first to break the silence, his lips quirking into a lazy smirk. “guess you’re gonna need a new gym set, huh? no savin’ this one.”

you groan, burying your face against the locker as if it could somehow swallow you whole. “yeah, no shit.”

he chuckles, pulling back just enough to smack your ass lightly, earning a half-hearted glare from you. “don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it, baby. besides…” he shrugs, flexing a little in his tank top as he adjusts it. “i still look good in this, so we both won here.”

“we truly live in a society,” you mutter under your breath, earning another laugh from him.

he leans down to kiss the side of your neck, smirking against your skin. “damn right we do. now, c’mon, let’s clean up before satoru comes snoopin’. dude’s nosier than a fuckin’ bloodhound.”

— ☆

toji, ever the professional, seems to flip a switch the moment your sweaty, blissed-out bodies part. he’s tugging his tank top back into place and wiping his face like he’s about to lead another class. the audacity. 

his voice takes on this infuriatingly instructional tone, his hand on your lower back steadying you as he rattles off something about muscle recovery or post-workout hydration.

“you’re gonna wanna stretch that hamstring later,” he mutters, glancing down at your wobbly legs that threaten to betray you with every second. “looks like you overworked it — shouldn’t push yourself too hard, sweetheart.”

you blink at him, utterly dumbfounded.  this man — this man — is casually chatting about hamstrings while his cum is literally dripping down your thighs and your legs are trembling so hard you could probably register on the richter scale.

“you’re seriously talking about muscles right now?” you deadpan, crossing your arms even though they feel like noodles. “toji, ’m boutta faceplant, and you’re out here giving me a biology lecture.”

he grins, a little too pleased with himself, and leans down to plant his hands on his knees, face so close you can practically feel the warmth of his breath. “what, want me to kiss it better or somethin’?”

“kiss me, idiot,” you huff, tugging him forward by the neckline of that stupidly tight tank top until your lips meet his.

and just like that, the gym instructor act shatters. his shoulders relax, his hand curling around your waist with a gentleness that feels so at odds with how he’d been handling you not five minutes ago.

he hums against your lips, pulling back just enough to mutter, “damn, baby, you’re somethin’ else.”

“soooo, does this mean you’re carrying my groceries now?” you tease, brushing some of your messed-up hair out of your face.

“depends,” he smirks, straightening up and patting your ass with zero shame. “can you walk without lookin’ like a baby deer? if not, ’m keepin’ my hands free to catch ya when you inevitably fall on your cute little face.”

you roll your eyes, ignoring the heat creeping up your neck. “big talk for someone who can’t keep his hands to himself.”

“can’t help it,” he shrugs, leaning in close again with that wolfish grin of his. “you make it too damn easy, princess.”

if he keeps this up, your next gym session might be less about training and more about dodging toji’s wandering hands in the frozen food aisle.

produced by creamflix on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, modify, repost — support your writers by liking and reblogging. ♡ banners by cafekitsune

[bisquitly]

So... I have just casually shown pics of my current obsession with my 13 years old self obsession... I feel very normal and stable about this... yeeeah...

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

I CRUMBLE COMPLETELY WHEN YOU CRY ; SUGURU GETO

synopsis; after a tense fight with your boyfriend, you flee out into a brewing rainstorm. luckily, suguru is always willing to warm you up again.

word count; 6.2k

contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader, copious amounts of hurt/comfort, no really that’s literally all this fic is, sugu snaps at you for worrying about him, (and then promptly spirals), he makes it up to you though :), healthy communication ensues, [name] is used exactly once, switching povs, soft & fluffy ending <33

a/n; going back to my roots (mindless hurt/comfort) 🙏🙏 i just think that if suguru picked me up like a small kitten and put me in his lap it would fix me

you’re cold.

little shivers run through your body, trail down your spine, and all you can do is clench your chattering teeth and dig your nails into the skin of your palms. heavy rain falls down without mercy, going pitter patter as it hits the asphalt — a sudden lightning strike lights up the town, flashing in the reflection of puddles, and all you manage is a weak jolt.

dark clouds blanket the whole sky, not allowing even a sliver of blue to shine through the darkness of the rainy evening. enveloping you, surrounding you, soft earthy scents — wet asphalt, roses blooming to your left and right, bushes with sweet-smelling flora guiding your path. little petals, glistening with droplets and bouncing with the force of the rain.

it’d be comforting, were it not for one simple fact; 

you don’t have an umbrella.

at this point, thirty minutes into your solemn, sniffly walk, you’re absolutely soaked. with only a measly hoodie to cover your body and head, and a tank top sticking to the skin beneath it — you were stupid to think you’d get out of it unscathed. your shoes are ruined, wet soles sticking to the asphalt, two heavy weights carrying you down the familiar street ahead.

you let out a shuddering breath. 

gosh, this was stupid. you knew it was going to rain, but still walked out without a care in the world; despite the weather forecast, despite suguru’s warnings over breakfast, despite all those dark clouds covering the milk-blue sky. you just didn’t think it’d be this bad. you just felt so helpless.

you just couldn’t stay there.

some fresh air, and a bit of space. that was all you needed. just that one sliver of comfort.

so, yeah, maybe you weren’t thinking very clearly when you stormed out. maybe you weren’t thinking nearly enough, not enough to even grab one of the umbrellas hanging off the coatrack. hanging there just for you, the cutest little frog umbrella, one suguru bought for you himself. big, googly eyes, and a big smile. the most perfect shade of green. 

(he put it there just for you.)

maybe you weren’t thinking much at all. maybe you just needed to get away, away from him, away from the frustration on his features. arguments with suguru are few and far between; that fact only adds to the sting of his cold voice, still ringing in your ears. you bite down on your bottom lip again, just to stop it from wobbling so pitifully. blinking rapidly, tears and raindrops clinging to your lashline.

you were just worried. is that so awful? 

(why did he have to be so fucking mean about it?)

a sigh flows from your lips, heavy and defeated, undeniably tired. you hate feeling like this, feeling this bitter, hate feeling like you’ve done something wrong. more than anything, you hate arguing with him — hate the idea of him being angry with you. hate the way his voice turns colder, just a little sharper, an octave lower. he never raises it, never ever, but somehow he still sounds so scary. 

it bothers you. bothers you how sensitive you are, when it comes to him. just that shivering tilt of his voice, coupled with the annoyance in his eyes, and your eyes were already turning glassy. one little sentence, and you were close to breaking out into a sob. because suguru was angry with you, and that alone is enough to make you feel like you’ve done nothing right all your life.

so you left. because that was all you could do. 

sure, the sharp pelting of the rain hurts a little, and the thunder is scary, and you’re awfully cold — but anything is better than having suguru see you burst into tears over such a small argument. you know he’d try to soothe you, know he’d feel guilty. but that just makes it all the more embarrassing. 

(all the more pathetic.)

so you left, rushed out of your own apartment, and before you knew it the storm was rolling in above you. rain and thunder, something to rival the ache in your chest. it still hasn’t been that long, a little over half an hour, and you still haven’t fully calmed down. you still don’t know how to face him. but —

but fuck, it’s cold. and an undeniable part of you yearns to run back into his arms, to make up with him, to hear his voice turn warm and see his eyes go soft. you want him to soothe you so, so badly. like he always does. 

another sigh — more resigned this time — slips from out your lips. your bones feel sore, you’re almost certain you’re going to catch a cold, and it’s getting late. you’re all alone, and it’s raining, and you look vulnerable and helpless. 

you want to go home.

it’ll be awkward, but maybe you can sneak in somehow — without him noticing. then you can go straight to sleep, on the couch, and maybe you’ll feel a little better tomorrow. the two of you can talk it out over breakfast, over warm coffee, and you can tell him what you meant to say without stumbling over what words to use or dancing around the subject like a scared little child.

you’re just too tired to argue anymore.

he just made you feel so stupid. so very, very small. suguru’s been working so hard lately, coming home late, exhausting himself. all you wanted was to make sure he was okay. that, and to coax him into relaxing a bit; maybe take a day off to recharge. that was all.

but he just brushed you off.

and, well, maybe you should’ve backed off after that. maybe you should’ve taken that as a sign that suguru didn’t feel up to answering your questions. but you were just so worried, so pitifully anxious, and you just wanted to help him so, so badly.

suguru is always so dependable. always there to help you, to ground you, to console you. even when you push him away or insist you don’t need it. he can be pushy, when he feels like he needs to, when your health is at risk — and it’s frustrating, but you’ve always appreciated it. you just wanted to return the favour. push him, just a little, to show him how much you care. show him that he can depend on you the way he insists you do with him.

but then he grew frustrated.

”suguru… you’ve been working so much, i’m —” you bite down on your bottom lip. ”i’m just worried that you’re overdoing it.” ”… god. how many times do i have to say it? i know my limits, [name].” ”but — you just look so tired —” ”well, i’m sorry for that.” a cold smile. ”am i not living up to your expectations?”

(that’s not what you meant. he knows that’s not what you meant.)

and it makes you feel frustrated, too. pardon you for being worried. for wanting to be there for him, for once, for wanting to be a supportive partner and not just a burden. 

pardon you for feeling a little lonely, with him coming home so late, leaving so early. with him not giving you the affection you’re so used to, and never confiding in you about his stress.

pardon you for wanting him to trust you, a little, even just a sliver more than not at all.

god, you’re exhausted. you just want to sleep — can’t you have that, at least? just that one thing? you don’t mind sleeping on the couch, don’t mind feeling like a stranger in your own home, as long as you get to rest your eyes. just for a little while. 

your brain spins in circles, bitterness and longing heavy on your tongue, as you grumble over what to do or how to feel — 

while your feet have already begun taking you home. moving almost on their own, on instinct, walking past rose bushes and backyards, the smell of glucose and rotting apples. 

and you’re there before you know it: in front of the familiar door to your shared apartment, soaked from head to toe. still feeling a little lost.

for a second, you hesitate.

maybe he’s still angry. maybe he was happy to get some time away from you. maybe you’re just making things worse by doing this, maybe you should just —

but your fingers have already fished out the key from within your pocket, unlocking the door in one swift motion. moving up to curl around the doorknob, a desperation in your veins guiding you closer to his steady warmth.

and before you have the chance to waver again, you pull the door open and step inside.

you move slowly, gentle and careful, almost cautious. softly closing the door behind you and taking a couple quiet steps forward, only to shrug off your hoodie — heavy, soaking wet and discomforting as you pull it over your head. clumsily, you try to get it off you, squirming when the warm indoors air meets your sweaty tank top. it feels soothing on your bare skin, though, ghosting over your shoulders and collarbone, hoodie now clinging to your elbows.

in the middle of the taxing endeavor, you almost fail to notice the presence of a certain someone, standing just a little farther away. 

almost, because it’d be impossible for you to miss him, that heavy gaze of his.

and before you can think the thought to do anything else, you’ve locked eyes with him — arms still tangled up in the wet sleeves of your hoodie, raindrops and sweat sticking to your skin.

(suguru takes a moment to look at you.)

not daring to say anything, afraid to part your lips, you simply stand there. in silence, like a deer in headlights. for some reason, you can’t really read his expression — you’re a little too tired, a little too caught off guard.

you can only blink, worry surely evident in your furrowed brows, as the seconds tick on and on. tense, tense, tense.

and then he’s walking away again. 

crestfallen. that’s probably the best way to describe how you feel right now, watching him disappear around the corner. dejected, as your eyes fall to the floor, and your posture wilts like a dying rose. you finally shake off your hoodie and watch it fall to the floor with a gross, wet plap.

it hurts. you want to cry. you can’t help it. even though a part of you is still upset, even though a part of you fully expected this to happen… 

another part was still hoping he’d be happy to see you. as if just seeing his smile again might’ve fixed everything.

but he didn’t even give you that.

that’s that, then. there’s nothing you can do except proceed with your original plan. you’ll change into some warm, dry clothes, and go to sleep on the couch like the miserable dog you are. you’ll leave everything troublesome and disheartening for tomorrow’s you to handle. 

for now, you just have to worry about getting some sleep. you don’t have to think about suguru, or his cold voice, or the way he just walked away without saying anything. 

you don’t have to think about him at all. 

(don’t think. don’t think. don’t —)

— the soft patter of footsteps breaks you out of your anxious spiral. they come closer and closer, until a certain silhouette enters your vision out of the corner of your eye.

a certain suguru geto, hair down and cascading past his shoulders, wearing a comfortable sweater and loose sweatpants with a fluffy towel in tow.

once again, you can only blink. a vaguely confused deer in headlights. suguru comes closer and closer, until you can clearly see his eyes, amber gold, full of an emotion you finally manage to identify —

worry.

(ah.)

before you can say anything, he’s draped the towel around you. it feels nice, a soft texture on your skin, big enough to engulf you completely, cocooning you. cozy and snug. you can’t help but melt a little when suguru places his big hand over the towel and smooths it over your cheek, drying off your skin so gently that you feel like crying again.

”are you cold?” he asks, concern evident in his voice. to your immense relief, it sounds nowhere near as scary as before. ”you’re soaked…”

suguru almost seems to be pouting, bottom lip jutting out the slightest bit, eyebrows furrowed softly. still rubbing the raindrops off your skin. he looks awfully troubled, undeniably anxious, and the way he’s caressing your skin feels so earnestly caring. the towel feels warm, like he went the extra mile to heat it up for you.

and, more than anything, the feeling of suguru’s big hands cupping your face is almost heavenly. even though the touch is indirect, you can’t help but bask in his warmth, almost desperate to cling to it after escaping from the harsh cold of the rain. like he could slip away and leave you again if you don’t stay perfectly still, just like this.

it’s soothing. so, so soothing. but it also makes you feel kind of meek.

you sound sheepish when you answer, voice a little hoarse after your grueling walk. throat dry from all the crying. ”nah, ’m fine…”

the words are tiny, fragile like pieces of glass, and they only make suguru’s brows furrow further, pout turning into a soft frown as he gazes down at you.

(he hates how small you look. like you’re curling in on yourself.)

as soon as you left the apartment, a wave of regret washed over him. it was expected, obviously, because that’s what always happens after the two of you argue — which is almost never, which only makes the cut in his heart run deeper. 

he felt frustrated. and tired, so tired. but when he saw your troubled expression, the way your eyes watered slightly before you rushed out…

he could only feel guilty.

and that sensation only deepened as he sat on the couch and spiraled, over the course of forty long minutes, playing the interaction back inside his head. over and over, thinking about your words, his words, some of which he desperately wishes he could take back. 

and when it started raining? suguru could only feel regret, hot and ugly, dragging him into his own thoughts. could only drown in his worries, look out the window anxiously. thinking of you, his sweet baby, stuck under the onslaught of dark clouds and lightning strikes and heavy rain.

(you didn’t bring an umbrella.)

suguru waited. that was all he could do. 

he didn’t think it was possible for him to feel so useless. fighting with himself, the part of him that wanted to give you the space you needed clashing with the part that yearned to run after you — scoop you up and apologize, hold you tight and protect you from the rainfall. you weren’t answering his calls, and he didn’t want to overwhelm you, didn’t want to make you feel even worse. afraid to scare you off for good.

so he could only sit there and worry, sit there and wait, wallow in his own shame until he heard the faintest sound of the front door unlocking. followed by the sound of it creaking open, slowly — and that was all he needed. 

and there you were. standing by the entrance, entirely soaked, tank top sticking to your skin and that flimsy hoodie hanging off your arms, cheeks a little red from the cold and strands of hair sticking to your skin.

like a tiny kitten left out in the rain.

it made him feel so painfully anxious. his heart aching so deeply, so viscerally, while all he could think about was smothering you in affection. taking care of you, like he always wants to do, needs to do to stay sane. so suguru left, to go grab something to dry you off with —

and now he’s here. in front of you, smothering you with the towel rather than his love, fretting over you like an overprotective mother. 

suguru yearns to soothe you. to take care of you. always, always, always, his hands on your skin and lidded amber eyes staring deeply into yours. offering himself like a shelter to a stray dog, hoping so tenderly that you’ll take the bait.

(he just wants you to feel safe with him again.)

so he stumbles for something, anything to say, afraid of overstepping or making you uncomfortable. you did just argue, and suguru was anything but patient with you. usually he would be; he’d make sure to be. but with work piling up, and exhaustion clinging to every pore of his skin…

he failed at maintaining his composure.

he needs to make it up to you. despite everything — even though he feels a little awkward, a little restless, still drowning a little in shame — he just wants to tend to you. that, and nothing more.

”hang on,” he exhales, stepping back and letting go of the towel. ”i’ll go draw you a bath…”

”ah — no need,” you smile, a little forced, swiftly reassuring him. he can tell you don’t really know how to act after everything that happened; still walking on eggshells. ”i’ll just take a quick shower.”

suguru wants to protest, wants to coax you into taking a proper bath, into letting your cold skin and aching bones relax completely —

but he can only hum, a little unsure. a little sad. 

”… okay. got it.”

perplexed, he tries his hand at another tactic. still so desperate to take care of you in whatever way you’ll allow, like always, but he thinks it’s worse now. even more desperate, after the fight you had, after seeing your frail, shivering self. resisting the urge to scoop you up and coddle you is a struggle.

”i can make you tea?” he tries, inwardly wincing at the way the words spill from his lips; uncertain, awkward. what a mess.

but you smile, slightly more genuinely this time, a soft little thing. it soothes some of the anxiety rotting through his ribs.

”tea would be great, thank you.”

you brush past him, warm towel still hanging off your shoulders. ”i’ll just take a shower in the meantime,” you murmur, and suguru can do nothing but nod, watching you go. 

he swallows thickly.

(that’s that, then.)

tea. right. what kind of tea? something warm, and soothing, and good for your throat. chamomile? peppermint? he’ll add a spoon of honey, just the way you like.

suguru’s mind spins in circles while his feet take him to the kitchen, hands swiftly rummaging through cabinets and getting the electric kettle ready. placing teacups and a teapot on the table, cute little floral designs he couldn’t help but fill your kitchen with. pouring hot peppermint tea into the pot, a strong scent drifting through the kitchen, drowning his senses in bliss.

caught up in his own head, losing track of time, suguru fails to notice you walking from the bathroom — stopping by the threshold of the kitchen, hesitant to make your presence known. a few silent moments pass. with a tiny inhale, mint invading your senses, you take a step forward. calm and sleepy, skin still pleasantly hot from the warm shower, hair still a little damp.

only then does suguru notice you, his gaze drifting to your figure as if instinctively drawn to it.

you’re clad in some comfortable sweatpants, and an oversized hoodie — his hoodie, the one with the unreasonably soft texture, the one you tend to gravitate towards — the one he likes to see you in the most, because you always look so thoroughly comfy in it. almost drowning in the fabric. 

seeing you all warm and cozy, in his clothing no less, sends a tremor of pure warmth running through suguru’s chest. sprouting in his heart and spreading throughout his entire body. he can’t bring himself to resist the soft curl of his lips, gazing at you so fondly he’s almost sure you notice it.

”i made peppermint,” he says, a little breathless, already pouring boiling tea into two cups on the table. ”that okay?”

”yeah,” you answer, instantaneous. stifling a yawn. you’d have been fine with anything, really.

the shower worked wonders for your muddled mind; chasing away the shivers down your spine, that unpleasant chill to your skin. most importantly, it gave you a moment to simply relax, to bask in the peace and quiet. feel the hot water surround you, melt your bones like softened clay. you feel a little better, now. still anxious, more than a little sleepy, but better. and right now, that’s all you need. 

with a groggy kind of pep in your step, you stumble over to the kitchen table, plopping down on the chair across from where suguru is sitting. trying to get comfortable, knees pressed against your chest, muttering a soft thank you while gingerly touching the rim of the cup.

(suguru frowns, just barely, at the sight. usually you’d sit right next to him. but now you’re in front of him, so very far — as if you’re strangers.

it breaks his heart, a little bit.)

a soft hum leaves your lips when you take a sip of the tea — all warm and comforting and minty on your tongue, a vague taste of something sweet. it’s relaxing, more than anything, and it makes you feel a little more okay with everything.

suguru only watches you, drinking absentmindedly from his own cup. not really tasting anything.

finally, he opts to clear his throat — and your attention falls on him instantly.

”hey,” he starts, ready to address the elephant in the room. his voice is gentle, but decisive, firm somehow. ”about before…”

your body tenses, ever so slightly, fingers uncurling around the handle of the teacup. there’s a kind of shift in the air around you, in suguru’s tone of voice — and you were expecting it, waiting for it anxiously, but that doesn’t make it any less harrowing.

here it comes, your mind seems to sing. here comes the moment everything shatters again.

with as much strength as you can muster, you smile. a little sheepish, just a tad forced, refusing to meet his eyes from across the table. staring into the murky green of your cup and hoping in vain that you can somehow escape this discomfort. 

(you just want to rest. you just want to not have to think about anything.)

”it’s fine, suguru,” you cut him off. softly, but there’s a certain tilt to your voice that strikes him as rather cold. ”we can just drop it.”

the decision in his eyes doesn’t waver. you look meek, awfully troubled, and he hates to force you into another discussion when you’re undoubtedly tired — but suguru’s mind is set. he’s been evasive enough, today.

”no. i want to talk about it properly.”

at that, you seem to deflate a little. suguru is nothing if not stubborn, a quality that always manages to coexist with his gentleness, his desire to be a good partner for you. you can tell he won’t allow you to wriggle away, now that you’re both finally calm. he’s not doing it to exhaust you, not doing it to gain some sort of satisfaction out of ”winning” the argument — he’s doing it because he knows it’s the right thing to do. even if it makes you both a little uncomfortable.

communication is important, immensely so. suguru knows it very well.

and you do, too.

so all you do is curl into yourself, shifting in your seat, allowing him to speak his mind and sipping quietly on your tea. biting back a disgruntled huff, gaze lingering on the tablecloth, little calico cats etched into the fabric. he wanted one with yellow stripes, but still bought this one just for you. just like the ugly matching couple mugs you forced him into buying, the green colour of your kitchen wallpaper. he always places you before himself.

(all you wanted was to change that. just for a night, if nothing else. and he got mad at you for it.)

suguru sighs. it sounds fatigued, not frustrated or disappointed. he runs a hand through his hair, and you can’t help but follow the movement, the soft silky strands and the way he smooths them over. practiced, familiar, absentminded. you could watch him do it forever.

”i had a lot of time to think while you were gone,” he begins, recalling the mental gymnastics he went through while you were away. just sitting on the couch and running himself ragged, trying to be impartial, trying to see your point of view without letting his own bias get in the way.

you sink a little further into the chair, eyes downcast. inhaling the scent of peppermint, trying to prepare yourself for what he might say, the ways this could all go wrong.

”and i realized that you were right.”

…

you blink. once, then twice.

hesitantly, you raise your head, searching for suguru’s gaze. he isn’t looking at you, staring out at the rainfall through the window as if in deep thought. his gaze shifts to meet yours, and something soft flickers through his golden eyes.

he looks troubled, though. trying to find the right words, mind clouded by guilt. chewing at his bottom lip anxiously.

it takes him a moment to gather his thoughts, to weigh the words in his mind, just to make sure he gets them across as smoothly as possible. he’s had more than enough time to verbalize his feelings, to think about what he wants to say to you. it was all he could do while he waited. 

so his voice is earnest, when he continues, sincerely apologetic and thought out.

”i’m always telling you not to overwork yourself. and here i am, doing the same thing…” another sigh. ”you were just worried. i shouldn’t have lashed out — you didn’t deserve that.”

suguru searches for your gaze, and manages to find it. you falter a little under the weight of his eyes, but they’re warm, remorseful. a setting sun.

”i’m sorry.”

a moment of silence passes. then two. three, five. you look down at your cup, the purple hyacinths etched into the porcelain. crumbling under his gaze, at the sound of his genuine apology. 

and suddenly, you feel silly — silly for being so scared, for thinking suguru might still be angry with you. for thinking he wouldn’t spend as much time as needed to properly think about your words, your feelings, even if he might not have been ready to do so when he first heard them.

suguru can be stubborn, if he’s convinced that he’s in the right. but he always, always seeks you out eventually, always makes sure to genuinely look at things from your perspective. 

and, really, it means everything. it means enough to wash away all your leftover irritation, from having him brush you off when you know you didn’t do anything wrong. all the leftover sadness from being pushed away, from not being allowed to take care of him the way he always does for you.

suguru isn’t perfect, but he tries harder than anyone you know. tries his very best to be as close to perfect as he can possibly get — for you, for the both of you. he’s considerate enough, mature enough to take the time he needs to properly communicate. that’s how much he loves you. 

and yes, doing so makes you a little uncomfortable. but when faced with something like that, someone so kind, who loves you like the rain loves the ground — how could you ever bear not to do the same?

”… it’s fine,” you start, softly. ”maybe i overreacted a bit. ’s just —” a gulp. you’re trying your best to verbalize your feelings, the way suguru just did, the way he always does.

and he waits, patiently. for as long as you need. looking at you from across the table softly, already immensely relieved at the lack of tension in the air.

”i don’t like seeing you so tired. i know that your work is important, and i support you, but…” your voice goes quiet, as you trail off, hoping he’ll understand what you mean. ”you know.”

and suguru does. he does understand, he always will. so he hums.

”i know,” he murmurs, softly. ”it wasn’t an overreaction. i just didn’t realize it myself. got too caught up in everything,” a sharp exhale leaves his lips. ”it’s been… a long week. i’m not using that as an excuse, though.”

you listen attentively, eyes softening at his words. you can tell that he means it, that you finally got your message across. all you wanted was for him to take a break, to take care of himself.

to let you take care of him.

suguru continues. he makes it a point to look into your eyes as he speaks — a little intimidating, especially in a situation like this — but you know it reassures him, that it lets him know you really understand what he’s trying to say. 

so you hold his gaze, as steady as you can, glancing down at his collarbone when it becomes just a little too much.

”i’m grateful that i have you,” he says, voice dripping with softness, gazing at you with a fondness that has you crumbling all over again. ”and that you care enough to set me straight when i need it.”

and suguru means it. he means it more than anything else. not once has he ever stopped appreciating you, all the things you do for him; always so sweet and caring, even when it’s subtle. this was no exception. you’re always worried, always looking out for him. he feels awful for getting so defensive. for pushing you away, when you were trying so earnestly to reach him.

but he’ll make up for all of that, starting now.

”i mean it. i appreciate you so much, you have no idea — i’m so sorry if i made you think otherwise.” for a moment, his eyes look a little glassy, swimming in remorse. ”i really, really am.”

(and when he looks at you like that, when he speaks so very gently —

how could you ever bear not to forgive him?)

you shift in your seat again. gazing down, chewing at your bottom lip. his honesty makes you falter, makes it hard for you not to do the same; even if your voice ends up sounding awfully tiny and awfully close to breaking apart. 

”… i was just worried,” you mumble, meekly, shooing away any tears you have left with rapid blinks. 

”i know,” suguru soothes. the smile on his face is genuine, comforting, honey and peppermint and warmth. ”i was being immature. you were right — i’ve been burning myself out.”

you don’t say anything. only letting his words console you, feeling yourself relax at the sound of him opening up a little. just enough to make everything all better again.

”i was thinking of taking tomorrow off,” he continues, searching for your timid gaze and smiling gently once he finds it. ”what do you say?”

you brighten a little, so obvious in the way you sit up straighter, the way something soft and hopeful blossoms in the scope of your iris. the sight coaxes suguru’s patient smile into widening a smidge, his eyes crinkling at your barely contained excitement.

”that’d be nice…” you murmur, averting your gaze once more. but suguru can tell you like the sound of that, that it’s exactly what would finally put your anxious mind at ease.

a smile, bright and fond. suguru opens his arms. 

”then i will.”

for a moment, you simply stare. at him, his outstretched limbs — that soft smile, as he waits for you to get the hint. and you blink. 

oh. 

you look down at your lap. a little sheepish, almost shy. it takes you another moment to raise your head, again, only to see another gentle flicker in suguru’s eyes — and then you finally get up from your seat.

it feels a little strange. a little awkward, as if some of your bones still can’t help but tread on eggshells, afraid of making him upset again. but it’s suguru, and he loves you, and his arms are waiting patiently to hold you.

and you want that more than anything. 

so you fall into his arms, softly, curling up in his lap and wrapping your arms around his waist. suguru has one hand on the back of your head and the other on the small of your back, rubbing comforting circles into your spine to make you relax.

it works wonders. despite your initial hesitance, you melt into the embrace without putting up a fuss — happy to be in his arms again, to feel the anxiety dissipate when you realize that everything’s finally alright.

and suguru is just as happy, just as content. breathing out a sigh of relief he didn’t know he was holding. he strokes your hair lovingly, and you nuzzle into him a little more; making his lips quirk up, eyes filling with adoration. finally, he can relax. having you in his arms feels so soothing. and you’re so sweet, curling into him, seeking comfort and warmth that he’s more than happy to provide.

how long has it been since he had a chance to hold you like this? he made sure to be affectionate whenever he could, before leaving for work and after coming back — but in the midst of all the paperwork and stress…

suguru sighs, a little sadder this time, watching you bask in the attention he had been robbing you of this whole time. without even realizing it.

”and i’m sorry for neglecting you, too,” he murmurs, barely above a whisper. muffled by your hair as he presses a kiss against the crown of your head.

that certainly gets your attention.

”neglecting me?” you sputter, eyes suddenly wide open and lips parted in disbelief. flustered, heat rushing to your neck and ears. ”wha — what am i, some high-maintenance puppy? you didn’t neglect me.”

suguru only chuckles, biting back a soft coo that he knows would only fluster you more. instead, he pulls away a little, just to look at you, and pecks your forehead softly.

”well, i’m sorry for not being around much, then. i’ll make it up to you. okay?”

hiding away in his collarbone, again, you mutter a soft okay that has suguru’s heart squeezing in his chest. he cradles you close, engulfs you in his embrace, and hopes you can feel his love through the action. hopes you can feel it in the way his arms fit around you like they were always meant to be right there.

and you do feel his love. feel it smooth away the leftover turmoil in your brain, caress your skin softly. it’s soothing, and comforting, and you feel so incredibly safe. here, in suguru’s embrace, with the sound of rain hitting the window and the scent of peppermint wafting through the kitchen — it’d be impossible not to relax.

before you know it, your eyelids have fluttered shut, breathing softening out and heartbeat slowing down. a peaceful rhythm, carrying you away. suguru notices it before you do.

”you sleeping, baby?”

you jolt a little in his arms — murmuring something unintelligible into his neck, and he only chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest like a soothing thunderstorm.

”c’mon. let’s get you to bed, hm?” 

suguru smooths a hand down your back, arms tightening around you before he scoops you up and gets up from his seat. ”there we go,” he hums, helping you hike your legs around his waist. ”you can sleep, angel. i’ve got you.”

your arms tighten around him, and you inhale his scent; grounding and comforting, raindrops and roses. tomorrow you can bask in it properly, can take care of him properly. you’ll coddle him all day.

but for now, you need to get some rest.

allowing your senses to dull away, clinging to suguru like a makeshift pillow, you absently listen to the storm still raging on outside. faraway, cold and harsh, but comforting when you’re in his steady grasp.

a yawn escapes your honey-soothed throat.

you don’t miss the i love you murmured into your ear, accompanying you into dreamland as your eyes flutter shut.

[deadsetobsessions]

Sea Cryptic!Danny Phantom- pt. 8

[Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.4] [Pt.5] [Pt.6] [Pt.7] [Pt.9] [Pt.10]

If I had a nickel for every time I’ve been to the hospital in the past three years, I’d have enough money to buy a bag of skittles from Target. Most of it wasn’t for me though lol I’ll add this onto the list in a bit, but I tend to do that from my desktop but I’m still currently attached to an IV drip. I’ve also never been this hydrated in my life lmao

——

Danny poked a puffed up pufferfish. The poison floated through his ghost form and did nothing but give him a little zap. Danny chuckled, wiping away a bit of oil that had gotten onto the fish from a nearby oil spill. Jesus fuck. Danny knew that bald headed, easily drawn Vlad wannabe from across the river would do something terrible to Gotham’s waters (not that it needed help being atrocious to Danny’s clean water appreciation).

The puffer fish- Danny gave up on understanding Gotham’s water ecosystem, having realized that it was a cursed mix of saltwater and freshwater and swamp- gave a fearful little wiggle and Danny let it go, turning to the oil particles floating around.

Danny took out his phone.

“Danny? Why the hell are you calling at three in the morning?”

Danny raised a hand and blasted out some ice, gathering the oil up. “Hey Sam. If I got you into contact with Poison Ivy, do you think you could team up to get rid of Lex Luthor’s new holding company in Gotham?”

“Danny, are you asking me to commit an act of ecoterrorism?”

“That’s not even the weirdest thing I’ve ever asked you to do.” Danny placed a hand on the ice mass and flew it, the oil, and himself across the river to Metropolis.

“Deal.” Sam’s voice gets further away as she pulled her phone from her ear. “I’ll text Tucker, see if he could futz with Luthor’s taxes. I heard her doesn’t even give his workers a livable wage, and that’s so not gonna fly.”

“Perfect! Thanks! We could totally meet up and hang out with my new friends!”

“Hah! That Tim guy? The one that wanted you to introduce Phantom to him?”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, goth girl.”

“Sure, dork. I’ll swing by Friday?”

“Sure! Want me to pick you up?” Danny phased through Lex Luthor’s frankly ridiculous amounts of security measures, still completely invisible and towing a giant mass of oil covered ice.

“Cool. Now hang up. I actually need sleep.”

“Ah, you must be dead tired. I get it.”

Sam hung up, and a second later, Danny got a pic of her holding up a middle finger with her signature purple nail polish.

Danny stared down at the sleeping billionaire. Gross. He let his face re enter the visible spectrum and lowered the temperature of the room drastically. Luthor groaned, waking up as he shivered like a hyped up chihuahua.

Danny bared his teeth, glowing green skin reflecting the black holes of the universe and imploding stars and burning planets as he leaned towards the frozen two bit villain.

“RESPECT THE PLANET,” Danny snarled. He unmelted the invisible ice as he simultaneously made the oil visible, the entirety of the oil spill coating every single inch of Luthor’s penthouse bedroom. Danny winked out, but not before snapping a quick picture of Lex Luthor’s absolutely covered in his company’s oil spill.

If Danny had made sure that there were fish droppings mixed in with the oil… that was his own damn business.

——

Danny floated over to a brooding Batman.

“Do you have two hundred dollars on you?” Danny asked in lieu of a greeting.

Batman grunted a yes.

“Two hundred dollars for a photo of Lex Luthor being hit with karma.”

Batman instantly handed over the cash and received a printed out photo of Lex Luthor (in his Lexcorp pjs) covered by fossil fuel.

"Is this..."

"The oil from his oil spill? Yes."

Batman stared at the picture.

"Why was this more expensive than ID'ing corpses?"

"Cause it's funnier. And dead people deserve more consideration than a egg looking ass polluting everything he touches."

Superman zoomed into the space in front of them, face eager.

"I heard you had something about Luthor?"

Danny figured that Batman probably contacted the hero, and confidently said, "$200 for personal use, $300 for commercial use."

Superman quickly got together three hundred dollars in cash and quickly forked it over. Danny gave him another physical copy of the photo and a usb drive with the photo in a digital format.

"I am so pinning this up." Superman muttered.

"Get out of my city." Batman said flatly. Superman waved a hand, beamed at Danny, and left.

"Did you know Gotham's waters is a mixture of freshwater, swamp, and saltwater habitats?"

Batman grunted.

"Also, please stop stalking Danny Fenton. It's odd."

Batman swiveled his head over. "What."

Danny stared him down. "Stop. Stalking. Innocent. Bystanders. Or else I will recreate the phrase "drowned rat" with you as the subject."

Batman stilled.

"I don't kill, by the way. I can, however, dunk you in the sea and lift you up like a goth version of Simba."

Batman relaxed minutely. "I can't."

"And why not?"

Batman gave him a despairing look. "Have you met my children?"

"... Point."

[astralis-ortus]

spoiled

✱ boyfriend!bc x gn!reader

— it really is in the little things he does.

w.count → 0.5k genre → slice of life, fluff notes → chan referred to as chris, reader referred to as babe, teeny weenie kith a.n → been feeling sappy whenever i see chan, and what’s the best cure if not to write about it♡ ⋆ see masterlist

growing up, you never really thought much about relationships.

well, it's not like you had the breathing room to do so anyway—with your parents' strained relationship and the way education had taken over the role as your safe space, the thought about crushes, falling in love, and jumping from one relationship to another like people around your age had resembled more like some faint, annoying whispers from the nether world rather than something you needed to experience as a young adult. instead, your goal revolves simply around graduating, getting a good job, and sticking with that—nothing more, nothing less.

well, that's exactly what you've managed to do so far…

with some minor adjustments.

"babe, do you want—oh, you're about to shower?"

you stopped a few steps from the door of the bathroom, eyes finding your boyfriend's curious pair just beyond the bedroom door while your arms hugged the fresh pair of pyjamas and a fluffy towel chris had bought for you a few months prior, right before your first sleepover at his place.

it still feels wild to you, the way chris just popped into your life one day and somehow managed to stay. the fact that you let him? even wilder. never in a million years would you ever thought you'd walk into your first and somewhat of a serious relationship not long after landing your first actual job, fresh out of university.

"yeah," you nodded, repeatedly blinking your eyes out of habit, "do you need to go? i might take a while since i'm gonna wash my hair."

"no no, i'm good," he replied, no longer looking at you when he turned busy, fumbling away at the cabinet under his kitchen sink, "but wait, there's something i want—found it!"

the curiosity in your eyes turned into sparkles of surprise when you noticed the rather familiar bottle in chris' hand as he heads over in your direction, sweet pair of dimples decorating his proud, cheeky smile.

"i got that body wash you said you wanted to try," handing the green colored bottle, chris lightly scrunched his nose alongside the click of his tongue, "kinda unfortunate—i was going to surprise you with it, but you beat me to the shower."

it's at times like this when you feel like your life in the past year has merely been a series of lucid dreams��when he looked at you with so much tenderness in his eyes, when he treats you like you're his entire world and more, when chris went out of his way just to prove that he meant everything he whispered in your ears between the ungodly hours of the night as he held you close when nightmares crept its long and sharp nails around your neck.

chris' affection still feels like a fever dream, and you don't know if you deserve to be at the receiving end of it at all.

"you're seriously spoiling me way too much, christopher," you finally chirped a response, mirroring your boyfriend's nose scrunch whilst keeping your unspoken worries locked away, "but thank you. i promise i'll use it well."

"i know you will," the dimpled smile made its way back to your boyfriend's features, igniting the familiar fuzzy feeling in the depths of your chest, and its rumble only grew louder when chris leaned in, faint scent of vanilla greeted you as he stole a peck from your lips,

"you know that's why i love spoiling you, right?"

©️ astralisortus, 2024. | likes and reblogs are highly appreciated♡

[yourstrqly]

✰ LET ME ANSWER, L. HAMILTON

[ preview ] the possessiveness comes to the light when your ex won't stop calling you during sex

[ tw ] smut, sir kink, description of a female body, answering the phone during sex, piv, riding, possessiveness

. minors do not interact .

lewis raises his eyebrows. four times, for the fourth time your phone screen light up on the nightstand, the name 'ex' showing, causing you to reach out, hands that claw on his strong back letting go, to decline the incoming call. it irritates him but the disturbance won't stop him from pushing inside your pussy again.

"give me the phone, darling", is all lewis says, shortly pulling out to sit himself against the headboard.

he looks ridiculously hot like this, tattoos glistening under the sweaty film on his skin, a single braid having found its way from the ponytail. there's a smirk on his face as he pumps his length and you want nothing more than for him to say what you should do now.

And then he does. "Ride me."

You hand him the phone and grab the base his cock to hold it in place, so you can easily slip the length inside.

A loud wail escapes your throat when his heavy cock scrapes up your inner walls, and you slowly start to ride him. he slides a hand under your ass, forcing you to bounce faster in his lap. your back arches, leaning against his chest and your hot breath fawns on his neck, where you bit softly into it. his throbbing dick stretches you out, leaving a burn when he reaches the depth of your wet hole.

You don't notice lewis pressing the green button, accepting the face call.

"hi baby, look I—who the fuck are you and where's my girl?", the guy on the other side asks, voice gruff and laced with anger. you try to keep quiet, but lewis has different plans, bending his knees to fuck himself roughly in your spongy walls that make lewd, squealing sounds. the trill of humiliating your ex turns you on; you thighten around your boyfriend's fat cock, feeling an orgasm incoming. nails dig into his shoulders, your vision is blurry and you moan, head thrown back with the mouth agape.

"tell him darling, who's making you feel this good?", lewis grunts, seeing your creamy pussy leaving a white ring around the base of his cock.

"you, sir", you whine, "you feel so good."

needily you rock your hips in his lap, ignoring the fire in your legs; his thick tip gazes the g-spot over and over again, causing you to choke out mewls and cries of pleasure — you nearly have forgotten your ex. "who the fuck do you think you are, huh?"

"i'm the boyfriend", lewis bits out. "You hear that?" You let out a high pitch cry, legs trembling as you cream his cock and drench his balls and tights. "that's the sound of my girl coming around my dick. every single day."

limp in his arms, you rest your head on his shoulder to make room for him to mark you up; you feel warm at his possessiveness, taken care of and loved. lewis' pillow lips nibble on your throat while he chases his high, chanting curses before he pulls out, throwing you on your back and spill on your pudgy stomach. you reach for the white liquid, skoping some on your fingertips before licking them clean, sucking gently the bitter taste of him, making lewis groan. "my dirty little girl, hm?", he whispers, the naughty smirk he still wears changing into proud one.

"for you, i'm everything, sir."

having not forgotten the face time call, you grab the phone to face your ex, who looks straight out of a comic with his harden gaze and red-from-anger cheeks. with mischief on your mind you angle the phone and press an open mouthed kiss on his lips, all tongue and teeth. it's messy like that and you love it.

breaking apart, the screen is black.

"didn't know you could act like this, lew", you grin happily. the man only laughed in response as he got up to get you a cloth to clean you and himself; he knows that you're turned on by this side of him, and maybe, just maybe, he'd do it again, even though the thought of someone else hearing your sweet moans make him jealous. wordlessly, he puts on sportify, the voices of temptation singing his girl, and he goes down on you, ever so softly whipping your pussy.

humming from inbetween your legs, lewis states: "you're made for me, darling."

"I know", you reply, slowly drifting to the lands of dreams.

rina speaks • ₊° ✧︡ ˗ ˏ ˋ . . [ 🪐 ] based on this requests! hope I did it justice x

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

[3:17 pm]

(cw: dad!Jaehyun, children)

You turn to your daughters from your crouched position in the hallway, "remember, quiet. Like spies, ok?"

Your twin daughters nod, hands over their mouths to muffle their giggles. You all move toward the living room and more specifically, a distracted dad!Jaehyun, on the couch. Jaehyun's eyes are locked on some action movie playing, completely engrossed and unaware of the three people heading toward him.

"Go!" You exclaim. In a flash of pink and tulle Jaehyun is suddenly trapped as one daughter sits on his lap and the other sits on his feet.

His eyes widen in surprise before he laughs, "what's going on!"

"Makeover!" you all cheer.

He sighs and pretends to struggle, but he knows there's no escaping your three pairs of hands. You begin working on his hair, massaging and lightly scratching his scalp. His eyes fall shut as he lets himself enjoy the scalp massage.

One of his girls begins to paint his fingernails, when he peeks an eye open he sees that her polish of choice this time is a glittery blue. The girl on his lap begins to brush on blush on his cheeks and forehead. It actually feels pretty relaxing, even if he knows he'll look like a mess after his makeover.

He can hear random explosions from the movie as he becomes "pretty."

"Appa, you want purple or green?" The makeup artist asks.

"I want purple," Jaehyun answers, his eyes still closed.

"No, Appa wants green because the green eye shadow has sparkles like the nail polish," his other daughter adds.

"Oh yeah, green is good," the first replies. Jaehyun wants to laugh, what was the point of even asking him?

He can feel the eye shadow brush moving roughly over his eyelids and even into his eyebrows. He can feel wetness from the nail polish halfway down a couple fingers and he can feel you pulling sections of his hair into small pony tails all over his head.

"Are you girls making me beautiful?" He asks after a few minutes.

"No talking, Appa. Time for lipstick."

"Yeah, and no moving your fingers, you're messing me up!"

Jaehyun huffs out a laugh. Sure, that's what's messing her up, not her still developing fine motor skills.

"One more bow and I'm done," he hears you say.

“So beautiful! Appa’s nails are done too!” The younger of the twins adds with a clap of her hands.

He hears a hum and then, “I’m done too! I want a picture with Appa!”

“I don’t get to see myself first?” Jaehyun asks as he finally opens his eyes to fully take in the sight of his daughters in their matching princess dresses and cute buns in their hair, no doubt done by you. They had bright pink blush spread across their cheeks and a bold blue eyeshadow that went onto their foreheads. It’s an adorable sight.

You move from your spot behind the couch with your phone in your hands as the girls clamber on either side of Jaehyun. They all give you their identical smiles with a chorus of “cheese!”

You smile to stop yourself from laughing at the picture on your screen, “you all look so pretty!”

You pass the phone over to Jaehyun, who notes the matching blue glitter smeared on your own nails. As his eyes focus on the picture his jaw drops as he fights hard to keep a deep laugh from escaping him. He looks like a clown, an avant garde makeup look, maybe from far away it would look better. He instead chooses to say, “wow… I look so…”

“Beautiful!” His daughters exclaim in unison.

“Yes, that’s what I was going to say,” he replies. In response you give him a light shove to his shoulder as he sends himself the picture you took despite his thoughts on his makeover. These days with his little girls weren’t going to last forever.

[willsimpforanyone]

Could you do a percy x nike!reader where the reader challenges percy to a sword fight and percy loses and the readers all cocky about it. And then percy decides to teach the reader a lesson and doesnt stop fucking her till she says hes a winner and like since reader is competitive she gets overstimulated? I need therapy what the hell is this ask

bestie we all need therapy here don't worry ur safe here

i'm gonna do an established relationship because it's just easier that way, and this is a she/her reader with feminine terms used

percy is a little bit of a mean dom, but he still checks in with the reader to make sure she's okay

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

The man at the end of my blade was glowering at me like it was his job.

Percy's green eyes were reflecting in the shine of my sword, but I didn't need a mirror to know my smile was even brighter. I tapped the flat of the sword against his jaw.

"Sorry, babe, look like you need a little more practice," I grin, nodding towards a pair of 8 year olds fighting with blunted blades. "Maybe you should ask them for help?"

He rolled his eyes, capping Riptide and knocking my sword away from him. "I went easy on you."

I sheathed my sword at my side, raising my eyebrows at him in disbelief and smirking. "No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did," Percy hisses, and I laugh at the behaviour of a stroppy teenager coming from my boyfriend of 20 years old.

Walking over to the burning offering bowl at the entrance to the arena, I drop in a little something as a 'thank you' to Nike. "You're drenched in sweat, you put actual effort into that fight, you're just bitter that someone might be able to beat you."

Rolling his eyes again so far back in his head I'm sure he's about to give himself a headache, Percy slings his arm over my shoulders as we walk to his cabin. "You're my girlfriend, I had to let you win, I'm a gentleman like that."

"Bullshit!" I cackle at his obvious attempts to dismiss his loss, but that would mean dismissing my victory and I would never have allowed that. "I'm a child of Victory incarnate, did you really think you could win when I have the spirit of winning in my blood?"

"We get it, you won, the whole world gets it," he sighs, dragging his feet. "Can you shut up about this now?"

I shake my head, still grinning like the fattest cat that had the cream already and has just discovered the can of tuna. "Absolutely not, I think it would be basically blasphemy if I were to stop talking about my victory over the most powerful demigod of our generation, mother would strike me down where I stand."

"Sounds like I'll just have to make you shut up." Percy drags me inside his cabin, slamming the door behind us and shoving me against the wall. His hand comes behind my head so I don't smack it on the wall and the butterflies in my stomach go insane at the caring gesture even when I'm pissing him off.

I barely have time to open my mouth before his lips are on mine, stealing any words I was about to say. My hands fly to the back of his head, keeping him kissing me and tangling in his slightly sweaty black hair. He perpetually tastes like sea salt and I moan very quietly.

It takes a second for my brain to kick into gear again, but I smirk against his lips and whisper into his mouth. "You'll have to do better than that, loser."

Percy growls. "Oh, I plan to."

The wall is suddenly no longer behind me and I shriek in surprise and glee as he drags me to throw me onto the bed, immediately pouncing on me and pinning me to the bed. His fingers work deftly to undo my belt and he sets my belt and sword carefully on the floor, along with my shoes.

Now free to do as he pleases, he dips his head into the crook of my neck, yanking at my sweatpants and dragging his nails down my legs along with the waistband, throwing them off. Without hesitation, he strips me of my underwear and I moan, a permanent smile living on my face.

"This feels more like a reward than a punishment, I won't lie," I smirk, leaning up on my elbows and looking up at him.

"No one asked for your opinion," he sighs, promptly shoving two of his fingers in my mouth. "Use your tongue for something worthwhile, hm?"

Unable to do anything else, I wrap my lips around his fingers, sucking and covering them in saliva. I teasingly bob my head a little, looking him directly in the eyes and taking his fingers as deep into my mouth as I can.

He smirks, shaking his head at my obscene behaviour. "Dirty girl." He pulls his hand away, inspecting his spit-covered fingers. "Good enough."

Clearly determined to render me incapable of speech, he immediately swirls his middle finger over my clit. My whole body jerks, upper body almost thrown forward at the sudden sensation. "Shit-"

Percy grins, drawing delicate but deliberate circles and radiating smugness. "Nothing to say? Is that all it takes to make you shut your smart mouth?"

Well, I couldn't let him think he'd won this round. I swallow harshly, flicking my hair out my eyes and smirking. "I could suck your dick if you wanted," I breathe out, voice thick with condescension. "Sort of a participation prize."

He scowls, and pushes two fingers into my pussy. The sudden feeling shoots through my body like electricity and I gasp, one hand flying to grip at his wrist. My head gets thrown backwards and a low moan comes from low in my throat.

His digits pump in and out at a speed I wasn't expecting and for a good minute, there are no words in my head. Not a single thought, just pleasure vibrating my bones and removing my ability to think.

"There we go," he purrs, other hand rubbing gently over my hip and stomach. "The attitude was unnecessary, huh?"

I laugh breathlessly, one hand gripping the wrist of the hand abusing my now-soaking pussy, the other raking through my hair. "I... I still won..."

"For fucks' sake-" Percy shuffles down the bed until his head rests between my legs. No ceremony, no anticipation, just his tongue against my clit as his fingers crook and stroke at my velvety walls.

The sudden increase in stimulation drags me bodily into my climax, orgasm rocking through my body and rendering me speechless. I slap a hand over my mouth to muffle my long, drawn out moans... and then my squeak of surprise as he doesn't stop.

"P-Percy?" I stutter, hips instinctively twitching away from him under his relentless attack.

Instead of answering, his eyes simply flick up to meet mine with a filthy smirk on his lips. His fingers don't stop, tongue lapping up my come as he scissors me open slightly. My thighs start trembling, and the hand that was over my mouth finds its home twisted into Percy's hair as he buries his face between my legs.

He doesn't let up, working his jaw and tongue over and into me. My sensitivity has every nerve on edge and it takes a slightly humiliatingly short length of time for my next orgasm to flood through me.

To his credit, Percy doesn't protest at the definitely painful grip I have on his head, withdrawing his fingers and cleaning me up with his tongue. Shakily, I lean back up on my elbows and look down at him, panting slightly.

"Whoa," I breathe, pulling him up from between my legs and pressing a messy, sloppy kiss to his lips. Then, because I really, truly do not know how to shut up... "Hell of a reward, baby, I'm glad you admitted I won."

The growl of frustration comes from low in his ribcage and with a delicious shiver, I realise I've fucked up.

"Admit I went easy on you." His voice is right in my ear, and without looking I know he's stripping down, the sound so familiar I instinctively part my legs like a Pavlov effect.

I shake my head, still panting and still trembling. "No, you didn't, I won fair and square, I beat you."

To his credit and my utter adoration, he pauses as he slips a condom on and looks directly at me. "Are you okay?" He asks, voice soft and sweet.

I kiss him quickly and nod. "Mhm, yeah, I'm okay."

The sudden switch back is unbearably attractive and he nudges his cock against my sensitive folds, the tip nestling just barely inside. "You're my girlfriend, I would feel bad if I won every single time we fought," he hisses. "I was being sweet and you're throwing it in my face." His cock slips in just an inch.

I'm already clenching down on him, feeling my own wetness trailing down over my ass. It's a struggle to be coherent when my whole body is poised to feel him. "N-No, you weren't, I won, you're just being a bitch."

Another inch inside and I gasp, every sense heightened and nails clinging into his shoulders desperately. "Say I let you win."

I shake my head, but I'm beginning to forget what this faux-fight was about. "Mm-mm, never."

Percy clamps a preemptive hand over my mouth and shoves himself completely inside me, my pussy swallowing him whole. My eyes roll back in my head and I cry out into his palm, feeling deliciously, perfectly full and I'm pretty sure my brain starts leaking out of my ears.

"Then I'll fuck the words out of you," he murmurs into my ear. His other hand pins my hips to the bed as he starts pounding into me. I couldn't stop my body moving if I had the presence of mind to try, forcibly being dragged through overstimulation into that place where nothing else exists but Percy and the feeling of him inside me.

"Come on, baby," he coos, voice slightly unsteady. "Say it, and I won't drag another three orgasms from you."

That... that would break me. I'm out of my mind with just the two, I can't imagine how little I would function after five.

I can already feel my third orgasm building shakily in my lower stomach, pussy fluttering and convulsing around Percy's cock as he keeps up his rhythm. My pride wars with my common sense, wanting to stick to my victory versus knowing how utterly dedicated Percy can be at wringing orgasm after orgasm out of my poor body.

Percy adjusts my hips slightly and the angle knocks my pride out of my head. My lips form the words against his palm still over my mouth and he smirks, moving the hand to tangle his fingers in my hair.

"Something to say, gorgeous?"

I mumble the words, eyes closed and voice shaking.

Percy shakes his head. "What was that? A little louder for me, baby."

"...you went easy on me," I moan out, cheeks bright red and hands coming to hide my face. I don't need to see the smug fucking grin on his stupid handsome face, I already know it's there.

"Oh, good girl," he purrs, hips unrelenting against mine and sneaking a hand in between our bodies to thumb over my clit. "Just give me one more, one more and I'll stop, can you do that?"

I nod, clinging to him and moaning against his shoulder. "Mhm, I can d-do that."

"Good girl, I know you can," he murmurs, voice soft and burying his head into my neck. "It's okay, I've got you."

His switch to sweetness and patience sends my head reeling and I fall apart under him, muffling my scream of his name by biting into his shoulder. It only takes a few more thrusts and his hips stutter and still, a low choked moan smothered into my neck as he comes, filling up the condom.

Coherency is a distant memory and I can only focus on breathing, senses swamped with Percy. He litters kisses over my neck and jaw, whispering praise into my skin that I can barely focus on.

I whine in discomfort as he pulls out of me and he kisses me hard as a distraction, only moving away from me for a moment as he discards the condom before returning. He lays on the bed with me, wrapping me up in his arms and snuggling both of us under the bedsheets.

"Hey, you," he whispers, kissing the crown of my head. "How're you feeling?"

I respond in mumbles and nuzzling my face into his neck. Percy laughs softly, nodding and stroking up and down my spine.

"It's okay, that was too hard of a question right now, my bad."

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

god i hope this was good, thank you for requesting!

[stevieschrodinger]

Eddie notices things.

He might be loud and brash, might be over the top and his mouth might run away before his brain can kick in, but he still notices things.

He likes the details. Loves a fantasy world that’s so detailed it’s believable. Loves a tiny detail in a story that becomes relevant two hundred pages later. Loves a detail in a puzzle in a DnD game. He loves the minutia of everything.

So he notices these details about people. Mostly because Eddie likes to create people. He likes to write his own stories, likes to make his DnD characters real...foibles and all. Any time Eddie is alone, or bored, or waiting, sometimes he looks around and thinks, ‘if I were writing this, how would I describe it?’ And then he does...he writes in his head about the tree he can see, what the weather is doing right now, how he would describe the quality of the sunlight or the way the rain rattles against the window. He watches complete strangers and writes out their whole life in his head. Eddie likes the details, and he likes to create characters, and he also thinks, a lot of the time, you write what you know.

So yeah, Eddie pays attention to the people around him. How they dress, how they behave, if they bite their nails or chew pen lids. If they stand straight or lounge against the nearest wall or counter. How they cradle their smoke in their hand when it’s breezy out.

All the little details he can build into characters he makes in his mind.

Steve’s calendar interests him. It probably shouldn’t, that stuff would be private if it wasn’t for the fact that it’s hanging in Steve’s kitchen where anyone can see it. Plus the fact that it is just a calendar and there for by it’s nature isn’t very interesting. Eddie thinks he finds it interesting just by the virtue that it’s to do with Steve Harrington, and therefore it immediately becomes very interesting to Eddie.

It’s got big pages, a decent amount of space to write in every day. And Steve has. Every single day.

There’s a pattern to it that Eddie deciphers pretty fast; his shift at work is on the top line; it’s in red. Next is anything to do with the kids, and it’s in green; picking the kids up or meeting them or going to a game for Lucas or basically anything like that. Then blue, and that seems to be stuff to do with Eddie himself, Robin, Nancy, if he needs to meet them, give them a ride somewhere, or just times to hang out.

The bottom line is in black, and it’s stuff like, ‘hoover’, ‘do laundry’, ‘bathroom,’ ‘kitchen’, ‘groceries,’ followed by a little note that seems to be about whatever Steve plans to have for dinner that night.

Below it is a note pad, also hanging up, with an in process grocery list on it. Eddie knows why all this is here; Steve’s forgetful.

If Steve makes plans, he immediately writes it down; Eddie’s seen it for himself.

Eddie sees it too, when Steve’s struggling to hear. If too many people speak at once, or if there’s too much background noise, Steve doesn’t stand a chance.

If he’s not looking at you when you’re speaking to him, chances are, he might not be hearing you. Which, okay, Eddie’s just kind of rolling with it.

Until they get together. No one was more surprised by this turn of events than Eddie, who was convinced that he was just going to pine after Steve forever and that would just be how things were for the rest of his life. That was right up until Steve Harrington held his hand and just sort of...seemed to forget to let go.

Eddie hasn’t pointed it out to him yet, he’s still kind of worried that if he points out the fact that they’re kind of, sort of, dating, Steve might realize and stop again. So yeah, Eddie rides the wave, not at all freaking out when Steve invites him over for dinner and a movie like that’s just a normal thing they do now. Because it is. Because they’re kind of dating.

There’s no answer, but that’s pretty normal, the front door is unlocked a lot of the time, Steve doesn’t want to hinder anyone's entry if there’s any kind of emergency going on, and it’s totally normal now for any of them to just wander into Steve’s house.

Steve is cooking; Eddie can smell it. He stands in the kitchen doorway and says Steve’s name. And predictably, Steve doesn’t react.

Eddie takes this as an opportunity to gauge this. He says Steve’s name a little louder; still nothing.

Eddie tries four times, a step closer and a little louder each time, until the last time, when Steve spins around so fast the spoon he’s holding splatters sauce on the counter top and his other hand flies to his chest, “holy shit.”

“Sorry,” Eddie rubs at Steve’s arm and shoulder as he gets his breathing under control, “you couldn’t hear me.”

Steve shrugs, “it’s fine.”

“Stevie…you could at least, you know, go get them checked, or whatever.”

Steve hums, "maybe, if you go with me," and Eddie's quick to agree, because he gets a kiss out of it.

[cptnhngjng]

my starlight

“you are so beautiful,” he uttered quietly, looking at you as if you were his whole entire universe.

-soft!seonghwa x virgin f!reader -2k words -soft smut, mdni, 18+ only -c/w: fingering, oral (f receiving), protected sex, soft boyfriend seonghwa, inexperienced virgin reader, seonghwa uses pet names a lot (my love, darling, baby/good girl, my starlight), praise lots of praise (praise kink go brrr)

not proofread, may be typos and mistakes 🫶🏻

this was a typical date for you and seonghwa—you’d visit him at the dorm and you two would hang out in his room, either building a lego set together, playing animal crossing, or watching a movie. tonight the two of you were working on a new lego set that seonghwa had bought when he was away for tour. he had you sitting on his lap, his chin resting on your shoulder, as he watched you sort out the small lego pieces. it was the first time that you had gotten to see seonghwa in well over a month.

his arms wrapped loosely around your waist, rubbing his fingers up and down your tummy. he missed being able to just hold you close to him, missed your soft skin, and your sweet scent. you hummed quietly as you felt seonghwa place a kiss against your exposed shoulder, your loose tank top leaving very little to the imagination. as you continued to go through the small colorful blocks in front of you, you could feel seonghwa’s fingers moving lower. he started to rub circles on your bare thighs.

seonghwa continued to kiss your shoulder, slowly moving up your neck until he reached your ear. he nipped at your lobe before whispering, “i’ve missed you so much, my love.” his hands were still on your thighs, massaging them softly.

“i’ve missed you, too, hwa,” you say back to him, while you pick up a green lego brick.

seonghwa’s hands are slowly moving their way up your thighs, closer and closer to your core. you nervously shuffle in his lap, which causes you to accidentally grind against seonghwa’s crotch. he lets out a low groan, and leans his head against your shoulder.

“y/n, please,” seonghwa breathes out. now it’s seonghwa who is shifting around underneath you. as he moves around, you can feel his erection forming against your backside. he starts to kiss along your neck and shoulder again. “i need you so bad, love.”

you and seonghwa have never gone any further than steamy make out sessions with some slight dry humping. every time things would start to go past that, you would stop him, nervous to go any further. it wasn’t because you didn’t want to. god, no, you wanted him more than anything else in this world. but at the same time, you were beyond scared to be so open and vulnerable with him. you had never been intimate with anyone before.

“seonghwa,” you start, turning slightly to look at him. the way he was looking you, his eyes dark and pupils blown— you shuddered, he looked possessed, full of desire.

seonghwa moves you from his lap and kisses you harshly, his soft plump lips devouring yours. you kiss him back, wrapping your arms around his neck. he pulls you close to his body, holding your hips tightly, as if he would lose you if he let go. with a few clumsy steps, the two of you fall back into his bed. your head on his pillow while seonghwa leaned above you, wavy hair falling into his face.

he leaned down to give you quick kisses all over your face. your forehead. your eyelids. your nose. your cheeks. finally reaching your lips. you run your fingers through his long, dark strands, lightly scratching his scalp with your nails. he gasps against your lips, feeling a shudder run down his body like an electrical current.

“y/n,” he whispers as he moves towards your neck to suck on the soft, sensitive skin. his long fingers find their way under your top, lightly caressing your soft stomach. “please let me make you feel good. i want to show you how much i love you. how much i need you.”

goosebumps flood your skin. you push seonghwa back away from you, allowing yourself to sit up, leaning back against the headboard. “hwa, you know i’ve nev—“ you start to say but get cut off by seonghwa kissing you softly, his palm cradling your cheek.

“i know, my love, i know.” he nuzzles his nose into your neck, inhaling your scent, becoming intoxicated. “i won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

you grab his hand and entangle your fingers together. he brings your hand to his lips and presses light kisses to your knuckles. “tell me to stop, and i will.” he stares right into your eyes.

“show me. teach me, seonghwa. make me yours.” your voice was quiet, but you were sure of this. you wanted seonghwa more than anything. you ached for him.

seonghwa nodded before going back to your lips and kissing you deeply, as if you were his oxygen. you leaned back onto the soft mattress, while seonghwa moved from your lips to your jawline, sprinkling your smooth skin with kisses. he makes his way down your neck to your shoulder, before stopping and marking eye contact with you. “i’m going to take your shirt off now, love.”

as he slid the loose fabric up over your torso, you lifted your arms to help him remove the tank top. your breasts were still contained by the simple, white bra you wore. nothing fancy or sexy, which made you embarrassed. you were not prepared to expose yourself to seonghwa. he worked his fingers behind you to undo your bra. the plain garment slid off, allowing your chest to be free. you crossed your arms in attempt to hide yourself.

seonghwa gently held your arms and moved them away from your chest. “you are so beautiful,” he uttered quietly, looking at you as if you were his whole entire universe.

he moves closer to you, fingers brushing softly against your nipples. his lips attach to your right nipple, sucking tenderly, while he pinches your left between his fingers. the feeling was electrifying. a gasp escaped from you as your hands made way to his hair, gripping it tightly. he hummed against your chest satisfyingly, sending vibrations through your body.

he breaks away from your nipple before making his way to the valley between your tits. he places a quick kiss before moving down your stomach, stopping right at the waistband of your shorts. he looks up at you, his eyes dark, full of lust, wanting your consent to continue. you give him a quick nod, and he smiles softly.

before you know it, seonghwa had pulled your shorts down, along with your panties, leaving you to be completely exposed. your thighs squeezed together subconsciously, wanting to hide from his hungry gaze. seonghwa leans back up towards you and kisses you softly. “let me take care of you, darling.”

you sigh into the kiss, “please.” seonghwa’s hands start caressing your thighs, slowly pulling them apart, gaining access to your cunt. he breaks the kiss and moves back down your body. soft kisses were placed on the plush skin of your thighs, making way up to your hot core.

slender fingers find their way to your slick folds. a shiver makes way through your body, as you feel him prod at your entrance. “tell me if you need me to stop,” seonghwa says before plunging two fingers into your waiting cunt. a quiet moan emits from you, causing you to be embarrassed. you felt your cheeks heating up and you try to close your thighs. but seonghwa’s hands were strong and kept them spread.

he leans into your pussy, placing a kiss on your mound before find way to your clit. his tongue rolls against the sensitive bud before sucking lightly on it, causing you to curl your toes. fingers pump into your wet hole, while he lapped up your sweet juices. the feeling was too much for you and desperate whines escape.

“ahh, seonghwa,” you moan out, hand reaching out to his hair, gripping hard while you press his face closer into your cunt. you could feel him smirk again your folds.

“good girl,” seonghwa laughed lightly, before pulling away. “feels good, doesn’t it? your pussy is so pretty and sweet tasting, i’m obsessed.”

a few more pumps from his fingers and you could feel yourself going over the edge. your thighs squeezed around seonghwa as you hit your climax, body shaking and your heart rate increasing. you fall back into the pillows, trying to catch your breath.

“my sweet girl, you are doing so good,” seonghwa whispers as he sat up, watching your chest rise and fall. “do you want to keep going?” he didn’t want to push you too far. this was all new to you and he wanted you as comfortable as possible. your eyes found way to his, and you nodded meekly, still coming down from your high.

“okay, baby girl,” he says with a slight smirk. “i got you.”

you sit up and kiss him, struggling to find words but wanting to show him how much you needed him. he was very much overdressed, still wearing all of his clothing. you tugged on the hem of his tshirt, hoping that seonghwa understands what you are trying to communicate. he chuckled softly, pulling his shirt off and tossing it to the side.

he kissed you again and you ran your hands down his toned abdomen, feeling the hard muscles under his warm skin. his honey skin. you reached the button of his jeans and you fumbled to undo it, fingers shaky with anticipation. seonghwa help you out, unbuttoning his pants and pulling them down along with his boxers, before completely taking them off. he stood in front of you completely naked now. his cock was hard and already leaking with precum. you reached out towards him, wanting to touch him.

“go ahead,” he said, watching as your finally wrap your small hand around him. “i’ll lead you, my love.”

he lets out a low moan as you slowly start to pump your hand up and down his shaft. “there you go, keep going,” he encourages you. seonghwa places his larger hand on yours and guided your movements, setting the right pace. a few more moans escape as you continue to stroke his cock with his help.

he stopped you before he got too close to cumming. his eyes were hooded and lust filled. he needed to be inside of you now. he kissed you hard and with much need, laying you back down on the bed.

“i need you so bad,” seonghwa said, desperation filling his voice. “i need to feel you on my cock so bad.”

you finally find our voice. “seonghwa, fuck me, please,” you beg of him.

he clenches his jaw, nodding. he leaned over towards the drawer next to his bed and fishes out a condom. the wrapper is torn off in a hurry and the rubber is rolled onto his waiting cock. your knees are bent and they fall to the side as seonghwa lines his dick up with your entrance. he slowly pushes in, watching your face as you try to adjust to him. he rubs soothing circles on your hip and discomfort soon becomes pleasure.

he starts to thrust slowly, making sure to hit every inch of you. he wraps your legs around his waist as he goes deeper. moans from the both of you are filling the room. you could feel the pressure filling up in your stomach, you were close to your second orgasm.

“hwa, please,” you whine out, “touch me!”

seonghwa smirked and brought his fingers to your clit and started rubbing harshly, bringing you closer and closer to your orgasm. your walls squeezed tightly around his cock as you finally came again. seonghwa grunted as his climax hit, filling up the condom with his cum. he pulls out and falls next to you on the bed.

the two of you were breathing heavily. your eyes were closed as you tried to come down from your high. meanwhile, seonghwa was watching you, admiring the flush that covered your chest and cheeks. he brushed your hair out of your face and placed a gentle kiss on your nose.

“you did so well, y/n,” he whispered to you. “i love you so much, my starlight.”

[childrenofcain-if]

Picture this: ROs showing up to their morning classes looking slightly disheveled and quickly taking a seat. Little do they know that their necks are covered with hickeys left by MC the night before. Their reactions when people point it out should be priceless 😂😂

C LACROIX

C barely made it out of bed that morning, the remnants of the night still clinging to them like a warm, invisible string. they hadn’t even looked in the mirror beyond a quick pass of the toothbrush and mouthwash, hadn’t registered the faint bruises blooming like dark smudges on their fair neck.

it was an unusually rushed morning—coffee sloshing in its cup, a blazer haphazardly pulled on over yesterday’s rumpled button-up shirt, and the quiet contentment that still lingered under their skin from the night before.

the lecture hall was in that strange, early-morning lull, with only the few dedicated souls filtering in. C took a seat near the front of the lecture room, slouching down and letting their eyes drift, half-focused on the professor setting up for the day. the room filled up slowly, a dozen students murmuring, flipping open their notebooks, the usual dull hum of university mornings. C felt halfway to a daydream.

it wasn’t until ten minutes into class that the girl sitting directly behind them leaned in with a conspiratorial grin.

“hey, C,” she whispered, her gaze flicking from their bored green eyes to somewhere just below their jaw, amusement dancing in her expression. “had a busy night?”

C looked at her, eyes narrowing in confusion, and she just giggled, clearly finding some private delight in whatever she was looking at. the professor’s voice was droning on in the background about economic indicators, but C’s attention had slipped, irritation prickling.

“what are you talking about?” they muttered back, still bleary with early-morning fatigue. “your neck,” she said with a little wave of her hand, as if that explained everything. “care to explain what that is?”

C’s hand shot to their neck, feeling the skin warm under their touch. they hadn’t given it much thought, hadn’t even realized—last night’s memory a blur of laughter, close warmth, the heady closeness of you, but now it crystallized sharply in their mind. they could feel the heat creeping up their neck, but the words came out automatically, with practiced precision.

“this is a sign,” C said, raising an eyebrow and giving her a look that could have frozen rivers, “for you to mind your own business.”

the girl laughed, raising her hands in mock surrender. “all right, all right,” she said, but her smirk didn’t fade, and C could feel other eyes turning in their direction, whispers curling through the air like smoke. they slouched further in their seat, wishing they could disappear entirely and regretting the decision to sit on the front.

as the professor rambled on, C sat there fuming, each murmured glance another spark on an already frayed wick. what had you been thinking, they found themself wondering, though they knew perfectly well that you’d been thinking of nothing but the electric thrill of the moment, your hands in their hair, the quiet gasps and the blurred edges of night.

the guy two seats behind caught C’s eye and smirked.

“didn’t know you were the type,” he said, barely containing his laughter.

“what type?” C snapped, keeping their tone flat but seething inside.

“the type to walk around like a billboard,” he replied, nodding toward C’s neck. “seriously, you might want to invest in a scarf.”

C shot him an unimpressed look. “thanks for the suggestion, but i’m not taking fashion advice from poor people.”

the guy frowned in disbelief before huffing and muttering, “whatever, rich prick.”

class dragged on, the ticking of the clock like nails on a chalkboard. C tried to keep their head down, but the whispers and glances only seemed to get louder. every time they caught someone’s eye, there was that same smirk, that same knowing look that made C want to snap, to tell everyone to go back to their notes and leave them the hell alone. but of course, that would only make things worse.

by the time class ended, C was practically out of their seat before the professor had even finished dismissing them. they strode out of the room, head down, hoping to avoid any more looks or comments, but of course, luck wasn’t on their side. just as they stepped out into the hallway, someone else called out.

“nice look, C,” a girl from one of their other classes teased, looking far too pleased with herself.

C sighed, letting out a sharp breath. “you know, there are more interesting things in this world than staring at my neck.”

“oh, but it’s the most interesting thing we’ve seen all semester,” she shot back, laughing, her friends joining in.

C rolled their eyes and kept walking, feeling the last shreds of their patience fraying. they practically stormed down the college halls, footsteps echoing, each step a reminder of the mess they’d somehow gotten themself into. and all because of you, they thought, though they couldn’t bring themselves to be truly angry. there was a part of them—a very small, very hidden part—that was secretly pleased, that liked the quiet claim your marks had left on their skin.

finally, they found a quiet corner, pulling out their phone with a sigh. it only took a second to find your name, to start typing a message they hadn’t planned to send but couldn’t hold back any longer.

they kept it short, precise: “i hope you’re happy with the unwanted attention i’ve been getting today.”

your reply came almost immediately, as if you’d been waiting for it.

“oh, i am,” you texted back, and C could almost picture the smirk on your face, the gleam in your eyes. “plus, it’s not like you’re complaining.”

they scoffed, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of their mouth despite themselves: “you’re an idiot, starkid.”

“you still didn’t deny it though,” came your reply, and C shook their head, slipping their phone back into their pocket.

they straightened up, brushing a hand over their neck as if that could somehow erase the marks before walking back to their dorm to do something about it.

V NÆSHOLM

V was already late, stumbling out of their dorm with a heavy book clutched against their chest, their fingers pressed tight to the leather cover like it was a lifeline. they’d overslept, an unusual occurrence, the morning alarm buried somewhere under last night’s fog of dreams and restless shuffles in bed. their curls were a bit of a mess, the hem of their shirt tugged half-untucked in their rush to get dressed. V didn’t bother with a mirror—they rarely did—just shoved their notebook into a worn leather bag and hurried out into the crisp morning.

the classics lecture room was already half-full when they slipped in, doing their best to keep their head down as they found an empty seat by the window. they fumbled with the zipper of their bag, pulling out pens, notes, the creased corner of an assignment they’d meant to retype. a couple of glances flitted their way, but V paid them no mind, assuming it was just the consequence of arriving late—not their usual style, but excusable, they supposed. they hadn’t quite noticed the warmth still lingering on their neck, hadn’t registered the faint marks, those tiny bruises left by your lips in the hazy hours of last night, each one like a dark cherry painted on their skin.

professor caldwell’s voice began to drone on from the front, and V dropped their gaze to the desk, willing themselves to focus, to let the rhythm of greek declensions and conjugations drown out the lingering warmth that tingled through them. you had laughed about their major, half-joking about the language of romance and poetry while your mouth traced along the curve of their neck, each word becoming something soft, quiet, reverent in the dark. they thought they could still feel it, could still remember the press of your hands against their shoulders, the unguarded look in your eyes that made V feel both completely exposed and utterly safe.

across the room, someone leaned over to their friend, whispering something with a smirk, and V felt the faint prickling sensation of being watched. they glanced up, catching the raised eyebrows, the conspiratorial gleam in their classmates’ eyes. V’s face warmed instantly, but they managed a small, polite smile before dropping their gaze back to their notebook, convinced that if they focused hard enough, they could make themself invisible.

it wasn’t long before someone inched closer, a girl from their study group, flashing them a look that was equal parts amused and intrigued.

“V,” she whispered, leaning in, “looks like you had an eventful night.”

V blinked, taken aback. “an eventful night?”

she gave them a playful grin, tilting her head just enough for her eyes to drift to the side of their neck, and suddenly, V felt the weight of her gaze as if it were a burning mark itself. they pressed a hand self-consciously to their skin, realizing with a jolt what she must be seeing—the faint outline of each mark you’d left, the soft purples and blues etched into their dusky skin.

the girl’s grin widened, and V could practically feel the heat creeping up their neck, staining their cheeks.

“i– it’s not–” they stammered, words tumbling over themselves in a futile attempt to explain something that needed no explanation. “it’s just… nothing!”

she laughed, a soft, knowing sound that made V feel like every inch of them was under a spotlight.

“sure,” she replied, her tone teasing. “nothing at all.”

another voice piped up from across the room, this time one of the guys they vaguely recognized from last semester, watching them with a smirk. “get it, V!”

V felt their heart sink, the warmth on their cheeks intensifying as they desperately tried to avoid making eye contact with anyone. they wanted to disappear, to melt into the seat and let the floor swallow them whole. this wasn’t like them—V, quiet and unassuming, the one who read too many old texts and held onto thoughts like secrets. they could hardly bear the thought of all these eyes on them now, each one reading the evidence of last night like an open book.

professor caldwell finally took note of the murmuring, glancing up from his notes with a frown. “is there something particularly fascinating happening in the back of the room that i should know about?”

silence fell, and V took the opportunity to bury themselves deeper in their notes, trying to will away the warmth in their cheeks and the prickling awareness that your mark on them had become the morning’s unspoken headline. they could feel every sideways glance, every whispered comment, as though it were written in neon across their skin.

when class finally ended, V was the first out of the room, slipping through the hallways as quickly as they could, every step carrying them further from the embarrassment of those lingering glances and raised eyebrows. they found a quiet alcove near the library, leaning against the cool stone wall, finally able to breathe.

V closed their eyes, a quiet, helpless laugh slipping out as they leaned back against the wall, feeling every inch the awkward, bashful mess you somehow adored.

W OSTENDORF

W stumbled into their morning cinematography lecture, barely awake. they hadn’t even glanced in the mirror before dashing out of their room, their shirt collar slightly askew, blonde hair tousled in a way that looked less artful and more accidental. their eyes were ringed with the faint shadows of sleep deprivation, deep-set from too many late nights and one too many bad dreams. they’d long accepted that sleep, for them, was like an old friend gone missing.

W slipped into a chair near the back of the room, hoping to fade into the background. but, almost immediately, they felt a tap on their shoulder. they turned, meeting the curious gaze of bailey, one of the classmates they usually talked to. they were already leaning in, their eyes bright with mischief.

“W…” bailey said, a sly smile creeping up their face, “so how was it?”

W blinked, looking back at them with a blank expression. “what?”

bailey stifled a laugh, glancing pointedly at W’s neck. “i’d be more concerned about covering those up if i were you.”

confused, W’s hand drifted to the side of their neck, their fingers brushing over what felt like faint ridges in the skin—tender and, unmistakably, hickey-shaped. last night came back to them in fragments: the soft press of your lips against their skin, the warmth of your hands, and the way W’s heart had beat so fast it was like it was learning to keep time for the first time. they could still feel it—the gentleness of you, the careful way you’d mapped out their skin, the way you had filled the empty spaces in them like sunlight spilling into shadows.

“oh,” they mumbled, barely audible, color rising in their fair cheeks as they finally understood what bailey was implying. they fumbled with their winter coat, as though it could somehow cover up the evidence. but it was too late; bailey had already seen, and so had half the classroom, if the muffled snickers and side-glances were any indication.

W swallowed hard, trying to suppress the urge to shrink into themself. it was one thing to carry the memory of last night like a secret tucked close to their chest, but it was another to have it branded on their skin, visible for everyone to see. “with a reaction like that, i’m curious now,” bailey whispered conspiratorially. “who was it?”

W was too flustered to answer, too aware of the heat creeping up their neck. they just shook their head, mumbling something incoherent under their breath.

they could practically feel the weight of everyone’s attention pressing down on them, and it was unbearable. the classroom had never felt so small. they wanted to disappear, to dissolve into the air and float away. their fingers tightened around the edge of their desk, knuckles white.

just as they were beginning to think they might actually combust under the weight of it all, professor shah finally started the lecture, mercifully redirecting everyone’s attention to the topic of 60s cinematography. W tried to focus, to let the professor’s voice anchor them, but they kept getting distracted by the faint brush of their own fingertips against their neck, as though they were reassuring themself that last night had been real.

but the worst part, the part W couldn’t admit even to themself, was that somewhere beneath all the embarrassment, there was a strange, inexplicable warmth in their chest. it wasn’t just the memory of you; it was the fact that, for once, they felt like someone who mattered. you had looked at them like they were more than a bundle of nerves, more than a collection of protruding ribs and insecurities. you had wanted them, had left marks on them like an artist signing their work, as though to say, “this precious one belongs to me.”

W kept their head down for the rest of class, pretending to take notes while their mind wandered. they thought about your laugh, the way it filled up the quiet spaces between words; they thought about the constellations embedded in your eyes, a collection of universes unknown. and even as their skin burned under the scrutiny of their classmates, they couldn’t help but feel a kind of ridiculous, unsteady happiness, as though they were holding a fragile piece of you.

after class, as W gathered their things, bailey caught up with them again, their eyes dancing with barely-contained laughter.

“whoever they are,” they said, leaning in with a grin, “they did a number on you. you look like a jackson pollock painting.”

W managed a small, awkward smile, brushing them off with a half-hearted shrug. “i… thank you? i think?”

but bailey just laughed, giving them a pat on the shoulder before they sauntered off. W watched them go, exhaling a long, shaky breath. the hallway stretched out in front of them, crowded with students milling about, voices echoing in the familiar buzz of conversation. they felt oddly detached from it all, like they were drifting, the world around them softened by the memory of you.

when they finally stepped outside, the winter air was like an ice pack against their flushed cheeks. they pulled their coat tighter around them, but they couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at the corners of their mouth. even in their embarrassment, they felt lighter, their heart buoyed by the quiet assurance that they had been seen, and known, and wanted.

for a brief, foolish moment, W wished you were there beside them, walking through the crowded hallway, your shoulder brushing against theirs. they imagined the feel of your hand slipping into theirs, the easy way you would laugh at their embarrassment, and they felt a surge of something that was both longing and contentment.

D DIACONU

D showed up to their morning music class like they did every day: with a sort of effortless swagger, their bag slung over one shoulder, hair messier than usual, and the faintest grin ghosting their mouth as though they were carrying a secret joke. they slipped into their seat near the back, collapsing into it with the practiced nonchalance of someone who had perfected the art of looking utterly unfazed.

to D, mornings meant more than just a groggy start; they were an opportunity to blend their night life into the mundane day, to turn the hours of dawn into some blurry prequel that nobody else needed to understand.

what D didn’t realize, though, was that last night had left its mark in more ways than one.

the professor was droning on about music theory, the class settling into its familiar rhythm, when senne, a friend sitting beside D, leaned over, his eyebrows quirked, mischief lighting up his eyes.

“good morning to you,” he murmured, his voice low, his smile mischievous. “do you, perchance, have a good mirror at your dorm? you can borrow mine if that’s not the case.”

D glanced at him, half-interested, arching an eyebrow. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

senne snickered, nudging his chin toward D’s neck, gesturing without making a scene but just enough to catch D’s attention.

D frowned, hands drifting to their collarbone almost instinctively, fingers brushing over their neck. the memory of last night washed over them—your lips, your hands, the way you laughed softly against their skin as if every touch could be a confession. in the hazy, half-lit memory, the feel of your warmth and weight lingered as though it had seeped into them. but that feeling, that heated moment, had seemed so ephemeral, so fleeting, something to fold up and pocket away by morning.

D’s fingers brushed over the skin—the sensitive spots, the small, faint bruises where you had left traces. hickeys. and not just one.

a dozen memories flashed in their mind. the way you had leaned in, your mouth grazing the edge of their collarbone, the laughter that bubbled up in between breaths, a hand gripping their shoulder. D’s smile faltered, turning instead into a half-smirk as they let their fingers drop, trying to play it cool even as their face warmed.

senne whistled quietly, leaning back with a knowing look that made it clear he wasn’t going to let this go. “you lucky dog.”

D shrugged, attempting to look bored but failing to disguise the slight, pleased flicker in their eyes. “well, i’m not going to deny that.”

at that, senne’s eyebrows went up. “oh, believe me, it shows. whoever they are, they really… left their mark, huh? quite a possessive one you got there.”

D rolled their eyes, feeling strangely irritated under the scrutiny of both Sam and a few other classmates who had caught on, now sneaking glances and stifling laughs. the professor continued to lecture in the background, blissfully unaware of the scandalous distraction sitting right in front of him. metronomes would wait; apparently, D’s love life was more important.

“i didn’t ask for you to take a guess,” D murmured, voice low and defiant, as if the room wasn’t filled with people trying to catch a glimpse of the faint marks you’d left on them. they tilted their head, defiant as ever, lips pulled into a smirk that only grew when senne laughed.

“not my fault you’re wearing your social life like a badge of honor,” senne retorted, giving them a playful nudge. “i don’t think i’ve ever seen you be okay with people giving you hickeys.”

“maybe this person’s special,” D shot back, pulling the collar of their leather jacket up just a bit. “or maybe i don’t particularly care about it anymore.”

as the professor continued to lecture on how music was seen as a blessing from the gods, it struck D as amusingly fitting. aphrodite would have approved, they thought with a sly grin, leaning back in their chair with a certain satisfaction, a sense of belonging to a story larger than themself, even if just for a night.

the professor’s voice carried on, explaining some about some more old instruments. D tried to focus on the words, on the way they wove together in that heavy, ancient way, but every phrase seemed to loop back to you. your eyes. your teeth against their skin. the way you’d whispered things that only mattered in the small hours, words that vanished with the dawn but left their mark all the same.

senne leaned over once more, whispering, “so, is it, y’know?”

D smirked, tilting their head as though considering it, as though they didn’t already know the answer.

“maybe,” they said casually, but there was a knowing glint in their gray eyes. “i’d prefer not to reveal anything yet.”

senne chuckled, rolling his eyes, but there was a part of him that seemed genuinely curious, almost as if he wanted to know what it was like to be seen the way D was seen last night—to be held and marked and claimed, even if just for a moment. of course, he was thinking about emerson again.

when class ended, D stood up, brushing off senne’s continued teasing, rolling their eyes with a smirk that was equal parts cocky and lazy. they didn’t bother to fix their collar again, didn’t try to hide the hickeys. Instead, they let them be—little maroon trails of a night well-spent, reminders of a heat they’d carry with them through the rest of the day, a secret in plain sight.

M WHITLOCK-SINGH

M slipped into their philosophy class with the quiet poise of someone determined to avoid attention, a little bleary-eyed from the night before. they moved with the precision of a dancer, even half-awake, shoulders straight and head held just high enough to nod politely to the few classmates they recognized.

it had been one of those endless nights, where time seemed to slip in and out of itself, conversations trailing into dawn without ever quite stopping, hours blending until they felt like one long and breathless moment. M had walked to class still caught in the residue of that night, smiling privately, replaying your smile, the warmth of your hand, the way you’d leaned in close with that unmistakably needy glint in your eye.

they slid into their seat, adjusting their collar out of habit, but the faint ache at their neck went unnoticed in their early morning haze. they didn’t see the subtle bruises—purple shadows kissed onto their skin like reminders of you. but someone else did.

“morning, M,” murmured eli, who sat next to them, their tone riddled with a soft irish accent. they eyed M’s neck for a second too long, their gaze slipping toward the faint trail of hickeys there before they looked away, poorly disguised laughter on their lips.

“good morning, eli,” M replied, their usual courtesy unfazed by the glances and whispered chuckles around the room. they didn’t catch the murmurs, or the sneaky glances, still thinking of last night—how you’d wrapped them in your laughter, how you’d left them breathless with the reckless ease that only you had.

it wasn’t until professor dunbar, a tall and somewhat intimidating figure with a penchant for socratic questioning, entered and began the lecture that M started to catch on. he looked right at the royal, paused, and then coughed, almost as if trying to conceal a smirk.

the entire class seemed to ripple with an electric, almost surreptitious amusement.

finally, one of the other students, a lanky guy named oliver who was known for his bluntness, leaned over. he barely whispered, though, letting his voice carry to others seated nearby. “your highness, didn’t know you were the type to show up to class wearing your nightlife around your neck.”

M blinked, feeling the words settle before they fully registered. “i beg your pardon?”

they touched their neck absentmindedly, but as they felt the faint bruises beneath their fingers, realization spread across their face. the warmth of last night’s memory filled them again, and there was a warmth in their cheeks that couldn’t quite be disguised.

oliver grinned, looking far too pleased. “you’ve got souvenirs, nice.”

M’s hand dropped, and they straightened, composure slipping for just a heartbeat. a rush of images flooded their mind—you, under the dim lights, your lips lingering on their neck, the world a comfortable blur around you both. they felt exposed in a way that was unfamiliar, like someone had opened a book they’d meant to keep closed.

eli leaned over, their voice gentle with a thread of teasing. “they suit you, actually. just… remember to cover it before class next time”

M managed a demure smile, lifting their chin slightly. “i’ll keep that in mind.”

eli’s smile widened, but they said nothing, only gave a small shrug as if to say no worries.

M could feel their heart thundering under the calm mask they usually wore, wondering how they could possibly explain to these people how it felt to be with you. how every touch had felt both wild and intimate, like a shared whisper that neither of you could ever forget. there was no explaining to eli or oliver or anyone here how your presence lingered, how it was both comforting and thrilling, how you’d looked at them like they were someone worth keeping close.

the professor’s lecture drifted on, dissecting concepts of ethics and purpose, but M’s mind wandered. they half-listened, still feeling the ghost of your touch, remembering the twinkling of your eyes in the small hours of the night. when the lecture ended, and they were finally free to leave, they lingered, half-expecting another comment, another nudge from a classmate.

instead, it was eli who sidled up to them, his tone light but laced with curiosity. “so… who was it, mate? don’t be shy now.”

M raised an eyebrow, almost amused by their persistence. “i’m afraid i can’t disclose that, eli.”

eli shrugged, undeterred. “fine, keep your secrets. but hey,” he added with a knowing smirk, “they must be something else if you’re willing to come here wearing their love bites.”

for a second, M considered dismissing eli with their usual reserve, but something in them softened. they allowed a faint smile, a rare and almost too-open thing, as they looked toward the door, already picturing you there. “yes,” M said, their voice a quiet warmth that made eli blink, momentarily thrown by the softness in their tone. “they really are something else.”

[slushycoookie]

Kinktober Day 24 ~ Lingerie

Leon Kennedy x Fem! Reader

Summary: You have a little surprise for Leon.

A/N: Sorry this one was late, wanted to make sure this was still to my standards. Hope you all enjoy!

Prev *✧･ﾟ: Next Kinktober '24 Masterlist

“You like what you see?”

Leon pauses by the bathroom door, honed in on your new outfit. A black babydoll set with a high slit that went up past your hips. It hugged your frame so perfectly. Even your breasts, pushed up a bit to accentuate.

He realizes he hasn't said anything in a few minutes.

“Yeah. Wow, you look…” Leon steps closer to you, looking down to admire the lingerie up close. “wow.”

“Thanks. I wanted to surprise you.”

You give him a spin and he notices the fabric hardly covers your ass. Leon could see the bottom of your cheeks if you bent over just a little.

“You almost look too good not to touch.”

He's even closer now and his breath fans your face. “Almost…”

Leon's fingers curl around one strap. His calloused fingers graze your skin when he pulls the strap down your shoulder. You watch his intense blue eyes with a hand on your hip, almost touching the exposed skin. Your lips part when Leon presses you against the wall, hand cradling your neck.

“Where’d you get it?”

You hold in a smirk, the tip of your nose grazing his. “Why? You gonna buy me some more?”

“Maybe…” He feels tiny bumps on your skin when his fingertip traces your shoulder blade. “This comes in other colors, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Your breath hitches at his lips on your neck.

“List the colors.”

Leon smiles against your skin at your huff.

“Red, blue, violet, mmh.” He’s slowly decorating your neck with his gentle kisses, twirling his index finger around your strap.

“Keep going…”

He travels to your collarbone, leaving a trail of his saliva.

“Black, pink…green…”

Leon pushes up your breasts in the material, admiring your succulent mounds. You sigh while he descends upon you. “You stopped.”

“I can’t think of any more colors.”

“Then guess.”

“Uh, white, purple-unh!”

Leon pulls aside your panties, two fingers rubbing along your folds. “You said purple already.”

“No, I didn’t-” He silenced you by pulling down the cups and suckling on your breast. Your hands finding their way into his silky hair. Leon latches on to your nipple, rolling his tongue around the bud until it erects. All while teasing your cunt. Not diving his fingers into your hole just yet.

You jump when he pulls the fabric down to let it slap against your sex. He grins, switching to your other breast.

“Oooh, stop teasing me.” You whimper when the fabric hits your pussy again. “Please…”

Leon hums, parting from your nipple. Your desperate face is something he wants to memorialize in his head.

“Okay, I’ll stop.”

A brief moment of panic hits your face before he inserts two digits inside you. Your mouth gapes, eyes wide when he starts pumping into you. Wetness from your cunt coating his fingers. Leon watches you from below, taking in what movements make you tick. You're so pretty like this.

Even when your babydoll is ruffled, practically hanging off of you with your breasts on display. He doesn't touch you further than this. Obsessed with the idea of getting you to climax by fingering you.

“Leon…” You coo, gripping his forearm.

“Think you got any more colors to list for me?” He chuckles when you shake your head. “Thought so.”

He picks you up with one arm, easily pulling down your panties. Just enough to cup your sex. The palm rubbing circles against your clit while he's still two fingers inside you. Your thigh around his waist struggling to stay up. All while you're crying under his hold.

Leon feels your thighs clench, your climax taking you by surprise. His chest rumbles at your cunt getting wetter. You shake, nails digging into his skin. His erection pokes you, but he doesn't pounce on you yet. Your afterglow always knocks the air out of his lungs.

“You know, black looks the best on you.”

Tags:

@fandomfics @freythecrazyfae @maddyperezzzsstuff

@mynamesstevenwithav @eyes-ofhell @maxad99

@howlingco @cherrypieyourface @snails-doodles22

@siren-141 @nega-omega @sweetimpurity

@hehekittyhawk @spencerswh0r3 @saintdiior

@maliaofthevalley @wolverigrl @pigeonmama

@shybluebirdninja @tomie-it-girl @antishadow2021

@honey-and-olives

[fuckmymunson]

eddie who has a reputation to uphold, the weird and scary freak who wears chains and big metal rings and always goes on tangents about his hatred for the popular kids, not a sliver of fear or weakness in his eyes. eddie who at the same time never leaves his house without the light yellow scrunchy with daisies on it that you gave him, always on his wrist or wrapped in his hair.

eddie who’s sweet n soft on you in a way he never is with anyone else 🥹

💌 a/n: Oh god, this, this, this, this. Please, I don’t ask for much. I’m so happy to get back to writing! Hope you like it!

🪷 Check my recent poll ¡! 📌

“I lost it” His voice sounded almost defeated, and quite inopportune.

“Eddie!” You jolted in your place, closing the light green locker door. Behind it, there he was, the big, scary, mean freak of Hawkins High. Covered from head to toe in chains, leather, ripped jeans, black, black, all black. With dark, unruly hair and a chunky rings.

But also, with puppy eyes, and a quivering lip.

“You scared the shit out of me, Eds” The frown on your pretty face made his heart jump inside his chest. You were an angel, a sight for sore eyes.

“I lost it” He repeated.

“You lost what?”

“I’m sorry” Eddie looked down, apparently now his Reeboks were the most interesting thing.

“Care to explain what is missing and why are you apologizing?” Crossing your arms over your chest, you waited, for almost three minutes.

“I lost the scrunchy you gave me” He finally admitted, like a criminal at trial.

Eddie heard you sigh, to his ears, was a sigh of disappointment. In reality, it was a sigh of relief. Only Edward Munson knew how to make a simple thing as a scrunchy into a faithful message.

“That’s it? Eddie, it’s just a hair tie” You shook your head, still not comprehending the dimensions of his problem.

“It’s not just a hair tie!” He exclaimed, now almost offended, of course only he could switch mood that easily. A few curious students looked at your way, still wondering how did an adorable piece of cotton and sunshine like you, was dating the metalhead, three-times senior freak of not only high school, but of the whole town.

“Yes it is, love. I can just give you another one, don’t worry— Look, I can give you the one I’m wearing…”

“I don’t want that one” He said, his words sounding almost like a tantrum. “I want the one you gave me on our first date, the yellow one with little sunflowers”

“Daisies, Eddie” You corrected him with a smile. Only Eddie was able to remember such a tiny detail and forget a crucial detail.

Only Eddie was able to make you feel loved, cherished and appreciated. He was so different from every other person you have dated before. He snatched your heart from the very first day and it’s been a daily occurrence for almost a year. The scary, weird freak, the person considered a devil worshipper, the mean senior who had the admirable (or idiotic) courage to stand out against others who felt like they had the right to humiliate and ridicule those who weren’t like them. Your Eddie, the one who broke a jock’s nose one time for slapping your ass walking through the halls. Your Eddie, who waited patiently until every extracurricular activities you were into were over, so he could drive you home and hold your thigh and listen to you throughout the whole ride. Your Eddie, who loved Saturday night because it meant movie night, cuddles and kisses. The mean freak who let you braid his hair, paint his nails, sew his old t-shirts.

The Eddie Munson who was scared of spiders but wasn’t scared of a hundred people crowd. The boy who initiated a food fight at the cafeteria and had to go to the nurses office because an orange hit his eye and he realized he was allergic to them. The man who every Friday made fairy tales, knight stories and evil monsters come true and walk this very earth with just his voice and his imagination at his D&D club. Your Eddie, who on your first date, dropped a chocolate milkshake on top of your white dress, forgot to fill his fuel tank, and had to push his van all the way to the nearest gas station.

That’s how the bright scrunchy ended up in his hair, in a makeshift ponytail that you made by running your delicate fingers through his tangled hair.

That was your Eddie.

Your Eddie. Yours. Yours.

“Fine, let’s go find it” You said, grabbing his hand and kissing his knuckles. “Tell me what you did today…”

Sorry for any mistakes! English is not my first language. Thank you for reading!˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

[murdrdocs]

INTERVIEW 013

with. finnick odair

includes. fem!reader, husband finnick, filming, kitchen sex, domesticity, oral (fem receiving)

→ kinktober masterlist

It started out as the definition of domesticity. 

There was a package in the mail, sent from Katniss and Peeta, addressed to ‘The Odairs’ in Katniss’ handwriting. Seeing the joint name made you giddy, but reading the letter from your closest friends made you giddier. 

They’d congratulated you on your recent marriage, praised the ceremony once more, and had enclosed an old video camera for both of you to document your newlywed endeavors on. 

While you had cooking and home decorating selected as ideas for ‘newlywed endeavors’, Finnick had gone a different route. 

The camera sat in his hands as he kissed at your neck, his free hand teasing at your waist. 

“C’mon, sweetheart. It’ll be fun,” came his promise, spoken lowly and close to your ear in an attempt to get you to give in. You were closer to doing so than you would like to admit, just the thought almost enticing enough to make you put the knife down, slide the vegetables out of the way, and give Finnick what he wanted. 

Almost. 

You refused to give in without making Finnick plead just a little more. 

You hummed, fauxing disinterest as you brought the knife down in another audible slice against the wooden chopping board. 

Finnick continued. “We could look back on it. You could see what I see; How pretty my wife is.” The term made your heart flutter, still not used to being the wife of Finnick Odair.  His hand at your waist circled around to your front, pressing flat against your stomach and pulling you flush against him so you could feel the semi he was sporting beneath his joggers. 

You couldn’t help it anymore, your head lolling back to rest against Finnick, your skull connecting with the taut muscles all along his body. 

 “What d’you say?” You could hear the self satisfied smile in his words.

You end up on the counter top, any food you were prepping pushed all the way to the side to make room for you. Your legs spread, Finnick’s head between a pair of plushy thighs, your abdomen tensing and relaxing as you controlled your breathing. You caught it all on camera, the object pointed down at your husband who licks and sucks along your cunt like it’s his favorite pastime in the world. 

Which, he’s told you as such. 

The muscles in his shoulders flex as he nudges the back of your legs with them, arms circling around your thighs to press his fingertips into the flesh. 

Your legs have lifted a bit, spreading you open even more. 

Finnick presses his tongue flat, letting it relax over the expanse of your cunt as much as the muscle can reach. He licks a long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, repeating the pattern back and forth until you can’t take it anymore. When you whine, the sound desperate and pathetic, he gives you more. 

The interlude of teasing has completely passed, Finnick going back to devouring you like he knows how. He releases one of your legs to use two digits inside of your greedy walls, cunt swallowing them up as Finnick pumps in a fast paced rhythm. 

He focuses on your clit and the surrounding area with his mouth, eyes opening to look up at you. Through the camera, the green is a little grainy, slightly dulled, but you can see the intensity behind his gaze all the same. 

His cheeks flushed, the tip of his nose glistening, blonde wavy hair all over the place from your grip. Your hand finds the strands again as your orgasm approaches, the camera leaning off to the side just a little. 

Finnick pulls away from your cunt and you cry out as you stare down at him in shock. 

He tuts, jerking his head towards the camera. “Keep it on me, baby.” 

You quickly bring it back, taking Finnick’s smile as a form of praise as he goes back down. Just as quick, you’re close again, back arching and muscles tightening. 

Your hand slips from Finnick’s hair, nails scratching at his shoulder as it flails around. Finnick, always knowing exactly what you need, offers his own hand to ground you, both of your fingers quickly interlocking like opposite ends of a magnet. 

When you cum on Finnick’s tongue, it’s so loud that the tiny microphone in the camera struggles to pick it up. 

Watching it back, Finnick teases you for it, his cock sliding in and out of your walls as he fucks you from behind, lips against the shell of your ear as he promises he can make you cum louder here and now than he did then.

[feyhunter78]

The Tower of the Wolf

Description: You, one of the last remaining ladies of Dowager Queen Alicent are brought before Cregan Stark, acting Hand of the King.

You attempt to cling to the former Dowager Queen like a child, your nails digging into her skirts. The fabric once beautiful, a vibrant green now dirtied and torn, her pale shaking hands holding your wrists trying to keep you with her. The both of you sobbing as Northmen pull you from her, ignoring your tears and your lady's pleas for your life. Your lady was good, she cared, she fought for you, even now in chains she fought for you, not only because you were her niece, but for you were a cherished member of her court

“She has done nothing wrong, have you no compassion, you beasts?” She spits out the word like it is poison, her nails digging into your skin, leaving raised marks as they drag you from her grip.

“Please, do not take me from her, she is my lady, my duty is to remain by her side!” You try to fight against them, clawing at the man's face, neck, hands, any skin you can reach, you will not leave your lady. Not when she is all you have left, not when you fear what they will do to her if she is alone. The Brothel Queens.

That horrid fool Mushroom had spread the tale, laughing at the way all color drained from your face. It had not been done, the usurper Rhaenyra had died before it could be, but who is to say it could not still be put in place? There are cruel men that remain within the Keep, cruel men who would see your lady punished for the Greens’ actions.

The Northmen clearly grow tired of your protests, and one backhands you. “Waste of time trying to reason with Hightower whores, Lord Stark should just get rid of them.” The force of the slap sending you stumbling into the wall as your lady cries out, tugging at the chains that keep you beyond her reach.

You hold your hand to your cheek, trying to scramble back to her, but you are caught before you can take a step.

“Quit struggling.” Another man snarls, before he flings you over his shoulder, your chin slamming against his armored back, the metallic taste of blood blooms on your tongue, and your vision blurs as more tears pour forth.

You can hear Lady Alicent’s cries as they carry you away. The agonized screams tear at your heart, echoing in your ears even when the door to the dungeons is slammed shut, and you find yourself back in the relative quiet of the Keep’s halls.

The Hour of the Wolf, that is what they are calling it, and you curse the whole of House Stark. How dare they, how dare they come here and act as saviors? You have not even seen Jaehaera since you were thrown in the dungeon with your lady, is she even alive?

You try to calm yourself, focusing on the floor, counting the marble tiles as your captor takes a brisk pace through the halls, muttering to himself in that barbaric northern way. He is taking you to the Tower of the Hand, and your stomach lurches. The screams of your cousin Helaena, sweet, kind Helaena return to your mind, the blood, Jaehaerys’ little body. It was beyond cruel that plot of cursed Daemon Targaryen, beyond cruel that Princess Rhaenyra would go along with it having lost her own son. How could she wish that pain upon sweet Helaena, a girl who had done her no wrong?

Finally, your captor lets you down, dropping you like a sack of potatoes, pain flaring through your body at your ungraceful landing upon the hard stone floor. Someone had removed the carpet, perhaps it had been dirtied. The remainder of the decorations were still present, the rounded window letting light spill in, the hearth empty and boarded up to prevent any assassins from sneaking in. Besides that, it was pristine, untouched by the havoc outside its walls. Though you and Lady Alicent had been allowed to bathe—to walk towards the Stranger in rags, but not filth—before Lord Stark had sent word that you both would be moved, you still felt dirty. Still felt as though the stench of death, the filth of grief, clung to your skin and hair.

“Lord Bolton, I asked you to escort Lady y/n, not drag her here as if she is a common criminal.”

“Apologies, My Lord, but she attacked my men.”

“Attacked?” You can hear the suspicion in his voice, picture the raised eyebrow.

“She attempted to claw their eyes out.”

He laughs, the damned Stark lord laughs, as if it is humorous that you feared so greatly for your life. “If your men are so easily caught off guard perhaps, they need to spend more time training, it does no good to have an army so easily defeated by a single woman.”

You bite down on the inside of your cheek, uncaring if more blood fills your mouth, you cannot stand to hear his voice, cannot even raise your head to look at him. Will he kill you? You were not a key player in the war, merely a lady-in-waiting, a loyal one, a third daughter of a second son who did not leave her aunt even when she ordered you to. Perhaps you can make a deal, offer yourself as a bedwarmer while the Stark lord is here? Attempt to convince him your lady should be sent back to Oldtown to remain under house arrest with what little family you and her had left. Though he is a Stark and their honor is known, he would not take a mistress…

Bowing your head, you take hold of the seven-pointed star around your neck, a gift from Lady Alicent. You swear that you will go with him, back to the frigid North, if it means your lady would not die in a cell haunted by the ghosts of this cursed keep.

You are too lost in your thoughts to notice that Lord Stark has dismissed Lord Bolton and is kneeling before you, his eyes fixated on the blood trickling from your lip, the ever-forming bruise on your cheek.

“Lady y/n?” He asks softly, much too softly for a man in his position.

You swallow hard and force yourself to raise your eyes, your mouth still tastes of iron, and you know you must force your spine to be made of it as well.

Lord Cregan Stark is handsome, strong jaw, dark hair, eyes like storm clouds, full lips and a scattering of stubble and roguish scars. But his handsome looks do nothing to dampen the raw strength, the aura of a warrior, a man who has killed and will again, that cannot be hidden beneath cloaks and clothing. Broad shoulders, large, calloused hands, and arms that tell of training and hard work, he towers over you even as he kneels, and you are terrified.

“My Lord?” You answer his question with a question, unwilling to give anything away to this beast.

“Are you hurt? You are bleeding.” Cregan says, reaching inside his cloak and pulling out a handkerchief, gently dabbing at your wounded lip.

You flinch back, and he pulls away slowly, his hand still outstretched, leaving the handkerchief between you. “I did not mean to hurt you, my apologies.”

“It was not your fault.” You say quietly, your eyes downcast, focusing on the handkerchief, the pristine white cloth marred by scarlet, blood scattered amongst snow.

“I will have those men disciplined, you are a lady, and should be treated as such.” He sounds earnest, you can detect no falsehoods, but still you are wary.

“Thank you, My Lord, but it is not necessary. I am a prisoner of war; I do not expect to be treated as an honored guest.” You say demurely, clasping your hands in front of you, wincing when you see the blood that covers them.

Cregan takes a waterskin from the desk behind him, the very desk Lord Hightower used to sit at, and wets his handkerchief before gently reaching for your hands. You watch as he cleans the blood from them, using soft circular motions, his calloused hands warm against your much smaller ones, and he does not release them until they are clean.

“This is your home, is it not? You should not be treated as such in your home.” His voice is warm, warmer than his hands, and if you close your eyes you can pretend. Pretend he is a brave knight who has rescued you, not a barbarian from the North who aided those who keep you prisoner.

“This is my lady’s home as well, and she is treated far worse than I.” You protest, praying that he will not grow angry and strike you.

“Your aunt—the Dowager Queen has been sorely mistreated; I arrested the men who cast her into those foul dungeons, and she should be returned to her chambers by the time we have finished here.” Cregan says, folding the handkerchief and setting it with the waterskin on the desk behind him once more.

“I am glad to hear that.” You say, finally able to meet his eyes.

“I am honored I could lighten your spirits.” He says, a wolfish grin gracing his lips, his gray eyes flashing with an unreadable light.

This is what you have prepared yourself for, you must do it, for the good of your lady, for Jaehaera if she still lives, for the realm. All women know a satiated man does not wage war, does not continue the fight when it has been won, he simply takes his prize and returns home. You gather your courage and place your hand upon Cregan’s, looking up at him through your lashes, hoping you do not look as horrid as you feel. “Perhaps you would allow me to show you how glad I am, My Lord?”

He sucks in a breath, almost imperceptibly, a blush blooming across his face, his eyes widening a fraction, and for a moment he does not seem so beastly.

“I cannot imagine you had many comforts on your journey, it is such a long way from Winterfell, is it not? And now after all that fighting you must hold a war-torn city together until others come to a decision, how awful.” You pout at him, for him, and allow one of the torn sleeves of your gown to slip off your shoulder.

“Aye, it was a long journey.” He manages to say, his fingers twitching beneath your hand, his breath catching in his throat when you move your hand to his wrist.

His shuttered breaths embolden you, and you shift forward, placing your other hand on his thigh, the muscle is firm to the touch, you note. “Such things must weigh so heavily upon you…if I am able to lighten that burden, I would be more than happy to.”

“You do not need to.” He says, his eyes flickering from yours to your hand on his thigh. “Truly, Lady y/n, I would never press myself upon you, I am not that kind of man.”

“But I want to, I want to help.” The lie rolls off your tongue easily, for it is half-truth. You cannot deny Cregan is attractive, but he still holds your life in his hands and could easily crush it at any time. There is something dangerously appealing about that, though, and you find that despite the dangers, you are desperate for the warmth he radiates.

Cregan’s eyes darken, and he groans low in his throat, closing the distance between you, stopping a hairsbreadth from your lips. “Tell me to stop, push me away, scream, slap me, I will not fight you, I will have you seen back to your lady, there will be no punishment.”

Liquid heat rolls through your veins at the sound of his desperate rasp, the restraint he possesses to not surge forward and claim you as his own. “Lord Sta—”

“Cregan.” He corrects softly, “I wish to hear you say my name.”

“Cregan, I do not wish you to stop.” You tell him, head spinning with the way his mere presence overwhelms your senses, the scent of pine and campfire smoke, his warm hands, his eyes, so dark, so deep you may drown.

Cregan’s lips meet yours, tasting of salt and honey, an oddly pleasant combination, his hands on your waist, beacons of warmth and civility, as his lips take you under, whispering heated words every time you part for air. “Say it again, I beg of you.”

“Cregan, please, do not stop.” You oblige him, grabbing at his tunic, pulling him impossibly closer, desperate for him to do something. Like sully that Stark honor and bind himself to you forever, giving you some kind of foothold in this new era that he has helped usher in.

He pulls back, breathing ragged, and he looks at you, truly looks at you. “If I do not stop now, My Lady, I will not be able to stop at all and I—”

“I wish to hear you say my name.” You echo his words from before, threading your fingers in his dark locks, and guiding his lips back to yours, but turning at the last moment and pressing your lips to his jaw.

“Y/N, please, if you do not stop me”—he lets out a strangled curse when your lips drift lower finding a seemingly sensitive spot, your teeth making a home there—“I am a man, an honorable one, and I have fought and won a war, and I am tempted, by the gods I am tempted, but I do not wish to view you as a prize.”

“Why not? I wish to be your war prize.” You press the words into the skin of his neck, reddened marks blooming in your wake, his grip on you tightens at your words, his head falling back exposing more of his skin.

“Others take me, will you truly have me live up to their stories, the barbarians of the North who steal innocent maidens away from their homes?” Cregan asks, even as he leans into your touch, moaning when you shift in his lap.

“My home is where my lord husband is, wherever he will have me.” Your words drip with implications, your lips pressed to his ear.

He shivers at the sensation, his eyes impossibly dark, his voice low, heady with lust. “I will have you in Winterfell.”

TL: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @svtansdaddyx, @fan-goddess, @dc-marvel-girl96, @shintax-error, @bellameshipper, @the141bandicoot, @the-phantom-of-arda, @haydee5010, @partypoison00, @serrhaewin, @issshhh, @pax-2735, @malfoytargaryen, @sahanna, @dellalyra, @mxrgodsstuff, @jkhomes, @unusual-raccoon, @boofy1998, @kravitzwhore, @caribbeangel, @krispold, @issshh, @afro-hispwriter, @ryswritingrecord, @prettykinkysoul, @elissanatok, @sahvlren, @its-sam-allgood, @happinessinthbeing, @8e-h-e8, @feyres-fireheart, @just-emmaaaa, @crazylokonugget, @hedahobbit98, @devils-blackrose, @mercedesdecorazon, @snh96, @imjustboredso, @izzicle, @hiatuswhore, @aslanvez, @devils-blackrose, @yentroucnagol, @queenofshinigamis, @partyposion00, @cryptidsrcool, @jennifer0305, @solkara, @simpinonyouz, @lorarri

[mypoisonedvine]

𝘁𝗿𝗶𝗰𝗸𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗱𝗲 | dark-ish!joel miller x reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | when you don't have enough rations to get your fix, you have to find something else to trade

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 | a bit under 5k

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | dubious consent SMUT (18+ only; unprotected sex, oral m receiving, creampie, sex as currency), orgasm control, slapping, choking, spanking, very dirty talk including degradation (slut, whore, etc.), possessiveness, discussions/threats of anal but no actual anal, just a touch of daddy kink and sir kink, implied age gap but not specified, joel is a lil mean but in a sexy way, reader is a pill user/addict

You chewed your nails nervously as you watched him walk up to your usual spot; you tried to act casual, but the more of this stuff you got, the more you needed it— and the more you needed, the harder it was to act casual when you knew it was coming.

“You got the stuff?” you asked quickly, giving your anxiousness away.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, “you got the rations?”

You didn’t respond, even with a nod, you just pulled the stack of papers out of your pocket and handed them over. Your foot tapped on the ground— a little tacky, mud’s still drying from the storm two days ago— as he flipped through them.

It’s hard to say what you expected. Like he’d forget how to count or something? “This isn’t enough,” he informed you flatly, looking up from the stack to shoot you a glare.

“C’mon, Joel, be cool,” you whimpered, “so I’m a little short—”

“A little short?” he repeated. “This is less than half what you owe me.”

“Less than half? That’s fourteen— your prices went up?” you wondered.

“No,” he shook his head, seeming frustrated, “what you owe for today plus what you owe from when I spotted you for last week’s fix—”

“Fuck,” you groaned, “I forgot, I’m sorry— but you know I’m good for it.”

He tried to hand the ration cards back to you, and you bit your lip to stop it from shaking.

“I need this, Joel— you know I need this,” you began to ramble, but he stopped you with a tight grip on your shoulder. Looking him in the eyes, you cowered a bit just from how intense his stare was.

“You need to get it together, kid,” he warned you, but you were only halfway paying attention.

“M’not a kid,” you defended yourself quietly, though your mind was already somewhere else as your eyes on the hand holding your shoulder. "I'm low on rations," you admitted, "but I can get you something else."

He gave you a confused look, until you reached forward and rested a hand gently on his chest, through the heavy dark green jacket he wore. Then he understood, and gave you a disappointed look. "I don't do that."

"Do what, relax? Take some time for yourself?" you pressed, letting your teeth catch your bottom lip slightly. His eyes did linger on your mouth for a moment, and you hoped this was working. "How long's it been since you got some?"

"Not that long," he said defensively, letting go of your shoulder, but you stepped closer to him and kept sizing him up.

"How long's it been since you got whatever you wanted?"

That seemed to get his attention a bit better. "You can't just say that— you can't just offer that," he corrected firmly. "You say that to the wrong creep trying to get extra cigarettes or something and you end up—"

"M'not saying it to anybody else, Joel," you promised, "this is just for you— I never traded something like this before, but, you know… we go back, and I trust you."

He raised an eyebrow at you. "Can I trust you?"

Smiling, you pressed your body up against his; he stiffened up— not in the way you were hoping, either— but didn't stop you. "Trust me how? What would I do?"

"I dunno," he muttered.

"I think the better question is, Joel," you lowered your voice as you looked at him through your lashes, "do you think I'm pretty?"

He scoffed, but you saw right through it. He was trying to tell himself he was better than this, that he needed the rations more, that you weren't worth the trouble. But his neck flexed and you knew you were in.

"Honestly, you'd be doing me a favor," you shrugged, standing up on your tiptoes so you could whisper in his ear: "I always wanted to suck your cock."

"Goddamnit," he hissed, and you thought he was about to throw you off when he grabbed your arm. Instead, he started to walk and guide you with him. "Not here."

He took you, eventually, to his room— it was much more spacious than most, especially yours, and you wondered what you'd have to do to get to spend a night here.

A second later, he pulled you into him; his hands ran up your back, and you smiled as he pressed against you. "Lemme see you first, baby, lemme see you," he whispered, helping you out of your shirt and sighing as he grabbed handfuls of your tits.

Your hands, meanwhile, rubbed the front of his jeans— but he wasn't hard yet, at least not much. Not until he unbuckled your pants and pushed them down along with your underwear, immediately groping your bare ass with a sigh.

"Got a nice ass," he decided, jiggling it briefly with his hand— and before you could react to that, he slipped that hand around and cupped your pussy with it, sliding one finger between the seam of your lips.

"Fuck, Joel," you whispered, reeling a bit from how sudden it all was.

But then it stopped— just as instantly as it had started— and he sat down on the couch. "Well?" he prompted after you just stood there dumbfounded for a moment.

He kept his legs spread wide, and put his hands up behind his head as he leaned back. Why was that so hot?

Swallowing, you got down on your knees between his, running your hands up his denim-covered legs for just a moment before finding his belt.

He let you do the work, opening the buckle and sliding the leather out, reaching into the fly and pulling out—

Fuck, he was big. Thick as hell, a fat head with a vein running up the side… you let your mouth water, knowing it would make this easier, and held his shaft tight as you began to lean forward.

"Hey," he said suddenly, making you stop for a second. "You better make it good for me, or no pills."

Looking up at him and hoping your eyes didn't give your nervousness away, you nodded. He smiled, and leaned back to really sink into the couch.

You started with just a few gentle, teasing licks to the tip, one right over his slit, and his only reaction was adjusting his leg a bit. Taking the head in your mouth, you suckled carefully, letting excess spit run down until it collided with your hand at his base.

It wasn't until he started to get harder in your mouth that you realized he wasn't fully hard before. You knew he was hard enough and thought maybe that was where it capped out for a man his age— no, clearly not, and you felt your hand struggle to wrap fully around his girth as he grew even more.

Trying to sink your lips down further, you had to open up your jaw like you never had before; it wasn't painful per se, but it was an odd feeling, and your lips were a little dry to be stretched this far…

You took him deeper until the tip kissed your throat, and you started to really get into the rhythm of it as your hand stroked what was left in time with the bobbing of your head.

Just when you thought you'd found the pattern and pace that would take you to the end of this, you were interrupted. He smiled a little, and a hand grabbed your shoulder suddenly and tightly; you froze. "Slow, baby, slow," he reminded you. "There's no rush, okay?"

You nodded a bit, still holding him in your mouth, and resumed— much more careful with your speed this time.

"Better," he praised, letting go of your shoulder and getting comfortable on the sofa again.

You kept the same motions, but tried not to get too lost in it— letting your tongue lick and taste, trying to really treat him so you wouldn't get corrected again.

It was a struggle to get much deeper, not just for your throat but for your lips and jaw forced wide open. Still, you worked to warm yourself up, taking your time as he'd encouraged you to.

For a while, he didn't react much, though he did watch you very closely. The first thing he did to show he was really here was brush some hair away from your face, tilting your face back slightly in the process.

"Look up at me," he whispered, "there you go… pretty eyes…"

It made your chest warm and your pussy tingle for just a second; his stare was intense, you struggled to keep eye contact with him looking at you like that.

He held your head and started to move his hips a bit, gently sliding his cock in and out of your mouth— just an inch at first, and he held you still while he did what he wanted with you. "Pretty lips," he continued, running his thumb over them, tracing the shape your mouth was forced into by his cock. "Use that tongue, baby, I told you to make it good for me."

Humming in agreement-meets-apology, you ran your tongue firmly along the underside of his cock as he moved in your mouth.

That went on for a while until your jaw was fucking killing you and you had to take a break; even with his hands on your hair he let you pull yourself off, though the look on his face did show some confusion and disappointment.

That all changed when he realized what you were doing. He smiled at you— a dark, yet amused, grin— as you sunk deeper between his legs to lick his balls. They were heavy in your mouth, and a little salty with his sweat; the mix of dark and grey hairs rubbed roughly on your tongue. "That's cute," he informed you, running his fingers over your cheek for a moment. You weren't sure if that was the word you would use for this, but you didn't disagree because your mouth was full.

You switched to the other one, closing your eyes while you really savored it, tracing the shape of them with the tip of your tongue before sucking them carefully into your mouth.

He moaned when you did that, and you opened your eyes. He looked so fucking good like this, eyes shut and head fallen back and his hands tightening into fists at his side. "That's nice, keep going," he encouraged, suddenly grabbing your hair when you sucked even harder on the bulb in your mouth. But he didn't try to stop you, or guide you, he just kept it there and hissed in a breath through his teeth as you continued.

When your jaw had had enough of a break you tried to get right back to it, but he shoved your face back between his legs and groaned.

"Not yet," he snapped, "keep licking my balls— fuck, like that… so dirty, baby…"

When it was time for you to stop that and get back to the main event, he made it pretty clear; he pushed your head back and shoved his cock into your mouth, groaning lowly as he let go and let you get back to it. He seemed to like how eager you were now, not stopping you to slow you down like before.

You twisted your hand around him, because everything was plenty slippery enough to do that, as you bobbed your head; obscene slurping noises filled the room and you felt like a proper whore now, spoiling him with the absolute best head you had to offer, using your mouth to pleasure him until you couldn't remember any other purpose for it.

After a few minutes of that, he yanked you off of his cock by your hair, making you gasp and blink up at him. "Is it good, daddy?" you asked with a smile.

He slapped you quickly on the cheek, and you yelped a bit as your face spun to the side. But you moaned, too. "You like that?" he realized.

"Yeah," you sighed, "unless you don't want me to."

He laughed breathlessly. "No, it's hot— you're such a whore, baby, keep sucking…"

He guided you back, pushing his cock onto your tongue with just his thumb until you could wrap your lips around him again and continue your work.

"Fuck yeah," he sighed, head falling back again.

With each bob of your head, you took him a little deeper— deeper, deeper, until the tip breached your throat and he moaned loudly as you gagged.

"Yeah, choke on it," he encouraged, "show me what you can do— fuck, baby…"

Deeper, deeper, until his whole head was past the back of your throat and you fought the urge to swallow, knowing you'd have to start all over.

"Shit, that's good," he mumbled. "Really fucking good…"

You took him deeper still, until all of a sudden your lips were at his base and his dick was further than you ever thought possible.

"Oh fuck," he moaned, stroking your hair, "you— fuck, baby, that throat… you've got a fucking talent, kid."

You did not expect to get wet from him calling you that… maybe it's just because you never thought he'd say it in a time like this. But it made your thighs clench together and your hips shift.

"No wonder this is what you wanted to do, huh? Wanted to show me your little party trick, take my cock down your fuckin' throat?" he snarled. "Bet you do this all the fucking time, a blowjob for a fix or more rations or something else you want…"

You shook your head, and he laughed a bit.

"No? You're a good girl?"

You nodded, moaning around him.

"Then what are you doing blowing me for pills, huh? Is that what good girls do?"

You shook your head, but he pulled you off by your hair again.

"Say it," he ordered. "Is that what good girls do, suck cock for drugs?"

"No," you answered.

"No sir," he corrected.

"No, sir," you repeated, heat pooling between your legs until you worried you'd drip on his floor.

"Keep sucking, slut," he ordered, putting you back in your place literally and figuratively. "Show me what a bad girl you are— yeah, fuck, show me how you use that whore mouth, fuck—"

You struggled to get back into your pace when he was holding your head, moving you the way he wanted. Unlike before, he was speeding you up, faster and faster until he was basically just fucking your mouth. You did your best to use your hand, but eventually just gave up and kept your throat open, letting him use you however he liked.

"Gonna come in that pretty mouth," he promised, biting his lip for a moment. "Fuck, gonna fill that little mouth— don't swallow it 'til I say so."

You tried to nod, but your movements were controlled by him now; you felt his cock flex and pulse, and you shut your eyes in anticipation of it.

"No, fuck, keep them open," he pleaded, "look up at me while I come— yes, fuck, fuck!"

As he came, you sighed through your nose with relief. You were already thinking about getting that baggy of pills, about how deliciously high you were gonna be tonight, all because you did this. It took longer than you expected, but it was relatively painless— except for your jaw, and your throat, and your cheek, and your knees…

"Show me," he ordered, and you opened your mouth to carefully pool his spend on your tongue. "Mm," he hummed proudly when you displayed it all for him, holding your chin so he could turn your face either way and get a good look at what he'd done to you.

It was humiliating, sort of, and yet you felt proud of yourself when he looked at you like that.

"Good, baby, you can swallow now," he offered, and you did so quickly— but it didn't quite get the taste off your tongue.

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you were about to try to stand up, maybe thank him for letting you do this instead of paying for the pills, but you realized this wasn't over yet just by the way he was looking at you.

"Come up here," he encouraged, patting his thigh and smiling down at you. "Let's see what else you can do."

With shaky knees, you stood up and took your pants off from around your ankles, climbing up to straddle his lap. "Are we really gonna—?"

He interrupted you by grabbing your hips and already starting to give commands. "Over here, baby, like this— there you go…"

He had you right where he needed you in order to guide his cock up to your hole and slide you down onto him. From the second his tip breached your opening, you gasped.

"Tight fuckin' pussy," he grunted, his top lip curling in a snarl for just a second.

He kept pushing you down until your inner thighs were pressed to his jeans, and he watched you shiver as his cock stirred places deep inside you— too deep, you'd thought before, for a cock to reach.

"Go ahead," he instructed, "ride."

You lifted yourself up and down, whimpering as his thick cock stretched you; it was taking you longer than you expected to adjust to it, but you almost didn't want to…

"Too big?" he wondered with a smug smirk.

"I-I can take it," you said, not sounding especially confident.

"You do this a lot?" he interrogated. "Ride big cocks?"

"No," you promised, "I don't— fuck…"

He laughed a little, and moved you so you had to pick up your pace a bit. You had to hold onto the couch to keep your balance as a wavering moan jumped from your lips. "Feels good, baby? Feels nice and thick, givin' that pussy a stretch?" he taunted.

"Yeah," you panted, "feels good."

"Who feels good?"

"You— Joel, it's you, you feel so good, you feel so fucking good," you babbled pathetically, moving faster again. He moved your hands from the back of the couch to his shoulders, before putting his grip back on your hips.

"Keep riding, baby," he instructed, "keep riding my cock, yeah, like that…"

Your head fell back and a low groan slid from your throat. "Joel," you moaned, "fuck, so deep…"

"You know I had to use this whole pussy, baby, every inch," he grinned. "Of course I'm deep— it's all mine, isn't it? I can go as deep as I want."

"Yeah," you breathed, nodding.

"I can go as hard as I want," he continued.

"Yes!"

"I can go as slow as I want," he added, laughing when you whined at the way he forced your pace to slow down again. "What's the rush, baby? Why are you always trying to get it over with? I know you fucking like it."

He held your face for just a second before he slapped it— then he did it again, again… just when you thought he'd never stop slapping you, he did, only to move his hand down to wrap around your neck. The way you gasped in anticipation, your walls restricting around him excitedly, gave you away completely.

"Shit, you like that too?" he grinned, massaging your neck so hard that it already made your head spin. You nodded.

He tightened his grip until your gasp was cut short and you were totally at his mercy, static filling your brain.

"That's it— fuck, you get really tight when I choke you," he noticed when he let go, and you coughed a little but moaned impatiently. "You want more? Shit… fucking slut."

He choked you again, your hips struggling to keep up the pace when all the air was gone; but that didn't seem to bother him much, if anything he liked seeing you struggle.

Still, he kept one hand on your hips to guide you, occasionally exploring with it so he could rub your thigh or play with your tits. It made you more aware that he'd never even taken his boots off while you were fully nude, grinding in his lap while he just sat back and watched you. You felt so inferior; why did it feel so good?

"Joel," you gasped when his roaming hand rubbed over your clit briefly. He smirked.

"Here, baby?" he teased, drawing the gentlest circles on your bud. "Want me to play with your little pussy, that's what you need?"

"Yes, fuck, please," you begged, but your words were cut short when the hand on your neck tightened again. He rubbed your clit hard, but you couldn't scream while he choked you, and your whole body felt like it was filled with pressure as he fucked up into you off the couch.

"Fuck, you soak me every damn time I choke you," he noticed; his voice was the only one in the room now with your moans silenced, and yet he sounded so far away past the ringing in your ears.

When he let go, you breathed in a deep gasp and moaned much louder than you meant to.

"Bounce on it, come on," he encouraged roughly, smacking your ass to kick you back into gear; you held on tight to his shoulders and swirled your hips, moaning shamelessly now at the feeling of his cock filling your sensitive pussy.

"Joel," you sobbed, "fuck, I— so good, I wanna— oh god—"

He slapped you one more time to get you back to your senses. "What's that, baby?" he pressed.

"I— I— fuck," you stammered, unable to get any other words out. I'm gonna come if you don't stop. But he didn't need to hear you say it, he already knew.

"You want more?" he grunted, watching your face closely. "You want more, baby? Say it."

Another hard slap to the face seemed to fix the part of your brain that makes words, and you spoke more coherently. "I want more," you whined, "fuck me harder, Joel, I want it!"

He grabbed you by your fucking neck and threw you off of him, onto the couch, with a sneer. As he shoved your head down and yanked your hips up, you arched your back to get yourself in position for him; but instead he smacked your ass hard and your back jolted up the other way.

"Slut," he scolded roughly, giving the other cheek a spank next.

You nodded against the couch. "I am, I am," you admitted with a sigh.

"Fucking dirty slut," he repeated, getting up on his knees to clumsily guide his cock to your hole; and you both groaned when he slipped in. "God," he choked, fucking you fast and deep right away, "so fuckin' tight— no baby, no no—"

He shoved your lower back down again when it tried to arch up, a natural response to his cock hitting the deepest parts of you. You yelped each time, a sharp pang in your gut with every thrust, but he fucked you as hard and deep as he wanted regardless.

"S'better— keep it like this, show me that ass," he ordered roughly as his gaze went back and forth from your twisted face of pain to his cock slamming into your cunt. "Good girl."

Even when it was getting battered to all fuck, your pussy managed to give him a nice squeeze when he said that.

"Real cute ass, too," he added, and you jumped a bit when his thumb brushed over your other hole. "Should I fuck it?"

"Joel," you gasped, not answering his question.

"Do you want me to?"

After hesitating, you shook your head.

"No?" he pressed.

"No," you admitted in a pout.

"Ask me not to," he ordered.

"Don't… don't fuck my ass, Joel, please…" you obliged, not sure if he was taunting you before he did it anyways or what. You both knew that you were in no position to stop him.

"What's that? You don't want it?"

"No, Joel, please! Not there!" you pleaded again, a little more emphatically.

"So I can't?"

You hesitated again. "You can… I just don't want you to," you relented, and he laughed.

"Don't worry, baby, I'm not gonna," he promised. "Pussy's too good. You're just cute when you're scared."

You couldn't say if that was true, but one thing you did discover was that you came faster when you were scared; it was already reaching the point of no return, that feeling deep inside. It was building faster than you could handle it, like he was forcing the pleasure to overtake your body— like your body obeyed him before you now. "God, fuck, fuck—" you choked out weakly, starting to shake all over.

"Close?" he noticed, and you nodded. "Not 'til I say so."

"Fuck, Joel, c'mon," you whined, getting another spank for your insolence.

"Not 'til I fuckin' say so," he insisted, speaking through his teeth as he kept a bruising grip on your hips. "Better not fuckin' come until I say, got it? Or you're not getting your pills."

"Okay, okay," you panted, "not gonna come unless you let me… I'll come when you say, just please…"

He chuckled a little, making you whimper in the back of your throat when he angled his hips to push his cock as absolutely deep as you could go; you'd never gotten a stomach ache from sex before, but he was churning everything inside you and making your whole body his plaything. Was that why he was going to make you wait to come? To make sure you knew how easily he owned you?

'Cause then it wasn't really necessary; you already knew, it was obvious.

"Good girl," he praised again, and you shivered all over; he fucked you harder, keeping up a ruthless pace, and you knew he was close.

At least, you hoped he was close, 'cause you weren't sure how much more of this you could take.

"Whose is this, baby?" he asked in a rough voice.

"Yours, yours," you promised with a whimper, "s'all yours, daddy, everything— s'all for you."

"Damn right," he grunted in agreement. "You're mine, baby— my whore, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah," you agreed fervently, "fuck I'm gonna come, Joel, please… please let me—"

"Come, whore."

He groaned as it hit you— he must have felt it— and you made a sound you were pretty sure you'd never made before as your fingers clung tightly to the cushion under you.

His pace faltered and you were so lost in your ecstasy that you didn't even question it… until he slowed down to a near stop, grunting weakly with every stuttered thrust into you.

"Oh god," he moaned, "that was good."

When you realized, it was far too late. "Shit, fuck!" you spat. "You came inside?!"

"You said 'whatever I wanted'," he recalled, not seeming to feel very guilty for what he'd done.

"I said I wanted to blow you," you remembered, starting to sober up very quickly, "and you fucked me— and you fucking came inside, asshole, what the fuck am I gonna do if—"

His grip tightened on your neck again, and you stopped. "Quit fucking whining or I'll give you another load," he warned, letting go of your neck a second later and finally pulling out.

You swallowed, awkwardly laying your sore hips down on the couch. "You could… really do that? You already came twice."

"I lied— it has been that long," he admitted. "And with a tight pussy like this to fuck?"

He looked over at you, grabbing your thigh and lifting it so he could see his come leaking from your abused hole.

"Yeah, I could go again," he assured you, patting your ass gently after he let it drop back down. "You'd have to suck me for a while though, get me hard again…"

You sat up, slowly, and found more soreness in your muscles than you expected. "How many pills would I get? If I did that?"

He looked at you and smirked. "Whatever you want, baby," he promised, and you absent-mindedly licked your lips. He laughed as you leaned forward, getting on your knees beside him so you could put your head down in his lap. "Really? You were just bitching at me, figured you'd wanna leave and go shower so you could wash all that come out, try not to get knocked up."

You lifted his softening cock up to your lips, suckling at the tip and humming at the taste of yourself on his skin.

"But you wanna blow me again, huh?" he continued, voice raspier as he pet the back of your head. "Wanna get me hard so I can fuck that come back into you?"

You didn't respond to his question, just started to find your rhythm again until you heard him moan lowly as you sucked.

"Damn, baby… gonna get all the pills you want…" he mumbled his promises. "Gonna be my little whore, right? Gonna take care of daddy?"

Shutting your eyes tight, you hummed around him; this was far from over— this was never gonna be over. This was the new normal. At least you could keep your rations… hopefully.

"Yeah, that's what I thought…"