#there’s something soothing about running their fingers through soft curls

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ LUCKY — GOJO SATORU.

contents. baths + non sexual nudity, established relationships, tired toru :(, lots of kissies and praise for the babie :(, solid proof in the form of writing of how embarrassingly lovesick i am for this FOOL

it’s past midnight when satoru walks into your bathroom. he doesn’t even question why you’re in the bath so late—just gives you a lopsided grin tiredly as you smile.

“you’re home,” you brighten.

“look at you,” he coos, staring down at you with amused eyes, “waitin’ for me?”

satoru is tired—you can tell from the way the his shoulders are slouched and his blindfold is clutched in his hand. “i was,” you hum in agreement, “c’mere.”

it’s all it takes. he’s stripped down and waiting for you to move up so he can slide behind you in seconds, hand waving to motion you forward. but you’re stubborn—you shake your head as you hold an arm out for him.

“baby,” he whines, “c’mon i was out fighting big bad curses all day. jus’ lemme hold—”

“no. just come here, toru,” you insist.

there’s something about it—something about the way your voice is so gentle, so insistent, so knowing. it’s like you can read him more than he can, sometimes. satoru is tired, you can see it, you can feel it. you can’t carry his burdens, but you can hold him while he holds the weight of the world for a night.

maybe it’ll do for now—maybe it’ll even be enough and more.

“what? feelin’ like pampering me today?” he teases, “aren’t i a lucky guy,” he hums—but he climbs into the tub anyway, settling between your legs, leaning his back against your chest as his head falls back against your shoulder.

instantly, two gentle kisses plant themselves against his head, and his eyes flutter shut. he’s starting to feel the beginnings of a headache form—the gentle thump in his skull just barely there, but persistently present.

your thumbs rubs along the sides of his head, enough pressure to soothe the pain like you know it’s coming—he thinks you must.

“you are a lucky guy,” you giggle, “look at me. such a catch.”

he grins, chuckling that boyish chuckle of his freely in your arms as he relaxes. it’s been a while since he’s relaxed, you think—it’s half past midnight and he’ll be up with the sun in a bit to head back to the school, but it’s nice to know he’s relaxed. even just for this short, rare moment.

“oh yeah,” he nods, lips curled into a grin as he cracks an eye open and peers up at you, “s no catch like my pretty ‘lil baby. i’m living it up.”

“glad you know your privileges,” you murmur contently, shaking your head in amusement as you wrap your arms around his body. one hand rubs over his abs—he wants to tease you about feeling him up, wants to make a sly comment about missing his body more than him while he was gone. but there’s something about it, about the way it’s so slow and soothing and soft—it’s so painfully soft, satoru swallows.

finally, he lets his body go slack against yours, sliding down so his head rests against your chest and the water soaks more of his body. it’s warm. the water and your arms. it’s all so, so warm and forgiving.

“aren’t you gonna tell me how lucky you are too? i’ll listen, don’t worry. no interruptions.”

“yeah?” you chuckle, threading fingers through his hair and pulling a soft sigh from him, “wanna know how lucky i am?”

“course,” he murmurs, “well, i already know you’re lucky. it’s me after all—but i’m not opposed to hearing it.”

“how humble of you, satoru,” you snort.

he grins wider—he hasn’t had a chance to smile all day. not properly, at least.

“feel free to start any second,” he says with a wink. then his eyes flutter shut again as your thumb traces his cheek, ever so gently running along the soft angles of his face.

it’s pretty—everything about him is pretty. there are no ugly parts to satoru. just the parts painted from cruel hands. they’re beautiful too, you like to think, in their own, fragile little ways.

“okay,” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his head, “i’m very lucky,” you murmur into his hair.

he hums, mumbling a quiet, “knew it.”

“lucky i have such a handsome face to greet,” you pepper kisses along his forehead and find his cheek, giving it an affectionate little bite that makes him huff out an amused chuckle. “and he’s so tall too,” you add, resting your chin on his shoulder.

“that all he is?” he pouts, “just a pretty face? you’re breaking my heart, baby.”

“no,” you say quietly, grabbing his hand and brushing a thumb over his knuckles, “he’s also kind. too kind, sometimes,” you say quietly, “he comes home a bit later than usual every once in a while because he took his students out to eat. he loves them a bit too much, i think.”

“no such thing as too much love,” he hums, squeezing your hand.

you smile, admiring him as he lays against you, small in your hold even with the larger than life weight he carries.

“and he’s strong,” you add, “really strong. it’s not fair sometimes,” you whisper, “he’s got so much on his plate.”

“he handles it fine,” he assures, “he always does.”

“and then he still makes time for little old me,” you say fondly, kissing his shoulder, “never lets me feel lonely. he’s too good to me.”

“there’s no such thing as too good for you,” he gasps offendedly, pouting like you’ve insulted him, “he’s definitely not—”

“and sometimes, he comes home tired. and he tries to act like he’s not because he’s a bit of a prick who doesn’t let me help, but i’m smart and i know him well so i’ve figured it out. and if i’m extra lucky, i might get to hold him for a bit like this and help him relax.”

you squeeze him gently for emphasis, holding him closer as you press your nose into his neck and breathe in his smell. it’s like cologne that’s rudely expensive and that sweet smell only satoru has—it’s all you want to breathe in for the rest of your days.

you hope he’ll allow you that much. something tells you he will.

satoru swallows thickly at that, rubs a thumb over your bare thigh as he rests his free hand over it, the other still in your grasp.

and then, quietly, “maybe he’s fine just coming home to you,” he shrugs, “who can stay tired with such a sweet face waiting at home?”

“i don’t know,” you say thoughtfully, “he’s got a lot to take care of. wonder how he does it.”

“he’s probably the strongest,” he shoots with an easy grin, “sounds like the strongest to me.”

“he is,” you nod, “he’s a lot more than that too. i’m lucky he’s mine.”

“oh yeah?” he drawls—there’s something a little shaky about his voice though.

you choose not to mention it, pressing soft, delicate kisses along his jaw as you murmur, “yeah. he makes me feel really, really lucky. love him so much.”

“love you too,” satoru breathes, “guess we’re both really, really lucky.”

don’t talk to me i don’t want to be perceived. that’s enough softness for a lifetime so the next time i write him he’s getting hit by a bus

[artinvain]

abby being fucking mean w it (toxic!bff!abby) who is also a dealer+ slapping, spit, dumbification, degradation, dacryphilia, squirting. ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: abby’s used to the usual “you up?” text from you because even though she prayed about it every night, it usually meant nothing more than getting high and watching some film or tv show you’ve seen a million times before. but tonight, when she walks into your apartment something feels different.

“hi abs,” you coo from the couch where you’re wearing nothing but her hoodie and skimpy little shorts she can hardly see and all the blood drains from her head. abby gulps and tries to compose herself, says nothing when your nipples are hard and poking through the sweatshirt.

she can only hand you her dab pen and sit beside you. her thighs threatening to twist and rub together to soothe the growing ache between her them. she tries to ignore the fact that you smell freshly showered. your scent lathering her in rose and cocoa butter and she wants to smell your skin, lick up your neck and feel you up under her hoodie, see how soft you really are.

“what’s wrong?” you ask, your eyes glossy when you look over to your best friend. she hasn’t said a word for an entire episode. she’s been stroking up and down your legs absentmindedly, biting her lip. “nothing I just -“ she sighs, “why are you dressed like that?”

“like what?” you ask, although you’re not confused. you know it’s wrong to tease her like this, but you weren’t leading her on —

“why are you dressed like a fucking slut?” abby groans, finally turning to look at you, her glare making you shrink into yourself, your shorts dampening. the way she’s looking at you, like she’d tear you apart, her nose scrunched and her mouth curled in a snarl; it makes your face hot, your breathing picks up. “I - I don’t know, I wanted to be comfortable-“

“don’t fucking lie to me right now,” abby interrupts, parting your legs and kneeling between them, “I wanted your attention,” you whine finally acquiescing to her glare and placing your hands gingerly over hers on your thighs. “I want you abby,” you say breathless before she’s even done anything.

“want me how?” abby prompts and you guide her hand up your inner thigh to rest on your pussy, she sighs at the feeling of you over your tiny sleep shorts she can feel the soft hair on your mound some of her fingers graze your lips,

“not wearing any fucking panties?” she pants, leaning over you, nosing your neck and placing kisses there “you’re a greedy fucking bitch you know that?” you whimper softly and abby chuckles, “want me as your best friend — want me to listen about all those shitty dates I tell you not to go on,” she lets her fingers circle your clit softly, places a kiss on the side of your mouth,

“don’t want me going out on runs just to spend the day with you, even though you know it’s my fucking job,” she huffs, letting herself feel your wetness and groaning against your lips. you can’t help but cup her neck and bring her down to kiss you, taste that sweet tongue she shoves into your mouth and moan as you suck on it.

“I told you,” abby whispers against your lips “that I’m all you need but you’re too fucking stupid to see that,”

you whimper, trying to reach up for her lips but she pulls back to look at you, dazed and dewy — your pretty mouth in a pout. “m’sorry abs, i’ll —“ you don’t know what to say, abby’s never been so forthright with her command over you. “please I need you,”

“I know you do, silly, but how bad?” she asks, lazily working your wet clit, pulling your shorts to the side to dip her fingers lower to your wet, clenching cunt. “tell me how much you need me,” she brushes her nose against yours softly, dipping her fingers in as your mouth parts to speak.

“need you abby, I’ve always —fuck — always needed you,” your voice cracking as abby sinks her fingers home and curls them. abby huffs a moan as she scissors her fingers inside you, stretching you out and feeling your gummy walls wet and tighten around her.

“I know baby, and now you have me, gonna give this stupid little pussy what she needs,” she grunts, bucking her hips with her fingers, fucking in and out of you. “shit, gotta punish you for denying me of this,” she cups your cheek softly before slapping you lightly, loving the gasp you make, the shock in your eyes that melts quickly into lust when she does it again.

“s’okay though, gonna give it to you every fucking day,” abby says rubbing your clit with her thumb and adding another finger, “make sure I fuck you dumber than you already are,”

“abby, fuck too much,” you whine, squirming and still bucking your hips up into her hand for more -

“oh shut up,” she groans at the feeling you you trying to meet her thrusts “look at you, don’t even know what you fucking want,” she chuckles, “shut the fuck up, so I can give you what you need,” abby puckers your cheeks, spitting into your open mouth and sinking three of her fingers into it so you’re almost gagging on her. “perfect,” abby sighs, the feeling of filling you full making her hips twitch against you, her fingers inside you faltering if only for a second, “look so pretty all off of me,” she moans, the back of her palm rubbing against her clit so nicely she has to moan with you as she bucks and snaps her hips against you.

“should have just given it to you long ago,” abby whispers into your ear, “always knew you just wanted to be my cum-drunk slut,” she sinks the fingers in your mouth deeper just to hear you gag around them and whimpers when she curls her fingers inside your pussy, rubbing your gspot and not letting up, her thumb rubbing on your clit.

“you’re so fucking stupid though,” she cooes, “aren’t you? couldn’t even tell me what you wanted,” you shake your head rapidly and abby slows down.

“no? you’re not stupid?” abby removes her fingers from your mouth and puckers your cheeks, slapping it before presses a kiss to your mouth for every hard thrust she gives you, fucking the words out of you, “use your words then, tell me how good it feels — prove your not just a dumb fucking slut,”

but you can’t, fuck, not with the way her fingers are spearing into you, the way she’s curling them and rubbing your gspot so deliciously, you try to speak and all that falls from your mouth is “abs-baby please ungh fuck fuck oh god!”

the blonde uses her free hand, cascades it down your chest to press on your lower belly “see? you’re just a brainless doll, meant for me to fuck.” you’re seeing hot white like the pleasure curling outward from your belly, “come on be dumb, and feel so good and cum for me yeah?” abby sighs as you mewl, your thighs tightening around her, your nails clawing at her arms and leaving red lines behind. “aw that’s right baby, mark me up, let em know I’m yours,” she’s so fucking happy she finally has you. “m’gon- please wanna cum!” abby nods her bottom lip between her teeth and your whole body tightens, your toes curling and your back arching as you cum, gasping — tears falling from your eyes.

“shit shit, need ta fill you with my cock — fuck my sweet stupid girl”

you half think she’s joking, you think she’ll come back with a cloth and kisses and instead she’s handling you onto your belly, pulling your hips up and sliding her strap into you. and overstimulated as you are, you can’t help but back up into her,

“god, yeah, fuck yourself on my dick baby — shit you look so good doing your job, finally getting something right,” abby spreads your ass to see her strap going in and out of you, “fucking hell - that’s all you’re good for huh? drooling over me,” and this time you don’t disagree, too focused on the way she grinds her hips and humps you, her little sighs and moans and the shock when she smacks your ass.

abby steadies her hands on your hips and grunts as she holds you still, fucking into you. she’s bucking her hips so hard, filling you to the brim, her strap stretching you out until you’re whining and grabbing at pillows, trying to squirm out of her grip.

“nuh-uh, take it,” abby groans, pressing down between your shoulders to immobilise you, and grinning when you start to wail, tears springing from your eyes as you moan “yeah take my dick,” abby says, folding your arms behind your back and gripping them for leverage.

“you need this honey, need me to make you whole, get you dumb for the right reasons,” abby groans at the feeling of the strap rubbing against her overstimulated clit, she couldn’t help herself from cumming to the sound of your moans, the excitement of finally getting to fuck you overwhelmed her.

“tell me baby, tell me you need me,” she snarls, bucking her hips, she’s moaning like she can feel you, the way your clenching down on her, sucking her in.

“need you abby , need you need you so fuck! m’so stupid for you — ah!” you’re yelling when abby reaches down to rub your clit, “good girl, been such a good girl f’me,” she groans, grinding and shallowly thrusting into your gspot. “come on good girl, one more for me,” she moans and is in absolute awe when she feels you squirting into her hand and all over your couch.

Tags 🏷️ @lesbian-useless @sexysapphicshopowner @iamaboringrattat @sapphicsgirl @bimboprincezz

[gomzwrites]

The taskforce 141’s favourite steamy moments 

Contain smut(18+), minors do not interact

a/n: I wanted to write something that the 141 members like the most whenever they have some spicy moment with the reader >:) so I decided to give smut writing a go! These are arranged based on length, I apologise for writing such a short one for Ghost as I was struggling to make it as gender-neutral as possible(if it still comes out as fem, Im so sorry!), maybe next time I’ll do specific gender one post at a time, but for now enjoy this mess :> Tags: xgn! Reader, dry humping/grinding, eating out(reader receiving), submissive, teasing, riding(implied sorta), biting, slightly possessive behaviour, hand job - let me know if i missed any tags reader's text is in purple PLEASE DO NOT RESHARE MY WORK ON OTHER PLATFORMS WITHOUT MY PERMISSION -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Simon Ghost Riley - taste

Ghost likes it when you run your fingers along his hair, soft and gentle as he closes his eyes and savour the gesture. But he likes it best when you scratch his hairline and lock your hands in his short blonde curls. 

Ghost has been in between your thighs since he dragged you into his room, he laps on your entrance as he sloppily licks up your sensitive sex, sinful slurping and moans filling the room. He works his tongue expertly, mixing those arousal juices with his saliva as he grunts and groans. You watch with teary, half-lidded eyes as he slowly retracts from your aching sex and trails teasing kisses around your thighs before he bites down as you jolt.

S-simon…! 

You whine out his name as he hums and graze his teeth along your thighs, taking his sweet time as he watches you grow increasingly desperate, turning into a whimpering mess on his bed because of him.

He spread your leg further as he let his tongue dance against you, watching your back arches up as he moan into your sex, causing a shiver to run down your spine as his deep husky voice reverberated through your entire body. He looks up to you with those dark eyes that are blown out and filled with desire, hungrily pinning your hips down with his eyes alone. 

“Be good”, was all he said before he latch onto you again as he devour you like there was no tomorrow. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

John Soap MacTavish - wants

You struggle to breathe properly as your chest is fully pressed on top of your desk, now messy and with papers and reports that are scattered about and long forgotten. 

Grunts and moans filled your room as Soap has your hands pinned on top of your head, his other hand grabbing your hips, fingers digging into your hips that always leave purplish-red marks the next day. 

“Fuck y/n…..” Soap slurs as he buckled his hip at your ass, both of you still have your gears and clothes on, leaving only the bulky vest on the floor as he grinds on you, so desperate, so fucking desperate. 

He leans down to bite on the back of your neck causing you to moan as you feel his tongue lap at the bite marks and suck gently to soothe the flesh, now littered with goosebumps. You can feel how warm and hot he is from your back despite the layers of clothes, and you can hear his heartbeat too when he starts thrusting you faster, harsher, pressing his chest and his hips on you, as if he’s moulding your entire body as both of you are mushed together perfectly. 

‘It's not enough…” he growls as he continues grinding on you, voice getting lower as he frowns and bites down on your neck again, another mark as he lets out pants of frustration, you gasp and moan at his bites as you push your hips back to meet his.

‘Yeah just like that…fuck…..fuck. me.” he lets out a deep sigh as both of you fight to push your hips towards each other to be impossibly close, you can feel it too, you can feel how he angles his hip so that every time he snaps and presses onto you, you can feel his tip poking at your entrance, making you roll your eyes back as you sob softly.

You want him, just as badly as he wants you.  God it’s not enough, it’s never enough at all and yet every single fucking time, he does it still, it's too painfully good to stop, to pause this heating moment to remove some fabric, no, there’s no way he’ll stop, it's as if he’s afraid that doing so will result in these pent-up emotions and arousal slipping away.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Captain John Price - voice

John likes it when you hold back your moans and voices whenever you guys do it in his office, since his room is in the centre of the base, that means there are other rooms besides, and the walls are not exactly the thickest.

Sure, he absolutely loves your moans and the way you scream his name whenever he pounds you hard never fails to make him lost in ecstasy. But nothing riles him up more than hearing the voices you make that only he gets to hear.

He loves it when you suppress your moans, because it makes it so your voice tends to become whinier, and more desperate, reaching a pitch that sometimes has surprised him and yourself. He loves it because when you try to be quiet by squeezing your head into his neck, mouth biting on his collar as he drags his thick cock in and out of you, he gets to hear all those little gasps and pretty little moans that are barely audible.

John loves it, and he absolutely likes to break that resolve of yours, he likes to push all the buttons to see you crumble before him, and he knows when he is on the right track when you start to pant harder, and those whimper escapes more as you shakily grab onto his arm, 

J-John….please…

he smirks as the pleas come spilling out from your mouth whenever you feel like you couldn't hold in your moans more.

“Awwww….too much?” 

He would whisper back into your ears as he draws out each word in his deep honey voice, hands coming down on your waist before he slams it down hard on his hip, causing a startled yelp and a jolt of shiver running down your spine and let out a string of suppressed curses and moans.

He chuckles deeply, hot breath fanning against your neck when he watches your eyes tear up and your mouth opens as you let out a silent scream, still holding on as you shake your head and mutter to him, “N-no…m-my voice-” you didn’t finish your words as he clashes his mouth with yours, swallowing your pitiful pleas before biting down your lower lip as he pulls back, smirking as he bites down your shoulder.

“Let it out”, he challenges you with a raspy voice as he kisses the bite marks around your neck and nibbles softly when he coos at you, watching you squirm around as he gives you a mischievous look, oh he is going to, and will bully you until he has you screaming his name.  -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Kyle Gaz Garrick - hands

Kyle loves it whenever you take your time and tease him with your hands, you can feel how his thigh muscle tensed up and how he let out his breath shakily whenever you trail your finger around him. He always likes it when you start slow, gently trailing along his neck first as you kiss and softly nibble his ears, before you slip your hands down lower as you rest it on his chest, and those eyes….those big doe eyes of yours whenever you look up to him and whisper so sweetly, honey tone dripping out from your irresistible mouth absolutely drives him mad every time, and send his head into a spiral heat of want.

You like it, hm?

He gives a nod as he lay back on the sofa, completely melting under you touch as he squeezes his eyes shut when he feels your teasing hand trailing around his chest, sometimes flicking his nipples that cause him to jolt as you giggle,

Mhm, you do like it…

Fuck, you’ve barely done anything and he already feels like his losing his mind, only being able to nod frantically as words fail to come into his mind. As you slowly reach down, resting your palm just shy above his pants, his grip on your hip tightens as he desperately wants you to go lower, to give him what he wants. He loves it because you always manage to rile him up, giving some relief but never enough, it's like you knew exactly how he works. 

Hmmmmm what do you want…pretty boy?

You whisper back teasingly as you brush your lips against his ear, you watch as his boxers get tighter when his arousal increases, even a small stain was visible now the more you tease him with the nickname, his favourite one, among all the other things you call him.

“Ah fuck….please y/n…”

He begs as you slowly pull down his boxers, bit by bit as he lifts his hips up on instinct to help you remove them, then you slowly let him free of these hellish restrictions, and you make sure your hand doesn't touch his hard cock that flings up as you remove the boxers, watching the red angry tip leaking as he lets out a content sigh. Yet as free as he is at the moment, he needs more.

“y/n….god…please….”

He whines softly again as you rest your hand on his V-line, trailing those deep beautiful grooves as you hum idly and press your body against his. You continue moving your hand along the V-line before you lightly ghost his cock with the middle knuckle of your index finger, running it all the way from his tip to the base. 

Please what hm?

He lets out another whimper when you tease him again, trying to be good as he bites his lower lip to stop himself from flinching so much from how sensitive and needy he is, he nuzzles into your neck as he pleaded with a desperate tone, voice crackling at the end as he gulps in between words. 

“Please….fuck….please touch me….touch my cock…need to feel you please….”

You chuckle as you kiss his cheek and snake your hand down to hold the base of his cock, watching him buck his hip up to seek those sweet, sweet friction. Who are you to deny him when he begged so nicely?

Good boy~ 

you whisper back huskily as you wrap your hands around his length, he takes a sharp inhale and lets out a trembling moan as he slung his head back to the top of the couch, his hand holding your hips, to ground himself as you start moving your hands around his cock, sliding upwards as you wipe the precum of the tip, teasing the tip as you slowly pump your hand down and watch another string of precum leak and flow down his length, you run your thumb along that one prominent vein as you press on it slightly, the agonizing slow speed you’re doing makes Kyle gasp as he frown and grab your hips tighter,

“fuck, so good….hmm fuck your hands….ah…”, he lets out a loud moan lightly when you kiss his ear lobe, whispering sweet nothing as you attack his ear with your tongue, moaning and letting sloppy noises consume his head, you take this opportunity to reach out and interlace your finger with his other hand as well to overwhelm him in every sense.

He prays internally as he tries his best not to come right here right now, you just started stroking him but he already feels like he’s about to explode. He can’t help it when he can feel your hands, every crease of your finger swiping along his girth as you pump slowly again, god and your thumb? Whenever you use it to press down on him he swears his vision goes white for a moment.  

“Don't stop….” 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

a/n: yes yes I know yet another longer section for Gaz, I am, and forever will be biased towards our babygirl, YOU CAN'T STOP ME *runs*

[grandprixwinnerlandonorris]

Read to me. | Lando Norris⁴

Pairings: Lando Norris x girlfriend!reader

Summary: after a hard day, Lando knows he can always turn to you for some comfort... And then give something in return

Warnings: fluff with smut hehe

A/N: I tried writing pure fluff and failed. I split it into two though and put another divider so you can finish with the fluff part without having to read the smut if you don't want to :)

The sun had already set when Lando returned home from his day out working with sponsors. He opened the door of your shared bedroom, finding you already in your pajamas, absorbed in a book. Smiling a little, he leaned against the door frame silently watching you, exhaustion thick on his face.

"Hey, baby," you finally took notice of him, glancing up and putting the book down for a moment to softly greet him.

"Hey," he slowly made his way towards the bed, crawling until he snuggled into your lap.

"Long day?" one of your hands immediately tangled into his curls, beginning to massage his scalp. He closed his eyes, groaning in satisfaction.

"You've no idea." he mumbled, relaxing under your touch.

As he rested in your lap, you couldn't help but notice how worn out he looked and it was as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders the moment he sank into your embrace. You kept working your fingers through his hair, feeling the muscles in his body become increasingly relaxed with each stroke.

"Want to talk about it?" you asked gently, knowing how much he tended to keep to himself when it came to work. He shook his head, burrowing deeper into your lap.

"Not really," he sighed. "Just a lot of meetings, a lot of people trying to get a piece of me. It gets exhausting after a while."

You nodded in understanding, continuing to run your fingers through his locks. The room fell silent, the only sounds the soft hum of the air conditioning and the occasional rustle as you adjusted your position. It was a comfortable silence, one that only came with the familiarity of years spent together.

"How was your day?" you smiled at the question, knowing that Lando always made an effort to ask about you no matter how tired he was.

"It was good," you replied, thinking back to the meetings you had and the progress you made on your latest project. "Productive, but not as eventful as yours."

Lando chuckled, his breath tickling your stomach. "I'll take boring over exhausting any day," he said, his eyes still closed.

The two of you sat in quiet once more - you continuing to read your book and Lando finding interest in his phone - enjoying the comfort of each other's company. Eventually, Lando put his phone down and nestled himself between your legs, his head on your lower abdomen.

"Could you read to me?" he asked, looking up at you with puppy dog eyes. It wasn't unusual question. He often asked you to do so or just talk to him in general cause he loved falling asleep to the sound of your voice.

"Of course." you smiled softly at him, running your hand through his hair once more before grabbing your book and flipping to the page you left off on.

When you began to read, Lando closed his eyes and listened intently to your tone. It was soothing and calming, and he found himself slipping into a peaceful state. He loved how your voice gently lilted up and down, as if the words you read were a lullaby meant only for him.

As you read on, Lando's hands found their way to your sides, tickling you ever so slightly, causing you to giggle. You playfully swatted his hands away, but he persisted, his fingers dancing along your skin.

"You're such a child," you chuckled, but you didn't mind. It was moments like these that made you appreciate how carefree and playful Lando could be.

"You love it," he grinned, his hands still tickling you mercilessly.

You tried to push him away, but he was too quick, his fingers finding every sensitive spot on your body. You couldn't help but laugh, the sound filling the room and mixing with the sound of your voice as you continued reading.

Finally, you managed to catch his hands, holding them still. Lando pouted, but you could see the amusement in his eyes. "I thought you wanted me to read to you?"

"Sorry, I couldn't resist," he said, still grinning.

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't help the smile on your face. "You really are a child," you teased, but your tone was affectionate.

Lando shrugged, his grin still firmly in place. "What can I say? You bring out the playful side in me."

You shook your head, but couldn't help, but feel fondness for the man in your lap. He may have been exhausted from work, but he always managed to find a way to make you laugh and give you attention.

Your reading continued and Lando stilled once more, his breathing becoming slower and more even making you believe he had fallen asleep. However, when you turned to the next page, you heard him let out a soft sigh, his body relaxing even further against you. You smiled at the sound, feeling content with the moment. It was simple, but you found that it was often the simplest moments that brought the most joy.

You leaned down and placed a soft kiss on Lando's forehead, careful so as not to disturb his peace. You knew that he needed his rest and you were happy to just watch him sleep and take in the moment.

But he was not ready to drift off just yet as his fingers started slowly caressing your legs, reaching upwards to the outside of your thighs.

You paused mid sentence, glancing down at Lando to see if he was awake. His eyes were still closed, but his hands continued their slow, deliberate movements up your legs. A shiver ran through you, and you couldn't help the way your breath caught in your throat.

"Lando?" you asked softly, unsure if he was awake or not.

He didn't answer, but his fingertips kept tracing patterns over your skin. He turned over, lightly brushing the tip of his nose over your inner thighs. Your heart skipped a beat as his lips travelled higher and higher up your body, leaving a trail of soft kisses along the way. You could feel the heat building between your legs, and you knew that you were getting wet.

"Lando, what are you doing?" you asked, your voice a mix of surprise and arousal.

"Keep going, baby, keep reading," he continued to kiss his way up, his hands holding your hips steady. You couldn't help, but squirm under his touch, your body already primed for him.

With no other choice, you resumed reading, your voice a bit shaky at the thought of what Lando was going to do to you.

Still teasing, Lando's hands travelled along the inside of your legs, making your lips quiver in response. You struggled to keep reading, the words in front of you starting to blur. With a final flick of his wrist, your panties were gone, and you were completely exposed to him.

"You're doing such a good job, really making me interested in the story..." Lando's voice ghosted over your skin, causing you to shiver.

And before you could turn over the next page, he buried his face between your legs. Your breath hitched as you felt his tongue against your pussy, licking and tasting every inch of you. You threw your head back, panting as his tongue flicked against your clit. He was slow and gentle at first, just teasing you with butterfly kisses. But it wasn't long before his hands grabbed your hips and pulled you closer to him, his mouth closing over you.

"I didn't tell you to stop reading, did I?" he asked, his voice muffled as he spoke. You shook your head, hands crumpling the book cover as you tried to focus on the text before you. "I'll stop if you do."

But he wouldn't let you. Instead, his mouth closed around your clit, sucking on it as his fingers teased your opening. You gasped, your body shuddering as his fingers slipped inside you, teasing you at the same time.

"Fuck, Lando..." you moaned, the pitch of your voice rising.

"Now, babe, I'm pretty sure that isn't part of the text," he teased, pulling his fingers out of you once more.

"No, no," you whimpered, your eyes pleading with him to keep going. He chuckled, the sound vibrating against your sensitive skin.

"Please, Lando," you begged, your voice breathless once more.

"Say it, baby," he said softly, his breath hot against you.

"I'm sorry, please, don't stop," you whispered, knowing what he needed to hear.

"Good girl, such a good girl," he said approvingly before going back to what he was doing.

This time, he didn't tease you. Rather, he pressed his lips firmly over your clit, sucking on it hard. You cried out loudly, your hips bucking wildly as he pressed two fingers deep into your wet, dripping cunt. His fingers worked you fast and hard, curling upwards to tease your g-spot. You could feel your muscles tightening, pleasure radiating through your body as you got closer and closer to the edge.

"Oh, fuck, I'm gonna come," you said breathlessly, your legs shaking as you tried to keep them open for him.

"I didn't tell you to come, did I?" he asked, his fingers still working away at your wet, needy pussy, this time even harder than before.

"No, please, I'm so close..." you trailed off, your body trembling on the brink.

"Beg for it, baby. Tell me how much you want to come. Use your words." he said firmly, his fingers increasing their speed. He knew you were close, and he loved the way your body shook beneath his touch.

"Fuck, I need to come, please, let me come," you whimpered, tossing your head back as you tried to hold on a little longer.

"Oh, really?" he asked, his fingers stilling for a moment. He loved denying you, loved denying you the pleasure you so desperately wanted, especially when you were this close.

"Yes, please, I'm almost there," you begged, your voice tight with arousal as you tried to keep yourself from orgasming.

"You really want to come?" he asked, his fingers stilling completely.

"Yes!"

"I'm not sure that's a part of the story, you know," he smirked, looking up at you.

"Please, Lando," you gasped, the sensations of his touch shaking your body.

"Why should I let you come, baby? What's it going to take?" he asked, his fingers lightly dancing against your clit.

"I don't know, I don't care, just finish what you started," you pleaded, your voice breathless and needy.

"I'll think about it," he teased, his fingers still circling against your clit.

"Lando!" you screamed. You tried to push yourself over the edge, but it was no use. He just wasn't going to let you come.

You bit your lip, doing your best not to cry out in frustration. He removed his fingers, and you could feel the cool air on your wet skin. And before you could turn over another page, his fingers plunged into you once more, his tongue returning to tease your clit.

"I thought I told you to keep reading," he said, his fingers picking up the pace once more.

You tried to focus on the words on the page, but it was no use. It was impossible to focus when he was doing that to you.

"Such a good girl, such a good girl," he murmured. "Come for me, baby, just for me."

And that was all it took, your body breaking over the edge as you came hard against his mouth. Your moans filled the room, his name falling from your lips as you rode out your orgasm.

You slumped back against the pillows, your breathing heavy as you struggled to keep your eyes open. Lando pulled up your panties, his fingers gentle as he ran them over your skin.

"Ready for the next chapter?" he grinned innocently, his lips brushing against your inner thigh.

[wttcsms]

baby, oh baby ; satoru gojo

pairing satoru gojo x f!reader word count 1.2k synopsis gojo is surprisingly good at caring. (or: he comforts you while you get morning sickness and start spiraling). content contains thr*wing up (morning sickness), pregnancy, pregnant!reader, domestic fluff, soft!gojo, reassurance

Satoru Gojo knows he’s a dead man from the minute he swings open the bathroom door and finds you curled up by the toilet. 

Even in his shirt and a pair of sweatpants that have clearly seen better days, with your hair all messed up and your lips chapped, Gojo thinks you are absolutely adorable. Beautiful, even. 

He tells you this, thinking it’ll cheer you up, but all you do is narrow your pretty little eyes at him.

“You,” you practically snarl at him. “You did this to me!”

He raises his hands in mock surrender. “Now, honey, I know it’s been a while since you took a biology class, but it takes two of us to, you know—” He gestures to your stomach, which still isn’t showing much of a bump since it’s only the first trimester, but you get the message. He decides he should have just shut up whenever you send him an absolutely scathing glare.

“It’s all my fault.” He immediately changes his tune. “You’re right, honey, I am an awful person for getting you pregnant. You should kill me for my transgressions.” 

“You want to make me a single mother now?” You snap at him.

“Okay, I see that that was the wrong thing to say.” Gojo tries to give you a soothing smile to calm you down, but it comes off as more of a nervous grimace. “I would never die early and let you raise our wonderful child alone. As a matter of fact, I refuse to die only until you tell me it’s okay to do so!” 

“Satoru.” You close your eyes, opening the toilet lid, anticipating another bout of morning sickness to come spilling out your mouth. “Get out.” 

“Nah. That’s the one thing I can’t do.” He dares to take another step into the bathroom, frowning at how cold the marble tiles are. It can’t possibly be comfortable for you to be kneeling on the floor like this, especially since you’re throwing up last night’s dinner. 

“Satoru, I’m not being funny right now. I’m seriously about to vomit, and you won’t want to be here.”

He kneels down by your side, gathering your hair in his hand and pulling it all behind your shoulders. “I’m not being funny, either. I’ll stay by your side no matter what.” 

You don’t reply to his sweet comment, even though you really want to. Instead, you actually do make good on your word, and only after you flush the toilet does he bother saying anything else.

“Do you feel a bit better now?” 

“Yes. No. I don’t know!” You shut your eyes, leaning against him, your back pressed against the warmth of his chest. Being pregnant sounded hot during the heat of the moment when the baby was being made, but now reality is hitting, and you’re already crying about how ugly maternity clothes are. You look like a wreck right now, and you’re barely nine weeks in with the pregnancy. Meanwhile, Satoru looks fan-fucking-tastic, as he always does. 

His hand finds yours easily, and he intertwines your fingers together. He starts to absentmindedly fiddle with your wedding ring as he talks. 

“What’s bothering you?” 

You know that while Satoru was pursuing you, there was a long line of women all excited and ready to be the one by his side. You know that Satoru sometimes is a certified flight risk, running away from intimacy when the feeling gets too overwhelming for him. You know that Satoru is the only man capable of breaking your heart, and he’s subsequently the only man who would be able to piece it back together. Even with a ring and a legal certificate binding you two together, there are still annoying little doubts running in the back of your mind that has only worsened through your anxiety of life literally being grown inside of you and unbalanced hormones. 

“Everything.” You tell him, and it’s not even a joke or an exaggeration. 

“Well, tell me something that’s bothering you now. Something I can solve.” He adds on this last sentence, already knowing that you would most likely ask him for the impossible just to be funny. As conceited as he acts to the outside world, Satoru is surprisingly caring and observant towards others. 

“What if our baby is ugly?” You look up at him, gauging his reaction.

At first, his eyes widen, and then he laughs. You can tell it’s genuine because you can feel the way it comes from his chest. 

“It has us as its parents. With both our genes combined, it won’t have much to worry about.”

“No! I’m serious! Haven’t you heard the saying that two pretty people make an ugly baby?” 

“Well, we’ll be the exception.”

“I’m being serious, Satoru! Your eyes are kinda scary to look at sometimes. Our baby will need brown contacts if it inherits your eyes.” 

Oh, so because you’re emotionally fragile, you’re allowed to make comments about his eyes? Satoru snorts. You better be lucky he loves you so much. 

“Why does it matter if our baby is ugly? Why is our baby being ugly even a thought in your mind?”

“This world sucks. Looking good is key to having an enjoyable experience on earth. You should start worrying about our child’s future, too, you know!” 

“I would fight the entire world if it mistreated our baby.” Satoru presses a reassuring kiss to the top of your head. “And I know you would, too. So who cares if our baby is ugly?”

“That’s not the point, Satoru!” You frown, knowing that you’re being ridiculous right now, but who else could handle you in this state if not him? There’s a reason why he’s the one you call your husband, and he’s the one who put the aforementioned potentially-ugly baby inside of you. 

“Fine. If our baby is ugly, let’s leave it on Kento’s doorsteps and let it be his problem for the next eighteen years. Then, we can get started on the next and hope the second time’s the charm. Sounds like a solid plan?” He doesn’t mean it, but he knows it’s best to just try and nip these hypotheticals in the bud. 

You’re silent for a moment. Then, “You’re awful! I would love our baby, even if it had your eyes and crazy ass hair.” 

“I would love our baby, too. Ugly or not. You know why?”

“You’re going to say something corny.” 

“I was going to say that I would love our baby because it came from you. Nothing ugly is coming out of your body, babe. And anyway, I love you so much, how could I hate anything that’s literally half you?” 

Even if you’re in the mood to be annoying and insecure, and your brain is telling you to argue some more with your husband, you can’t help but relax after hearing this. 

(Nine months later, all your worries seem to be all for naught; your son is the cutest thing to be born.)

[luna-rainbow]

Bucky’s metal arm has touch sensors. They’ve just never been calibrated properly. The soldier learned only what was important to him on the field, the cold hard metal of a gun and how much pressure to use when pulling the trigger.

Steve notices this, as he helps Bucky settle in to his new life. He sees Bucky touching the soft flannel bedsheets first with his right hand, then with his left hand, brows knitted in deep concentration.

Uncertainly, Steve asks if he doesn’t like it, if it is too warm or too soft—

“Soft,” Bucky picks up the word from Steve’s ramble. He lowers his head and looks at the pastel sheets between his fingers, and repeats. “Soft.”

The cotton tee, the woollen cardigan, the denim pants, the mesh sneakers, he gently rubs each textile between his fingers with both hands. He does the same when in the kitchen, running his fingers lightly over the coarse heads of a cauliflower, the pockmarked rind of an orange, the sharp stalks of rosemary, the glossy skin of a plum.

His vocabulary recovers more with time, and whenever Steve asks how it feels, he can give a few extra words — firm, smooth, hard, sharp, rough. On the occasions he says the word soft, his whole expression relaxes and all the lines soften, and Steve wishes he could swathe the man with everything soft and fluffy just to keep it there.

They sit down to watch TV after dinner. lt’s their ritual. A time when they sit together silently — when Bucky gets used to being in the same physical space, without feeling the pressure to make conversation. It seems silly but Steve has seen the difference it has made, from Bucky wedging himself into the other end of the couch, to now relaxing next to him, their shoulders occasionally brushing as they reach for the crackers on the table.

This has been a particularly long day, Steve having just returned from a 3 day mission where he barely caught a wink. About ten minutes into the soothing documentary about red pandas, he is fast asleep. He wakes to something brushing against his hand, light and tremulous. Then something a little cooler and a lot harder does the same, and he realises what it is.

Bucky snatches his hands back when Steve opens his eyes. He says guiltily, “Sorry.”

Steve reaches out and rests his palm over Bucky’s metal fingers. “How does it feel?”

Bucky searches his face warily, and then he relaxes. Steve feels a light tickle as the small metal plates whir quietly under his hand.

“Soft,” Bucky answers. After a moment, he adds, “Warm.”

Steve threads his fingers through the metal ones, and holds the hand close. After a little while, he feels the metal fingers curl slowly until they rest, ever so gently, against the back of his hand.

“Tingly,” Bucky suddenly says, out of nowhere.

Steve smiles and answers, “Same.” He points to his chest, “Here.”

He can see the concern and confusion as Bucky glances a few times at his ribs.

One day, Bucky will understand what that means. Steve looks down at their linked fingers and runs his thumb along the metal plates, drawing a slight shiver from the man beside him.

This is a good start.

[beejunos]

SPEAK TO ME | Sneak peek [Alastor x f.reader] | SMUT (mdni)

Summary: Alastors voice turns you on. Something he loves to take advantage of.

If you want you read the full story, press THIS LINK

Did someone ask for an Alastor voice kink fic?! This is only a sneak peek! I hope to finish this little smutty story in about two days.

Halfway through your night routine, you turned on your radio at a soft, pleasant volume, and Alastor's smooth voice filled the otherwise silent room. 

"Salutations, friends and hellish residents! Tonight, we have a splendid assortment of the latest news and the best Hell has to offer in jazz, but before we chitchat about our dear city's hellish affairs, here is the newest music from Miss Jezebel and The Wicked Six!" 

Slow and sultry jazz music started to play on the radio. The woman who sang had a deep, smoky quality that was inherently sexy to you. There was just something about women who sang with deep voices that made your hips sway from side to side, effortlessly dancing across your room as you started to strip, pretending there was someone there who enjoyed the show you put on. 

You turned off all the lights except the small lamp by your bed and crawled under the thick blanket. You left the radio on as you made yourself comfortable, hugging one of your pillows close to you. 

The song ended, and Alastor came back. This time, he started talking about the news. Since the news sometimes made you too sad to sleep, you never really listened to what he was saying; you only listened to his voice—his tone, the cadence of his speech, and his transatlantic accent. 

You let his voice wash over you like a soothing balm to your aching body, but soon, you felt the familiar tingles run up your back. Warmth pooled low within you as you shifted in your bed, lying on your back. The desire to touch and be touched grew in you, to move, to grind, to satisfy the urge for sex. 

Closing your eyes and letting your hands wander over your body, you start by slowly dragging your fingertips over your sensitive throat, making sure that your light fingertips touch all the places that made you weak. 

Your hands travel from your throat down to your chest. Palming your breasts in your hand, you drag your nails over your sensitive nipples. Pinshin, pulling and rolling them between your fingers till they are warm and hard. 

Your senses sharpen as you start to feel more intensely, but your mind goes hazy, making it hard to think clearly. Alastors voice is but background noise now that edges you on.

One hand stays on your breast as the other journeys down, down, down and under your underwear. 

You slowly drag your finger between your lips, coating your finger in your wetness as you slowly pull it towards your clit. A breathless gasp is pulled from your mouth the first time your finger comes in contact with your sensitive clit. Slowly and with the lightest touch, you start to circle the organ, and what feels like electricity builds in your loins.

You can't help but move in your bed, legs bending and toes curling as you give yourself the pleasure that you wished Alastor would provide you. Your hand that previously played with your breast joined your other hand, and you let out a not-so-subtle moan as you pushed two fingers into you. Desperately, you curl your fingers inside you to increase the pleasure. 

You want it. You need it. Your toes curl almost painfully as Alastors name falls from your lips like a prayer. 

You're so close. So close you can see stars behind your eyes. You breathlessly chase that sweet release. Building, and building, and building. Your legs are shaking as you bite your lips. Hips lift from the mattress as you fight the urge to close your legs.

You are so, so close.

"What are you doing, my dear?" 

Cold dread crashes through your body as you rip your hands away from your body. You frantically look all over your room in the shadows. Looking for that all-knowing smile and calculating red eyes. 

His voice had been so close and clear that he had to be in your room. It had felt like he had spoken to you right beside your ear. But you were alone. No one was in your room but you. 

"Such a naughty little creature you are, my dear. So desperate to be touched." 

Goosebumps travel up your back as you slowly turn in the direction you hear his voice. On your nightstand is the radio that Alastor gave you. It is still on, but the yellow light of the display has turned red. 

Towering over you in your bed, you almost feel like he is watching you. Observing you as you lay naked in your bed. Your blankets were by the end of the bed as you had kicked them off a long time ago. 

"Can't even listen to me talking without having to touch yourself. My oh my, what will I ever do with such a bad little doe, hm?" 

Shaking all over, you reached for the radio's electrical cord and jerked it out of the outlet. The radio fell silent as you collapsed in your bed. Spent, but not satisfied. However, you soon start to tremble over the fact that Alastor had listened to you pleasuring yourself, and he seemed to like it.

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

had some SAGAU brainrot, hear me out-

you had a cat, back in your world; a soft, fluffy little friend to accompany you during your day-to-day life. it were your closest companion, silently keeping watch over you and curling up on your lap as you worked, allowed you to hug it whenever you were feeling stressed- running your hands through a cat's soft fur was a surefire way to ease your frazzled nerves and anxious heart.

but then you came to Teyvat and, well, your cat didn't come with you. then all these people, all the characters you thought were just part of a game, proclaimed you a god, putting you on the highest pedestal of all, every single eye on you all the time, watching your every move- and you hate it. you just want to be alone with someone or something to hug, living your own life the way you want to, but now everyone clings to your every word, holding their breath for you to make some decision, any decision, because apparently you're the Creator of this world.

the only decision you want to make is the decision to close the door of your room and cry.

Childe had always been your favorite, even if you tried not to show it. you felt safe around him, if no one else in this new world, and as such he was allowed to visit you whenever he pleased. it's during one of these visits that you quietly tell him about your cat, admitting that you just want to go home and return to your old life, and Childe's brow furrows in worry. he can't help you get home... but he can give you something fluffy to hug, and he gives your hand a light squeeze before shifting into his Foul Legacy form just for you.

you blink in surprise when you see an Abyssal beast instead of Childe sitting before you, but a tired smile quickly appears on your face when Legacy nudges his head into your hands, looking up at you with a gentle purr. you bury your fingers into his thick ginger hair and it feels like petting your cat again- a bigger, fluffier version of your cat, but the knots in your stomach still loosen as you lean into Foul Legacy's embrace with a contented sigh, the first smile you've had in weeks spreading across your lips.

and Legacy rumbles happily at your smile, his Abyssal heart soothed by the happiness of the Creator.

[justlemmeadoreyou]

hii babesss could you write something about harry fucking yn to ease her nerves/relax because she got home from work stressed and tired and needed a distraction? Love uu

summary: harry helps y/n relax after a stressful day.

words: 1.5k

warnings: SMUT! kissing, oral (f receiving), fingering, praise.

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

Yn dragged herself through the front door, feeling completely drained after a long, arduous day at the office. Her briefcase slipped from her hand as she leaned back against the door, letting out an exhausted sigh.

"Rough day, love?" came Harry's concerned voice from the living room.

He appeared in the hallway, his warm green eyes instantly taking in her disheveled state. Without a word, he crossed over and enveloped her in a tender hug. Yn melted into his embrace, the tension already starting to leave her body.

"The worst," she mumbled into his chest. "I'm just so tired, Harry."

"I know, sweetheart," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "But you're home now. Let me take care of you."

He took her hand and led her to the couch, guiding her to sit down. Yn watched as he busied himself lighting some scented candles and dimming the lights.

"There, nice and relaxing," he said with a soft smile. "Why don't you put your feet up?"

Yn did as instructed, curling up on the couch as Harry grabbed a thick blanket from the ottoman.

"This ought to keep you cozy," he said, draping it over her legs. He sat down beside her and began to gently rub her shoulders. "Tell me about your day?"

As Yn recounted the never-ending meetings, the rude clients, the looming deadlines, she could feel the stress slowly melting away under Harry's soothing touch.

"You poor thing," he tsked sympathetically. "No wonder you're so tense. Let me run you a hot bath, that'll really help you unwind."

"Harry, you don't have to-" Yn started, but he cut her off with a fingers against her lips.

"Nonsense, it's no trouble at all," he said firmly. "You just rest here, I'll be back in a tick."

True to his word, Harry returned a few minutes later. "All ready for you, my dear," he declared. "I even put in those bath salts you like."

He helped Yn to her feet and into the bathroom, where the tub was filled with steaming water and fragrant bubbles. Candlelight flickered all around, casting a warm, calming glow.

"Harry…this is wonderful," Yn said, touched by his thoughtfulness. "Thank you."

"Of course, anything for you," he replied warmly. "I'll leave you to relax, but shout if you need anything, alright?"

Alone in the bathroom, Yn slowly undressed and sank into the luxurious heat of the water with a blissful sigh. She closed her eyes and just…breathed, allowing the fragrant steam and soothing warmth to cocoon her utterly.

***

Some time later, Yn emerged from the bathroom, skin tingling and pink from the hot water. She felt worlds better, relaxed yet rejuvenated at the same time. Harry looked up from where he was reclining on the couch, a bright smile breaking over his face.

"There she is! Feeling better, my love?"

"Much better," Yn assured him, crossing over to join him on the couch and nestling into his side. "Thank you for taking such good care of me."

"Always," he said simply, dropping a kiss on her damp hair. "I just hate seeing you so stressed and tense. You work too hard, you know."

"I know," Yn said ruefully. "But I have to admit, after that bath and some quality time with my favorite person, I'm feeling infinitely more relaxed."

She tilted her face up toward his, eyes sparkling. "In fact, I think I could go for a bit more…relaxation," she added with a coy smile.

Harry grinned and pulled her closer. "Why, Mrs. Styles, are you flirting with me?"

"Mmm, maybe a little," Yn giggled, looping her arms around his neck. "Is that okay?"

"More than okay," he murmured huskily, capturing her lips in a slow, heated kiss.

As Harry deepened the kiss, Yn melted against him with a contented hum. This was what she had been wanting all day. To be in the arms of her loving husband, while he held her and kissed her like she deserved.

Harry's hands travelled underneath the oversized t-shirt, feeling the soft flesh of her chest against his fingers, caressing her nipples and swiping his fingers over the hardening bud.

Yn moaned into his mouth, and as soon as her mouth parted open, his tongue swiped against her plush lips, sliding in and licking her tongue. He trailed his hands down, feather-light touches on her stomach till he reached the waistband of the loose shorts, and pulled it loose.

Using the back as leverage, he used one hand against it to move himself on top of her, their lips never parting.

Only when Harry's hand slipped further down, inside her panties to feel her wetness oozing out, did she whimper into his mouth, and he broke the kiss to take a look at his beautiful, pretty and perfect wife, her hooded and lust-blown eyes telling him all he needed to know.

"What do you want, Yn?" he asked, keeping the eye contact as his fingers slipped between her pussy lips, feeling her soft, spongey but puffy clit and giving it a gentle roll between his fingers. She gasped, her lips swollen with their kisses just moments ago.

"I-I need-" she gasped once again, his hand circling around her tight hole, pushing just the tip of his finger in, teasing her.

"You need, hm?" he asked, and the next gasp she released was stolen with another kiss.

"Yes-Har-Harry, I-I need you"

She managed to sputter out, and as soon as she did, he slipped his wet finger in. Her walls clenched around him instantly, her thighs threatening to shut closed if it wasn't for Harry's thick ones between them. He pushed another in, swirling them around and curling them upwards just right to find her sweet g-spot.

"Oh fuck-yes-god yes, harry-" she pleaded, and Harry began kissing down her neck, her collarbones, the top of her breasts. He began fucking her with his fingers, two digits pistoning in and out of her in a pace that made her toes curl against the couch. She held onto his biceps, digging her nails in as he slid down the couch, getting on his knees in front of her.

Before she could protest, (not that she was going to), he darted out his tongue, and flicked it expertly aginst her clit, drawing out a moan from her. She used her other hand to grab his soft curls, and pulled at them softl.y

"Like that, baby?" he asked, and she nodded, biting her upper lip.

"So good, Har-don't stop"

Not that he was going to. He started to flick his tongue faster against her clit, his cold rings brushing against it each time he thrust his fingers fully in. He had kept them on on purpose, and he knew just how much the wet and cold sensation drove her wild.

His lips licked hers, before licking up her labia and sucking on her clit. Her grip on his hair tightened, and she whimpered once again, her back arching off the couch. Her legs couldn't stop themselves either, wrapping around his neck and pulling him impossibly closer to her core.

She felt the familiar sensation in her stomach, and she threw her head back. Harry licked, sucked and fucked with more frevor, using every ounce of strength in him to make his girl feel good.

Her breathing increased, her legs wrapping around him tighter as she gave his curls one final rough tug, before falling over the sweet edge, with Harry fucking her faster than ever, milking every ounce of orgasm from his pretty girl.

"Give it to me, yeah-that's it, good girl-"

He praised her, her orgasm riding out in the best way possible. Her breathing began going back to normal, her hold around his neck as well as in her hair loosening.

It was once she had fully relaxed around his fingers, that he pulled them out, licking them and cleaning them up like the sick bastard that he was. He wiped his dirty hands on his sweatpants, falling back on the couch beside her, his jaw aching from the work he had put in, but it was all worth it when he got to see her glow like that.

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

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[tteokdoroki]

☆༉ — SEISHIRO NAGI. touch me, soothe me.

about. if there’s one thing nagi’s going to put effort into — it’s making his baby feel better when the world gets you down. or nagi + spank therapy because i said so. i need him.

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact. smut, nsfw, fingering (f!receiving), spanking, spank therapy, squirting, dom/sub dynamics, use of colour system, cockwarming fem!reader, pro player + soft dom!nagi

when you have a lot on your mind, the first thing you do is turn to your boyfriend, nagi.

he acts as a sort of centre point for your comfort, whenever the world gets too much and there’s too much weight on your shoulders. nagi willingly accepts his role of caregiver, stress reliever, anything his angel needs him to be. he’ll do whatever it takes to see you smile and laugh again even if it means seishiro has to put in a little extra effort. 

besides, it helps that you get a little needier when you’re stressed out.

“s-sei!” there’s something so satisfying about the way you curl into him, trying to make yourself smaller against nagi whenever he’s close by. a quiet ‘fuck’ drifts from between his parted lips, watching the meat of your ass ripple from the impact of his his hand against it. your core loosens a tad and your lashes make soft contact with his bare shoulder when you blink back the hot liquid that slips from your pretty eyes. 

nagi knows that when your jaw goes slack and your drool starts seeping past the boundaries of his clothes — that he’s making you feel good, making the day hurt less. carefully, he runs a hand over the tender zone to pacify any pain you might be experiencing from being smacked about like that. 

“shhh, pretty thing. you’ve had such a long day. lemme take care of you, kay?” nagi coos to you soothingly as he smooths his hand over the area where heat blooms on your ass cheek. “d’ya want the next one to be harder or softer?” he feels your lips tremble against his bare neck, and the tears that drip onto his shoulders and if he didn’t know any better — he might think you were crying out in pain rather than relief. 

your shaky voice quickly soothes the player’s concern while you nuzzle into him further. “harder, please.” 

nagi let’s out a noncommittal hum, the sound comfortingly reverberating through your frame as you cling onto his larger one. “such a good girl, for using your manners with me.” 

he waits a few more seconds, letting you prepare for impact, before his heavy hand comes down against the opposite cheek. he revels in the way that you jolt with your nails digging into his milky skin so hard that they might break flesh. but as quickly as you tense up, you sag in relief — letting all of your worries flood out of you as the pain from being spanked subside.

the strangled moan that escapes you tells nagi that he’s doing a good job at helping ease your tension. the effort he’s putting in, evident in the way his palms tingle from spanking you so hard. there was some weight to that one.

“check in with me, angel. how are we doing?” 

you’re still a quivering mess when you answer your boyfriend, swallowing thick and choking back your tears. the stress that you had been experiencing now burns and brews into something hotter, a slick gathering between your thighs. “green,” you hiccup, tauntingly dragging your hips back and forth against the white haired striker’s lap. “‘m okay to keep going.” 

“oh, pretty thing.” seishiro cocks his head to the side, brushing a thumb under your eye before another tear drops. “y’gonna kill me. s’not fair…so pretty like this,” that very same thumb drops to the swell of your lips, barely pushing past them to enter your hot mouth. “tell me how you want it, then i’ll make you cum.” 

obediently, you suck on the digit that your boyfriend offers you — your frenzied emotions instantly calming down. “wan’ a few more in a row… keep going. please.” you slur around him as nagi slowly fucks your mouth, pressing down on your tongue to watch you writhe.

as per your request, the player continues to bring a a rapid and heavy hand down against your pert ass — groaning as the flesh jiggles beneath his touch. it all rushes to his head, the sound of skin meeting skin, your hushed, dreamy sobs and sighs, the way you claw and cling to him. he’s dizzy with lust all for you but somehow manages to power through long enough to make an effort for you, make you feel better before he tends to himself. 

you’re all squirmy with sore cheeks by the time nagi is done, but you’re happily snivelling into his neck as he ruts up into you — hard cock pressed against your soft thighs. “sei,” you plead gently, rocking back against his erection and whimper when it’s thickness sinks between your wet, panty-clad folds perfectly. “think i need a little more help… with the stress relief…” 

“i think so too, angel,” seishiro replies with a rasp, already in the midst of rolling you onto your back and into prime position to ruin you. somehow, two sets of hands fumble between your bodies to push and pull clothes aside — allowing the genius player’s cock to slide right into your soaked and fluttering hole. both of you sigh out in relaxation, your moans syncing up into the most airy-fairy harmony. “might need to fuck it out of you, fuck you s’good pretty thing. s-shit… you’re so warm ‘n tight around me… gonna make a mess…”

with newfound motivation, nagi draws his hips back and bucks into your tight heat, using one fluid motion to fill you up with his drippy cock. it’s the cry you let out and your fingers gripping the sweaty silver roots of his hair that drive the man forward, forcing more of his throbbing dick into your sensitive little cunt while his free hand reaches down to toy with your clit. 

he’s going to fuck you until you’re numb, dumb and crying because of him — not because of work. pound you until your pussy froths, because seishiro  really would do anything for you to feel better and less stressed — even if it meant fucking you starry-eyed and delirious. 

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[charliemwrites]

Girl rage, girl rage, girl rage!!

CW for Simon being a Jerk and a Creep, mentions of violence and murder, and kidnapping.

One time in high school, there was a boy that wouldn’t leave you alone. You gave him a million chances to knock it off, growing more and more hostile, snapping your teeth. The inappropriate touches in the hall, the lewd comments at lunch breaks, the fucking pictures. Nothing salacious, just long shots of you from afar, trying to go about your day.

One day he reached for your chest and you snapped two of his fingers. His parents wailed that you ruined his rugby career. You told them he should get better at football.

When you’re annoyed, you crack the knuckles of those same fingers on your own hand.

It’s the first thing you do when you wake up in a bare, grey basement, laid on a thin cot on the ground. Pop, pop. Recalibrating your foggy mind.

You don’t quite remember how you got here. Last clear thing is the bar. Doesn’t matter how you got here though, at least for the moment - just that you are here. And you don’t want to be.

You’re handcuffed, chain looped through an exposed pipe above your head. You clink it once, twice. Decide it’s fairly sturdy and take stock of everything else.

Your stomach is a bit tight with nausea - drug induced, you figure. Ugh. And your head aches, nothing a glass of water won’t fix.

But all your clothes are intact, no ache between your thighs or burgeoning bruises on your breasts. No shoes, though. Bummer, you liked those.

You crack the knuckles on your other hand; pop, pop.

You think of the scent of cheap whiskey, shattered glass, policemen wrapping you in a shock blanket. Remember your date chocking on his own vomit in a dark alley, then someone much bigger and stronger grabbing you as you tried to leave.

Hm.

The pipes are warm. You settle back against them and wait.

—

You don’t scream when Simon enters the basement. Don’t make a single peep. You shift against the pipes, tucking your feet under you as he approaches. Your eyes are so big, rounded as you peer up at him through your lashes.

“Such a smart girl,” he coos, “staying quiet for me. Or are you just that scared?”

You blink at him, the tiniest indent dimpling your bottom lip from your teeth. He crouches down in front of you, arms balanced on his knees. You’re curled up so small. He wants to bundle you in his lap, tuck you away.

“It’s alright, little one,” he soothes. “There’s no need to be scared.”

You twitch a bit, the metal cuffs clicking together. He flicks his eyes to them, sighs.

“Those are so that you don’t do something stupid,” he explains patiently. “Like you did earlier.”

A little furrow of confusion creases your brows. He exhales, amused despite himself. So precious, his girl. Like you can’t fathom why he would be upset with you.

“Going out with a strange man.”

He tuts, feels that black rage simmering again, same he felt when he realized you and that slime were no longer at the bar.

“He almost hurt you in that alley,” he reminds, “had he not been so drunk he tripped over his own fucking feet.”

He takes a second to breathe, fingers twitching. They feel too dry, too clean. He was so worried about getting you home that he had no time to bother taking care of that scum.

“I tried to let you have your fun, baby. I really did. But I can’t — I can’t anymore. The world is far too dangerous.” He brushes the backs of his fingers down your cheek, coos at the little shudder that runs through you. “And you’ve proven that you can’t take care of yourself.”

Your lips part. Shock, confusion, protest. It doesn’t matter, he’s more distracted feeling the soft give of your plush bottom lip beneath his thumb, bitten pink.

“It’s alright. You don’t have to worry about that anymore,” he soothes. “I’ll take care of you from now on.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, dropping your head to your arm. He hums.

“I know, sweet girl, I know. This is for the best, I promise.”

You sniffle a bit, blink wet eyes open. Wet your lips with the tip of your pretty pink tongue.

“What… what do I call you?” you ask, voice soft and raspy.

Oh, such a sweet thing. Such a sweet, clever girl. You’re going to be so, so good for him.

“Just Ghost for now, luv. Let me get you some water, you’ve earned it.”

—

You exhale slow and soft, counting every fourth heartbeat. If you don’t, you’ll start trying to break things. The smart money is on your bones giving before that stupid pipe. So. Breathing it is.

You’ve never felt out of control in anger. Everything is always so sharp and clear, you think and move with a precision you usually can’t coax from mind or body.

This… Ghost, though.

It was a pleasant surprise that he didn’t realize what you did in the alley. Too dark, perhaps. Too quiet. Perhaps he thought you were fleeing in fear.

It’s an advantage you can’t squander. He’s much bigger than you, much stronger. Carries himself with posture and purpose reminiscent of military or former military bearing. There’s a physicality to the way he moves that echos violence.

You know that you will only get one proper shot to escape. There is no point wasting it on shouting and cursing and snarling. Even if he did only consider it bluster and bark, it would plant seeds of doubt in his mind. Make him careful and conscious of any slip ups.

Sometimes, rabid animals appear friendly or docile. The virus gets a new victim close enough to turn and bite, spreading and infecting.

You run your tongue over your teeth, imagine the taste of blood if you’d bitten through his thumb like you wanted to. Inhale and exhale again, start the counter over.

Pause to resist another sneeze, blinking past watery eyes and sniffling it away. Christ, he couldn’t have at least cleaned the basement before chaining you up down here? Could barely focus on his ridiculous monologue through the allergies.

Not that you think you missed much; and you’re sure you’ll be hearing it again.

He’s just like every other man you’ve ever killed, you muse, settling in again. And it’ll be so, so sweet watching the blood bloom.

[loveinhawkins]

Ficlet prompt: Lighter

Truly will enjoy whatever that might inspire for you, but I do especially love all your steddie work that takes place between scenes of s4!

thank you for the perfect excuse to think about another before the battle scene. (also i hope i’m recognising your username correctly & if so i love your video analyses 💕) •one word ficlet prompts

Eddie throws the lighter with no warning. It soars in an arc across the field, a glint of silver in the sun, and Steve catches it with one hand, of course he does. Eddie remembers the running joke in the true basketball glory days, Steve Harrington, an excellent catch: in every sense.

Eddie would always act like the whole thing annoyed him, but now, as he watches Steve grin smugly, he can only be fond.

“Figured you’d need it when you’re, uh, flambéing.”

Steve’s smile fades, just a little; Eddie wonders if the terror he’s feeling is obvious, even from a distance.

“Like, it’s my uncle’s, so be careful,” he adds, rambling. “I’ll want it back, man.”

Steve considers him. Pats a patch of grass, come here.

Eddie does.

He sits down as Steve flicks the lighter a couple of times, the flame winking in and out of existence. It’s a soothing sight, almost makes him forget that they’ve spent most of the day fashioning weapons—like so long as Steve’s got a light in his hand, things are gonna be all right.

It’s a child’s logic. Eddie can’t help it; he never could.

There’s a soft click as Steve shuts the lighter. He puts it in his jacket pocket with unnecessary care. A gentleness.

Eddie knows he’ll keep it safe.

And then Steve’s twisting round to reach another pocket, brings out another glint of silver.

He flicks it up in the air, catches it before dropping it into Eddie’s palm.

“This is my lucky quarter,” Steve says with uncharacteristic solemnity, but his lips are quirking in amusement and—

“You’re so full of shit,” Eddie says through a laugh, “you literally just bought that jacket.”

His fingers curl over the coin anyway. He feels the warmth leftover from Steve’s touch. Wonders if Steve felt something similar with the lighter—if he can lend their improvised charms some power through sheer force of will.

He slips the coin into his pocket.

“I’ll kinda want it back,” Steve says pointedly.

Eddie smiles. “I’ll take care of it,” he says.

He doesn’t want to sound afraid, but he can’t promise anything. Can only think of Steve carrying the lighter and hope that it holds: an amulet, guiding him home.

[mrsrileywrites]

Oh well, it seems like my brain was feeling functional today...

Here's part two of this Simon Riley x pregnant reader ask

Enjoy everyone and as always any and all sorts of interaction is highly appreciated 🫶

Side note: I'm still new here so I don't know how to add links and be like "this" and you press the word and boom there's the link, also I do all this from my phone so bare with my millennial old ass 😅

1001 words

"Explain what?" He shouts turning around and walking towards you again, your hands fly to your belly instinctively, protective. You lower your head, eyes glued to the floor, ashamed.

Simon sees your reaction, the fear on your eyes, and he steps back taking a minute to collect himself, to come to terms with this discovery, he runs his hand over his face and hair.

"I'm sorry Si, I was-" you speak softly, your tone apologetic but he cuts you off, "You are not, I didn't want this, you knew damn well I didn't want this" he shouts again and you shrink yourself wanting to crawl out of your skin and not deal with this, not right now at least, your shoulders slump like a child being scolded. "Why didn't you tell me? You had plenty of chances."

"I didn't know how" you pout looking up at him searching his eyes for reassurance that everything would be okay but he is relentless, you see the rage and something else in his eyes, something you can't quite identify. "You didn't know how? Are you fucking kidding me right now? How about, uh oh by the way you are going to be a dad?" He sighs pacing back and forth like an encaged animal.

"I was afraid" you blink away the tears that have been threatening to spill since he walked through the door, your heart is beating so fast you think you may pass out any second. And he sees you, the fear, the vulnerability, the uncertainty and it hits him like a train, you are afraid too and you've been dealing with this for the past two months on your own, he stands in front of you.

"Afraid of what? Of me?" His voice is much softer now and he moves a strand of hair behind your ear, his calloused fingers lingering on your cheek and you nod speaking softly like you always do, because you are nothing like him, you are sweet and soft around the edges "of your reaction, of loosing you, but I get it now... you don't have to do this, it's okay really... I can manage on my own".

His hands cup your face and your fingers curl around his wrists, the look on your face pulls at the strings of his heart and he knows he would never be able to leave you even if he tried, even if that meant to face his biggest fears and become a father, the father he wish he had. "You'll never lose me love, you're stuck with me... We'll do this together, yeah?"

"Mhm" you agree and bury your face on his chest letting the tears run free, Simon rubs soothing circles on your back and apologizes over and over, he said he didn't mean to yell, he wasn't mad he was just shocked and scared shitless and you apologize too.

____________________________________________

From that on Simon was really involved in your pregnancy as much as he could, he even talked to Price and he agreed to send him on not-so-dangerous and not-so-long missions, he even got to do all of his paperwork in his little office at home and go with you to all your doctors appointments, he was holding your hand when he saw the baby for the first time, black and white blob staring at him through the screen, he asked the nurse if he could have one of the ultrasound pictures to show the lads back at base and she give him a bunch, he chose his favorite and put it in his wallet, he tried, in vain, to hide his tears the first time he heard the baby's heartbeat, he didn't complained when he noticed his favorite ice cream running out a lot faster while yours remained untouched, you blamed it on the pregnancy cravings.

 

He held your hair and rubbed soothing circles on your back every morning while you hugged the toilet bowl emptying your stomach courtesy of the morning sickness and he reassured you every time you felt too overly conscious of the changes in your body, he rubbed lotion on your belly and spoke to the bump every night after you showered and got ready for bed, he cried his eyes out the first time he felt the baby kick while he laid on the couch with his head on your lap and you ran your fingers through his hair.

One night you both laid in bed, in the moon lite bedroom, you were at the 36 weeks mark and your doctor had told you the baby could be born any time now. You and Simon (Simon more than you) had put the nursery together while you boss him around. Simon laid behind you, his burly arms wrapped around you while his hand rubbed different shapes on your belly, he gasped every time the baby kicked.

"I'm scared" you mumbled so low you thought he didn't hear you. "Scared of what, love?" he spoke in a drowsy tone his mouth against your neck.

"Giving birth..." He chuckled and you smacked his hand. "You can't escape that part, baby, can you?".

"I know, I just... You are so big and the baby is big for his gestational age too... I don't know if I'll be able to do this" you sighed. "It's too late to think about that now baby" he chuckled again and you smacked his hand again.

"Simon, this is serious" you scolded him and he squeezed you a little tighter, his voice a low murmur against your neck. "I know it is, but you got this... You've come this far and you've been so brave you are going to be just fine, plus I'll be right next to you... and they'll give you something for the pain, I'll make sure you are as comfortable as possible, yeah?".

"Yeah" you agreed sinking further into his warm embrace and you knew no matter how scary it could be Simon would always be there being your biggest supporter and a great father.

@zlunia

[ghouljams]

can the fae!boys use the taps in ways for like fully good intent like lets say if libeling was freaked and stressed out of her mind and well overworked just one tap and shes putty in königs arms to take care of- or the panic attack with her fic got me thinking if she was in one he could just go tap

Taps can absolutely be used with good intent. This is where I say that magic in this au cannot be good or evil, it's all in how you use it. Blessings and curses are two sides of the same coin: a spell for a baby might be a blessing for one and a curse for another, but at the end of the day it's the same magic. But yeah let's have someone other than the kinksters use the tap for good vibes.

You're completely run down, drained of everything that isn't numbers and money or worries about numbers and money. You should call your accountant. Instead you're sitting at your little kitchen table with receipts and month income reports. You're pretty sure you're turning a profit. You might not be. Who knows? Not you.

You haven't had a day off in... fuck when was the last time you took a day off? Maybe two, three(?), months ago? When you got dragged to that Renn Faire? That sounds about right. Today doesn't count. End of the quarter accounting doesn't count as a day off even if you had to close the shop.

König seems restless. He's been pacing around the flat with nothing to occupy him all day. You've snapped at him a couple times, sent him outside or to the shops just for a moment's piece. You rub your eyes with the heel of your hand, tapping you pencil against your calculator as you stare down the list you've been making on spare notebook paper. You're starting to get a migraine. The lights are too brightly haloed, each ambient noise too loud against your skin, you can feel your bones and it's nauseating.

You sit back in your chair and press your hands to your face, giving yourself a moment's darkness as you try to weigh Advil against just going to bed. When you finally slide your hands from your face you're staring up at König, his concern radiating off of him, or maybe he's just blocking your overhead light.

"Are you sick meine liebe?" he asks, leaning to press the back of his hand against your forehead. He takes it back with a frown, fingers hovering close.

"No, I'm just-" You shake your head, sit forward again to keep working, König's hand covers your eyes. You sigh and lean against the gentle touch, "I'm just tired König."

"Everything will still be there in the morning Liebling, come to bed." His thumb rubs at your forehead, soothing the worried creases.

"I'll just keep thinking about it," You let out another sigh, press your hands against König's, press his warmth and darkness into your tired eyes. You feel a childish whine building behind your ribs, your head hurts and you don't want to think anymore. You think- you think Love talked about Ghost doing something about that. God the last thing you want is to engage with anything similar to her reckless behavior, but the thump of a migraine against your skull is highly convincing.

"Can you-" The only experience you have with König's magic is what he gives you during sex, you don't really know what to ask for. You don't really know what to call what you want. Good fucking God you hate asking for help. König stays quiet, lets you sort through your thoughts without his interjection. "Can you make me stop thinking?" You ask, the migraine has started migrating towards nausea and the threat of being curled over the toilet overpowers your self sufficiency.

"You would put yourself in my care?" His voice is so soft, so careful and almost hopeful. You don't really know how not thinking would need care, but you nod against his hand. König takes a breath, his pointer finger raising to tap your forehead lightly.

Everything about you drops as you sag forward. All of the building pain is gone in an instant as König's magic sweeps through you, pushing every thought from your head. It settles like a blanket over your mind, hushing your sense of self and independence, and leaving you at König's mercy.

It's dark. No. There's something covering your eyes. A very careful movement, a hand sliding off your line of sight to cup your face and tip your head back. You're kissed so sweetly, gentle pressure and soft lips against your own. König, your sluggish brain supplies. König's magic seems eager to pick and choose what you know. Just the important things, his kiss tells you.

He pulls away with a low purr. You watch the twitch of his gaze, transfixed by the way he searches your eyes. He takes a breath and when he exhales it blows over you like a mist. Your eyes lid, then close, and you threaten to tip over again. Everything is heavy and soft. His hands slide under your arms, lifting you out of your uncomfortable seat.

"Up Schatz," König coaxes you to stand, helps you move your fuzzy, floaty, limbs, "There you go." You hardly stand from your chair before König's hand is pressing between your shoulders, tipping you forward at the waist to rest your hands against the table and scatter papers. His hands are big on your hips, holding you up as he drops to his knees behind you. "Let me help you," His voice is so husky, you hum and drop your head forward. It feels too heavy to keep holding up.

But it's so blissfully quiet, your thoughts silent and still as a lake. Any thought that slips through König's filter falls like sand through your fingers. Too slick to hold onto, not that you want to. No, this is good. Somewhere between sleeping and wakefulness, your body tingly and warm, just at the edge of a dream. You feel so peaceful. König drags your pants down. You feel kept. You feel like you're forgetting something.

"Am I supposed to be doing something?" You ask König, he'll know. He pauses, his hands squeezing your ass appreciatively.

"No, I'm going to eat you, and then you're going to bed." He tells you. You hum, that sounds nice. "Alles gut?"

"Yeah, good." You pull the syllables out into a low hum as his tongue licks a flat stripe over your slit. You rock back against his hold when he repeats the motion, slicking you with long teasing strokes. His tongue is so strange, twisting and circling against your clit, between your folds. Inhuman, entirely inhuman. The thought hums pleasantly in your veins, stirring heat alongside his long thick tongue.

It's hot and wet, his breath ghosting over you as he laps at your cunt making you shiver with need. Each slick drag rolls back and forth as his fingers squeeze your hips, your ass, every inch of softness appreciated for what it is. You. König closes his lips around your clit and sucks, his tongue fluttering against the sensitive nub, making heat race through you. You stomach jumps, your breath hitches, you press your hands against the table to try and press back against him. His hands hold you firmly in place as pleasure leaps up your spine.

The clench of your needy cunt catches his attention, and he shift to wiggle his tongue into the hole. He slurps greedily as you drip into his mouth, one of his hands leaving your hip to thumb your clit, coaxing you to clench on his tongue and whine. One of his claws catches your clit and you jerk, only for the ones on your hip to dig in further. Your breath stutters feeling the firm pressure of skin at its breaking point, the hot pinpricks of beading blood.

You freeze, grip the scattered papers under your hands with unsteady fists. If you focus past the slick liquid pleasure he's licking into you, you can feel the flat dangerous press of teeth just behind his lips. You shiver, his tongue twisting inside of you to push against your gummy walls, stroking alongside the fingers at your clit. He's more monster than man, and you're reminded how much you love that when he growls against your cunt.

"More," You beg, pressing back against his mouth. He pulls back and his hand leaves your hip, hardly giving your knees time to buckle before it smacks your ass. You jolt forward, your thighs hitting the edge of the table as quickly as he's holding your hip to pull you back onto his tongue.

"Such a greedy thing liebchen, remember your manners," He spits on your cunt, watches his saliva drip down with the rest of your slick before gathering it on his tongue.

"Please," You mumble, letting the word drop from your lips as he licks you. The hot roll of his tongue before his mouth closes over you, before he sucks at your slick skin, makes your back arch. His hum reverberates through you, and you let your eyes roll. König pinches your clit meanly, before soothing the ache with his tongue, his fingers moving to press into your hole.

He lets you rock back against them. The two thick digits rough with callouses, crook to press against your spongy sweet spot, claws all but forgotten as he strokes your soft inner walls. Each gentle thrust of his fingers drags a new coil of heat through you, tightens the feeling deep in your stomach. His tongue coaxes it tighter, easing you towards a hard release.

"Don't tell me I made you so stupid you forgot how to cum Schatzi," He murmurs, pressing sucking kisses to your clit. You don't think so, but you certainly feel like you're missing something. Every touch of him inches you a bit higher, winds your muscles a little tenser, until you don't think you can take any more.

His grip on your hip loosens as his hand slides up under your shirt. König's fingers spread wide under the fabric, hooking themselves in the strands between you with practiced ease. They grip, hard, and rip you forward to collapse against the table, all your tethers bursting into full technicolor. Everything inside of you breaks and you feel your orgasm crash into you.

"There you go, there you go," He groans, fingers thrusting a little faster into your cunt, hitting your sweet spot a little harder as you squirt against his mouth. Every muscle firing to shake and shudder as you collapse forward onto the table, letting König work you through your orgasm. Your legs shake, hips jerking as he keeps fucking you, keeps sucking at your clit, overstimulating you when you don't have the energy to tell him not to. You whine high and tight in your throat, feel another spring snap and bring the shivers back in full. It hurts so good. He drinks you down so nicely.

You don't know if your really standing as much as König's letting you sit on his face. Dimly you think it doesn't matter. You said you'd put yourself in his care, and you don't regret it. You're tingling and warm, wrung out. He's gentle moving you, you hardly feel it when he stands, when he helps you pull your shirt over your head so he can pick you up.

You settle against him, his hand holding you up as your arms drape over his shoulders. You close your eyes and enjoy the darkness of it, the calm peace in your mind. The sink turns on as you nod off in König's grip. The rush of water is almost a welcome sound, but does nothing to eclipse the soft purr that rumbles from your partner. He moves and you lose track of where you are in space in favor of letting his purring pull you further under his spell.

He settles you in bed, just like he promised. A warm washcloth wipes between your legs, cleaning you up as gently as König can manage before he's crawling onto the bed behind you, and tugging the covers up. He murmurs something your brain is too sluggish to hold onto, and kisses the top of your head. You're tugged snugly back against his chest, his arms oh-so tightly wrapped around you. Comfortably held, your body wastes no time dragging you down into sleep.

[dingochef]

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x You (OFC-Elsa Matthews)

Warnings: Swearing, Smut (MDNI 18+ Only), Unprotected P in V, oral (male receiving), power dynamics, size kink, creampie, deep throating, mild arguing, kink discovery, consensual use of degrading names (slut, whore, etc)

Summary: Jake and you discover a new mutual interest in the bedroom, all because you talked to a random guy named Darren at the bar.

Masterlist

Word Count: 4.1k

Fun Size

"El, you had to keep pushing? Didn't you?" Jake spits, angrily hanging up his jacket by the door.

"I have no idea what you're talking about,” you sigh, taking off your heels.

"Oh, I think you do. You were flirting with that giant meat head fuck,” he says, brushing past you briskly towards the kitchen. You follow and take down two glasses for water, filling them and handing one to Jake as you respond,

"Hardly Jake, I was talking to him, not flirting. You were playing pool and I was bored. He seemed nice."

"He grabbed your ass. Your ass, El!” he shouts, setting the glass down heavily.

"And I shut it down. You saw that,” you answer back, your voice raising in exasperation,

“He's got two very sore balls to think about now.”

Jake runs his hand through his hair as he sighs loudly.

"He wanted to fuck you!"

"And I don't want to fuck him. End of story. What's really going on here, Jake? Since when do you get jealous? Have I done something to make you doubt me?" you ask, making sure to soften your voice.

"No, no, I trust you completely,” he pauses,

“I don't know, El,” he says quietly. He leans, placing both hands on the counter and looks down towards the floor.

“Just seeing that fucking giant next to you, leering at you, it did something. It fucked with my brain, okay?" he answers, turning away from you. You reach out and place a gentle hand on his shoulder and turn him towards you. He goes easily and pulls you into his arms.

"Jake, babe, talk to me. What's going on?”

He leans down and tucks his head in your neck.

"It's weird and I'm not sure I want to talk about it," he sighs.

You turn your head to kiss his temple as you wrap your arms around his waist.

"If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine, Jake, but you can't be mad at me for something I don't know about. Hmm, okay?"

"I know, El," his voice goes quiet,

"I just got the image of him fucking you and something about it made me hard. You're just so tiny and he was so…..big, like a fucking giant."

“Okay,” you hum back, your lips on his temple, your hands rubbing soothing circles on his back, encouraging him to keep talking.

"I could imagine him just throwing you around, using you anyway he wanted….like some fuck toy. I don't know why but it turned me on. And I'm not sure I'm okay with that."

"Do you want to do that to me, Jake?” His breath stills, and you know you're getting closer to the truth.

“You're the same height as him, and in way fucking better shape.”

He rewards you a soft laugh, the tension in his shoulders easing.

"Want to use me?" Your hands start to wander lower down his chest and abs to drag a fingernail along the zipper of his jeans.

"Manhandle me right where you want it? Put my little cunt where ever or however you want to fuck it?"

"Fuck, El, you can't just say stuff like that,” he pants into your neck.

“Does it turn you on? Think about it, just how much bigger you are, how big your cock is in my pussy. How it took some time before I could take it all. You can just lift me up and fuck me anywhere."

He groans, this time more aroused than embarrassed.

“You're not some object to fuck because I think it's hot, El–,”

You interrupt, one finger on his lips,

“What if I want you to? Hold me up while you fuck me hard?”

He groans as you slide your hands down his arms to grab one of his hands.

“You're so much bigger than me,” you say as you align your much smaller hand in his, palm to palm, the difference blatant as he curls the ends of his fingers over yours. You guide his hand down your shoulder and bring it to rest on your throat. Threading his fingers around your neck, you talk into the space between you,

“I love that about you, how much bigger, stronger you are,” your other hand travels down and slides down the front of his jeans to cup his now hard cock,

“I feel safe, protected, loved when you're all wrapped around me.”

He bucks into your hand, seeking more. Jake's eyes are closed and his face still looks conflicted.

“But the idea that you can just throw me around, dominate me, take me in any way you want makes me very, very wet. You want to see?” you ask, and he nods. Taking his other hand, you slide it under your skirt and between your thighs. Jake's deft fingers push your underwear to the side and glide down your dripping slit.

“Fuck, El,” he groans, eyes snapping open as he slides his fingers further into you,

“You want this, don't you?”

“Yes, fuck me hard, use me,” you cry out bucking your hips down to get more of his fingers inside you.

“You want me to fuck you hard like the little slut you are?” he asks, and you moan and clench around his fingers at the thought. Jake chuckles, low and dark, and the look on his face fades from apprehension to lust,

“You do want it, what a little whore. Gonna let me take you anyway I want, put my big cock in that little pussy while I hold you up like some fuck toy?”

“Fuck, Jake,” you moan, fucking yourself on his fingers seeking more.

“You're gonna need to say it, baby. Ask me nicely, to use your little pussy how I see fit. Fuck you hard with my big cock.”

“Yes, yes, Jake! Fuck me with your giant cock. Use my little pussy, please, please!” you shout, getting desperate now. With that enthusiastic response Jake pulls his fingers from you, earning a dissatisfied whine from you, he laughs at your frantic state.

“Don't worry, baby. I'll take care of you,” he says, unzipping his jeans and taking off his shirt.

“On your knees, slut,’ he commands, low and steady.

You sink to your knees, a welcome relief for how wobbly your legs have become in this buildup. Power in your relationship has always been a baton you and Jake passed back and forth easily, both of you taking care of each other's wants and desires. The words are harsh coming out of Jake's mouth, but he knows that with your intense job that the opportunity to step out of that realm of control into this one, is welcomed and relished by you. Your absolute trust in Jake allows you to fully submerge into the fantasy and let go.

The cool tile is soothing on your overheated skin. Jake pushes his jeans and boxer briefs down, his cock finally released in all its glory.

Automatically you lean forward with your hands reaching out to grasp him.

He takes a step back out of your reach and you whine.

“Don't worry, you'll get my cock soon enough. Strip, leave that slutty little thong on for now. I want to see it on your ass as you blow me.”

With lightning speed you strip, breathless with anticipation, very happy with how the night is going.

Jake steps back to you and strokes your face gently.

“Use your colors, tonight, okay, El?” he says seriously, his face full of concern.

“Yes, sir,” you respond, keeping eye contact. He grunts at the honorific,

“Green, very green,” you answer back, voice breathy in anticipation.

“Good, now show me how well you can suck my cock,” he growls as he slides his thumb across your bottom lip.

You lean forward and take his cock in your hands, stacking them on top of each other to cover the whole length. Even then there's still a sizable amount left to slip into your mouth.

Jake hisses as your warm mouth slides over the head of cock. You swirl your tongue around the tip and slide in more of his cock till your mouth is stuffed. Your rhythm of sucking and sliding lasts a few more repetitions till you pull off and tongue down his entire length. Your tongue dances across each pulsing vein until you reach the base, where the neatly trimmed hairs tickle at your lips. You give a soft kiss to each of Jake's balls before you lay his cock across your face. The length of it nearly reaches your hairline from your chin.

Blown out green eyes look down from above. Before Jake can say anything you start talking and running your hands along his length, rubbing the velvet soft skin all over your face,

“Look how big your cock is, Jake. It's amazing I can fit it anywhere in me. It should split me in half, instead I get the best sex of my life. I love it and you so much.”

You place a sweet kiss on the tip to emphasize your point.

Jake reacts more in grunts and the urge to continue rutting his dick along your face but you have other plans. You run your, now undoubtedly, smeared red lipstick adorned lips along him and line his cock up to your mouth, just the head dipping in. You take a deep breath knowing what comes next, and without any warning you swallow Jake to the root. You lack a discernible gag reflex; a lucky find a few months ago one tipsy night after the Hard Deck and something Jake has thoroughly enjoyed. Above you a surprised moan erupts out of Jake as he realizes what you are doing to him. Jake's cock surges through your mouth as your lips get closer to the base. His cock slips past the back of your throat. When the hair at the base tickles against your nose, you grab Jake's hand and place it on your bulged out throat.

“Fuck, El,” he groans out above you, a light thrust from his hips pushing it deeper.

“You're choking on my cock, you gotta have it all, don't you, dirty girl?”

The filthy words go straight to your now pulsing core and you moan in response.

“You like it, don't you?” he asks, still caressing your throat wrapped around his cock. You nod as much as you can in your position and he huffs out a small laugh,

“My little slut.”

You moan as much as you can as your deep breath from before runs out and you tap Jake on the leg twice and he slowly pulls out of your mouth, watching as you pull in big gulps of air. Your chest heaves as Jake’s face softens and he holds your cheek in his hand.

“Color, El?”

“Green,” you reply quickly. A devious smile forms on Jake's face, as he reaches down to grab your hand where it is resting on his thigh and pulls you up to a standing position. He kisses you hard, his tongue in your mouth seeking any last tastes of his precum. His hands are on the globes of your ass, kneading hard as he walks to you back to the wall of your living room. The cool plaster of the wall startles you and Jake, lightning fast, catches the back of your head in his big palm before you bump against the wall. He pulls his other hand down quickly and rips apart the flimsy fabric of your thong, the tearing sound causing you to clench around nothing. The expression on your face must give you away, because Jake chuckles lowly,

“So desperate for it, aren't you, El?”

His intense green eyes focused on yours along with that signature smirk.

“Need you, Jake,” you pant.

Jake thumbs at your lower lip before kissing you hard, mashing you between his insistent lips and his palm on the back of your head. Your hands are scrabbling along his back, trying to find an anchor before you get swept away in the feeling.

He pulls back from the kiss and silently offers you his index and middle finger at your lips. Much like you take his cock, you eagerly get his fingers wet for what you hope comes next.

“Good girl,” he coos, withdrawing his fingers. They slide down your body to part your soaked folds, a ghost of a touch on your clit before he slides one into your dripping slit.

“Fuck, Jake,” you groan, your head tipping back against the wall as he pushes into you easily.

“So wet, so needy, El,” he teases, scraping his light stubble down your exposed throat,

“As much as you want it, sweetheart, got to get you ready for me.”

You tense around his finger and whine at the thought of him, of his cock inside you.

Smirking lips are felt against your throat, and he slides another finger in a light stretch pulling a moan from you.

Pumping his fingers slowly inside you, he grips your hip tightly as your legs start to buckle under you. Jake works his lips back up your neck, across your jaw, and to your ear.

“You ready for me, ready for this cock?” he rasps against your ear.

“Yes, Jake,” you nearly sob, as you reply eagerly.

Jake withdraws his fingers, leaving you empty and needy. Before you can say anything, Jake has slid his hands under your thighs and pins you against the wall, his strong thighs and hands supporting your weight.

Your legs are splayed out, your dripping core on full display for Jake. He stares hungrily at you and lowers you the slightest amount to tease you with the head of his cock. The hot tip against your clit is a temporary relief from the need for release clawing inside you. You squirm trying to get more, more of him.

He looks down at you with an amused look, and says,

“So desperate, El. You want this cock? You gonna take it all, baby?”

“Yes, It's so big, I don't know if it's gonna fit?” you question, playing into the fantasy. A flicker of heat flashes across Jake's eyes and he says lowly, still teasing you with his searing hot tip along your clit and folds,

“This little tight pussy is going to take every god damn inch and you're going to beg me for it.”

You try to move in response, trying in vain to get Jake inside you, your level of desperation building.

“Please, sir, give me your cock, I want it–,” you gasp as Jake thrusts into you, finally,

“Fuck, I need you!”

He bottoms out as he fully lowers you, impaling you fully on his length. Your head rolls back, and Jake latches onto your neck with his mouth, brutally sucking the soft skin. Each time he lifts you and thrusts up into you, he somehow goes impossibly deeper. The feeling of fullness and absolute pleasure floods your brain and pushes any other thought than that of Jake out of your brain.

“Fuck so good, El,” he grunts into your neck, he pulls his head back. His hand cupping your chin and guiding it down so you are staring into his eyes as he fucks you with a steady rhythm.

“Thank me for this cock,” he commands. Your walls tighten around him with this display of dominance. He slows his hips as you try to form the words, his eyebrows raised in question. Your desperation builds and you frantically shout,

“Thank you for your cock, sir! Thank you.”

“Atta girl,” he replies.

Fully seated inside you, he pulls away from the wall, and you cling to him with your arms wrapped around his neck and legs hooked around his hips. Jake walks effortlessly through the house, all while bouncing you up and down his cock. His hands firmly on your ass as he fucks you up and down on his cock. He's in control of it all, you're merely along for the ride.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Jake grunts stepping into the bathroom. He stands side profile to the mirror.

“Look at us, El,” he commands you, and you turn your head from where it's tucked into his neck to stare into the vanity mirror.

You're treated to the sight of Jake's tall profile, muscles rippling as he draws you up and down on his length, a light sheen of sweat coating both of you.

“Watch yourself get fucked,” he growls, increasing his speed.

“Fuck, Jake,” you gasp, the sensations building as Jake pummels your cervix.

“Is this what you saw when you thought about me getting fucked by that giant at the bar?” you ask, breathy.

You can't help poking the bear, wanting to see how he reacts.

“This is better,” he grunts and pulls you off of him, earning a discontented noise from you. Jake places you down on now wobbly legs. As you find bearings, he turns you around so you're facing the mirror, your back to his chest. He pulls you close, a hand snaking up your neck to pull you in for a kiss that feels oddly sweet at the moment. The honey sweet moment only lasts a few seconds before Jake breaks the kiss and turns your head towards the mirror. He stands up his full height behind, the top of your head well below his chin.

Jake's hands come down to cup your breasts, your entire chest covered by his large hands.

“Look at us, El,” he purrs into your ear, massaging your breasts and grinding his hard on into your ass as he hooks his chin over your shoulder.

“I love the way I can completely wrap you up in my arms,” one hand slides lower and the other comes up to your neck. You gasp when his hand cups your entire pussy in his palm, two fingers parting your folds to stroke your clit. The other hand is gently laid across your throat, his thumb gently sweeping across your pulse.

“I love this little pussy, makes me feel so good and makes you feel good,” he rasps, moving his hand around to get the fingers inside you and his thumb on your clit.

“I want you to come on my fingers, before you earn the privilege to come on my cock,” he murmurs into your hair, his pace quickening. The familiar coil starts to tighten low in your belly and you start to rock against Jake's hand, desperately seeking your high. Your climax starts to build, and you plead,

“So close, Jake, can I come, sir?!”

He laughs lowly and gives you the answer you're hoping for and answers in a slightly condescending voice,

“Yes, you can come slut. Come on my fingers and then you can come on my cock. Now watch yourself.”

His hand on your neck holds your chin in place so you can watch yourself fall apart. You shout as the band inside you breaks and you find your release.

“Fuck, Jake! Oh my God!”

He keeps a steady rhythm extending your high, the waves of pleasure crashing around your body.

“Are you going to thank me? Seems like you enjoyed that,” Jake sneers, his mouth next to your ear as you thrash in his grip. He pushes hard on your clit when you take too long to answer and you gasp,

“Thank–, thank you, ahh, sir!”

His mouth breaks into a satisfied grin as he watches you come back to earth, your head against his shoulder and your eyes closed.

“Sweet El, color?” he murmurs in your ear, his arms wrapped around you in a comforting embrace.

“Green, so fucking green,” you answer as you start grinding your ass on Jake's still present and insistent hard on. He chuckles,

“You just got off and you want more, what a greedy little whore.”

“Please, need you,” you pant, your arousal building again as you continue to grind against him,

“Need your come inside my little pussy. Need it dripping out of me.”

“Fuck, El, you're going kill me with that talk,” Jake groans, moving his arms.

You expect him to turn you around and pull you onto the counter, but he slides his big palms to the underside of your thighs and pulls you up towards his chest.

You yelp in surprise and Jake responds with more commands,

“Arms around my neck, and get those feet on the counter.”

You comply lifting your feet and planting them firmly on the counter, Jake holding you open. When you look in the mirror you turn your head in embarrassment at your puffy, well fucked cunt is on display, your legs spread eagle. Jake grunts in disappointment,

“Look at yourself, look how good I've fucked you so far.”

Your face burning, you turn back to the mirror and catch Jake's gaze, the green of his irises invisible with how blown out his pupils are.

“There you go, good little slut,” he coos as he lifts you up and slides you easily over his cock.

You can't help moaning at the feeling of fullness and spots inside you he's hitting at this angle.

“Look at that,” he commands as he starts to slowly fuck up into you, his hands under your knees pulling you up and down,

“That little cunt is taking it all like a champ.”

“Please, more, Jake, plea–”, you plead.

He responds by thrusting up hard into you,

“Such a eager little whore, can't get enough dick in you and now you're begging for more.”

He speeds up his rhythm, you feel completely debauched and so good as he pumps into you fast and hard. His moans becoming shorter and more clipped as he approaches his climax.

“Touch yourself, El. Make yourself come on my cock, you gotta earn this come,” he orders you and you quickly comply, your hand immediately on your clit.

“There you go, gonna come for me?,” Jake says,

“Come and milk my dick, suck that come out of me. Want to see it dripping out that little pussy.”

The combination visual of you trussed up like a pornstar and Jake's filthy mouth brings your end quickly and harshly.

“Oh, fuuuck!” you scream, Jake's rhythm speeding up as he comes.

“Fuck, fuck, there it is. Take it all, slut,” he shouts. Warmth floods your core as Jake continues to fuck up into you as he rides out his high, the sound of his come in your pussy echoing obscenely against the hard walls of the bathroom. He holds you hard against him, the last spurts of come adding to the mess inside you. Still holding you up, spread open, he slowly withdraws from you, watching intently in the mirrors as his come drips out of you onto the counter.

Gently he lowers you to the ground and turns you to wrap you in his arms. Leaning down he gives you a sweet and long kiss, his hands cradling your face. The kiss breaks and he leans his forehead against yours and asks, voice full of concern,

“Are you okay, El? I don't know where that came from…sorry I sprung that on you.”

You cut off his worrying babble, your hands on his cheeks and looking into his uneasy eyes,

“Jake, we're okay. Great even. I wouldn't hesitate to let you know if I wasn't into it. You know that, I know that and we trust each other, completely.”

A light rush of air fans across your face as he lets out the breath he was holding.

You continue,

“It was hot as fuck. I love that we stumbled into a mutual kink.”

Jake raises an eyebrow, and questions,

“Kink?”

“Yup, you have a size kink and apparently so do I.”

He smirks, and teases,

“Who knew you were so kinky? El?”

You rolls yours eyes affectionately,

“Only you, Jake. Only you.”

He smiles brightly in response and you step out of his embrace with a mischievous gleam in your eyes.

“I'll have to send Darren from the bar a thank you note for initiating such a good night for us,” you say, waiting one second for Jake's reaction before you bolt towards the bedroom. An outraged squawk comes from Jake as he starts to follow you, bellowing,

“Woman! You'll do no such thing!”

The sound of your satisfied giggle rings out through the house.

--

This is by far the smuttiest thing I've ever written. Hope you enjoyed it.

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[writingforstraykids]

I always see you

Pairing: Minchan (mention of OT8)

Word Count: 4048

Summary: After their break Minho isn't quite happy with his currently gained weight. Struggling to accept himself, his friends make it worse by pointing out the changes of his body lovingly and teasingly. Chan tries to figure out what's wrong, but it takes a while until Minho lets him.

Warnings/Tags: angst, fluff, weight gain, minho hates the sight of himself, gets called soft, squishy, cute, etc. for it, minho collapses at the gym

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

Minho stands before the mirror, his eyes tracing the new curves and edges of his body. It's not new, this version of himself that greets him in the morning, but he never likes it. The changes their long break caused are undeniable: his cheeks fuller, his midsection softer. Each glance brings a new fresh wave of discomfort, a stark contrast to the image he had of himself just months ago. The many weeks of freedom had been very beneficial for his mental health but the lack of work, stress and hours of practice made his body soften, all the food rounding his edges. 

He inhales shakily, fingers hesitating, then presses into the softness at his belly. The texture feels so different to what he's been used to. Minho sighs, the sound as heavy as the thoughts clouding his mind. This isn't just a physical change, it's a whole shift in how he sees himself and what he thinks others will see now. 

He pulls one of Chan's shirts over his head, relaxing a little at the way it falls around his body. Chan's broader than him, there's no chance he'll fill it out the same as Chan with his shoulders and trained arms. Minho forces himself downstairs, the scent of breakfast making his stomach growl already. He swallows hard and slips into his chair next to Chan who's talking to Seungmin next to him. 

Chan's hand finds his thighs and Minho relaxes at the simple but soothing touch. He reaches for some water and leans back in his chair after, smiling as Chan turns to him. “Hey there,” Chan whispers, leaning in for a kiss. 

“Hey,” Minho says softly, a genuine smile tugging at his lips as they kiss. “You slept okay?” he asks, gently brushing back his hair, fingers running through the soft curls. 

“Yeah, missed you though,” he confesses. Minho said something about not sleeping well lately and not wanting to wake him up so they decided to sleep separately. 

“I'm sorry,” Minho whispers, swallowing hard. He's sleeping just fine but the thought of Chan clinging to him, hands wandering over his body isn't as soothing as it usually would be. He'd notice. 

“Are you two done being all loving that early in the morning?” Hyunjin teases and Minho redirects his attention to the table. 

Chan hands him waffles Felix made and reaches for the orange juice. “You want some?” he asks and his boyfriend nods politely. 

“Thank you,” he smiles, as Chan pours him a glass. 

“You're welcome, baby,” he smiles brightly. 

“Why is Minho hyung getting served breakfast and not me?” Jeongin chimes in teasingly. Minho giggles and takes the first bite. He bites back a moan, tasting the perfectly fluffy waffle. 

“Who can blame him? Have you seen how cute Minho looks lately?” Jisung asks and Chan laughs. 

“Lately?” he wonders. 

“Look at his cheeks,” he tells him and gently pokes Minho's cheek. “They're so squishy, it's so cute,” he giggles and the room erupts in laughter.

The comment was meant in good humor, but scraped against Minho’s insecurities like sandpaper. His smile remains, but his eyes don't meet his friends’. He slowly lowers his fork and reaches for the juice instead, hand stopping mid-air before reaching for the water. Chan notices and frowns softly. “You're okay?��� he asks quietly, only for them to hear. 

“Yeah, just not really hungry,” he lies with a brave smile. He subconsciously pulls at his shirt, trying to mask the softness that settled around his middle. Minho catches himself searching for signs of judgment in the eyes of his friends whenever they look at him. The mere possibility of them thinking ill of him makes him sick to the core. 

Minho’s struggle with his self-image continues long after the breakfast table has been cleared and the last jokes have faded into the background. The comments about his cheeks, meant lightly, linger in his mind like echoes in a hollow room. Minho can't shake off the heavy blanket of insecurity that has settled over him.

He finds himself back in front of the mirror again and swallows hard, meeting his reflection. His thighs look thicker than usually, his arms feel soft and he hesitantly pinches his cheeks. Tears well up in his eyes as he crawls back into bed and curls up beneath the blanket. 

A gentle knock at the door startles him and only seconds later Chan's inside. “Hey, kitten,” he says softly. “Want some cuddles?”

“Not really,” he lies, his whole body craving to be held by Channie. 

“Oh,” Chan nods and chews on his lower lip. “You're okay?”

“Yeah.” Another lie. 

“...Are we okay?” he asks timidly, the sound feeling like a punch to the stomach for Minho. 

“Yeah, we're okay,” he whispers and can tell his boyfriend's relaxing. “I just need some space, I'm sorry.”

“It's okay,” Chan assures him. “You know where to find me if you need something.”

“Mhm,” he hums softly and curls up further into himself. “Channie?” he asks, but it's too late as he's already gone. “I love you,” he whispers, hot tears pooling in his eyes. 

The room feels too large, too empty as Minho buries himself deeper under the covers, his heart aching with a pain that seems to seep into his bones. The silence left in Chan’s wake is deafening, and Minho is left alone with his swirling thoughts and escalating fears. The words of comfort he longs to hear are absent, replaced by the echoes of his own insecurities that replay in his mind like a broken record.

The day drags on painfully slow. Minho spends hours just lying there, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, his mind replaying every moment that morning when he felt judged, whether it was real or imagined. The light-hearted comments at breakfast, the shared laughter—all of it now feels like subtle digs at his changing appearance.

As the sun begins to set, painting the room with hues of orange and pink, Minho realizes he can't stay hidden forever. He needs to face his fears, his friends, and most importantly, Chan. Pulling himself from the bed, he washes his face, avoiding his reflection in the mirror, not ready to face himself just yet.

Walking into the living room, he finds Chan there, lost in a book. The sight of him, so relaxed and content, stirs a mix of emotions in Minho—envy, longing, and love. Chan looks up, his expression changing instantly from calm to concerned as he takes in Minho’s appearance.

“Hey,” Chan says softly, setting his book aside. “You look like you could use this more than I could,” he gestures to the spot next to him on the couch.

Minho hesitates, but the inviting warmth in Chan’s eyes is too much to resist. He sits beside Chan, maintaining a small gap between them, a physical manifestation of the emotional distance he feels.

Chan respects the space for a moment, then speaks. “Minho, talk to me. Whatever it is, we can figure it out together.”

“I can't,” he shakes his head. 

“Why?” Chan asks patiently. 

“I…I've changed,” he says, avoiding Chan's confused look. 

“Changed?” he asks. 

“Yeah.”

Minho’s eyes fill with tears and Chan moves closer, bridging the gap between them. “We all change, Minho. It’s part of life. But those changes don’t define us. They’re just... part of our story. And my story isn’t complete without you in it,” he tries his best, not really knowing the true issue at hand. 

The simplicity and truth of Chan’s words wash over Minho, bringing a sense of peace he hasn’t felt in days. He leans into Chan, resting his head on Chan’s shoulder, allowing himself to feel the support and love he’s been denying himself. 

“I’m sorry I’ve been pushing you away,” Minho murmurs.

Chan wraps an arm around him, pulling him closer. “It’s okay. I’m here, whenever you’re ready.”

They sit in silence, watching the sun dip below the horizon, the sky a canvas of colors that slowly fade into twilight. 

-

On a breezy afternoon, Minho and the others arrive at the television studio, ready for their guest appearance on a popular show that was famous for putting celebrities on the spot with unexpectedly personal questions. The friendship among the group is evident as they joke and laugh, trying to ease their nerves before facing the unpredictable host and live audience.

As the show begins, the host greets them warmly, his booming voice setting a lively tone. The studio is abuzz with excitement, fans cheering as the camera showcases each member's face. The host begins with light, easy questions about recent projects and upcoming plans, allowing the group to settle in and get comfortable with the format.

However, the atmosphere shifts as the host transitions to more personal inquiries, a segment known for revealing responses and creating memorable TV moments. The questions range from their living habits to romantic lives, pushing the boundaries of what they usually shared publicly.

They handle the questions with humor and grace, skillfully navigating the trickier topics. But the tension ratchets up when the host turns the conversation toward a lighter, yet subtly challenging question, “Who among you would you say is the cutest?”

Instantly, the members burst into laughter, playfully pointing at Minho. “Definitely Minho,” Chan declares, his statement echoed by nods and chuckles from the others.”But, I'm biased,” he winks at Minho who flashes him a shy smile. 

“Yes, have you seen his cheeks? Absolutely pinchable!” Felix adds, his comment drawing laughter from the audience.

Seungmin chimes in, his tone teasing but affectionate, “And don’t get us started on his soft tummy and those thick thighs, he’s the cutest!”

“Minho's one of the best people to cuddle with,” Jisung agrees. 

While the audience find these comments amusing, laughing and clapping at the banter, Minho forces a smile, feeling a familiar sting of insecurity. His cheeks burn, not from flattery, but from embarrassment. Though he knows his members meant no harm, the focus on his physical attributes in such a public setting reignited the deep-seated insecurities about his body image.

The host, sensing a hit with the audience, decides to dig deeper. “Oh, really? That sounds adorable! Minho, how do you feel about being the ‘cutest’ in such a... unique way?”

Minho clears his throat, searching for the right words. “I guess it’s nice to be appreciated,” he replies, his voice slightly strained, hoping to steer the conversation away from his body.

The show continues, with other members discussing their own quirks and stories, but Minho grows quieter. He laughs at the right moments and answers when spoken to, but his responses are brief, his mind replaying the earlier comments.

After the recording ends and the cameras stops rolling, the group retreats to their dressing room. Minho is unusually silent, keeping his distance. Chan notices Minho’s subdued mood and follows him to a corner of the room.

“Hey, are you okay?” Chan asks gently, concern evident in his voice.

Minho sighs, the weight of his emotions visible. “I don’t know, Chan. I just felt really put on the spot out there.”

Chan nods, his expression understanding. “I'm sorry, baby. I shouldn't have drawn attention to you like that. I just worried that if I didn't say my boyfriend's the cutest people would think we'd be fighting.”

“I know, love,” he sighs softly. “I wasn't talking about you.”

“Oh, you meant the others? When they said why you're cute?” he asks and Minho nods slowly. “But they have a point, you know? Your cheeks are so cute and I love how they get so adorably squishy when you smile. I love your thighs, I don't think we have to talk about that. And yeah, your stomach got so soft, it's adorable,” Chan says and Minho blinks at him timidly.

“So…you agree with them?” he asks quietly and Chan glances through the room, distracted by a sudden shout. 

He doesn't see the desperation in Minho's eyes as he answers. “Yeah, I mean, you're cute and I love all that about you,” he says, not seeing Minho's face fall, anxiety clouding his features. 

“Yeah, I - uhm - I'll be back,” he stammers, quickly walking to the bathroom, barely noticing Chan scolding two of their friends. Shit. His own boyfriend thinks of him like that as well.

Minho rushes to the sanctuary of the bathroom, the cool tile against his skin grounding him as he leans against the sink. His heart races, a chaotic drumbeat echoing the turmoil in his mind. Chan's words replay over and over, each repetition a sharp twist of the knife of insecurity that had already dug deep into his self-esteem.

Inside the small, dimly lit room, Minho stares into the mirror, his eyes tracing the contours of his face and body that Chan had described with such casual affection. But where Chan sees cuteness, Minho sees only flaws magnified by his own harsh judgment and now, seemingly confirmed by the person whose opinion matters most. The disparity between how he views himself and how Chan claims to view him creates nothing but doubt in his heart.

Trying to stifle the rising panic, Minho takes deep breaths, attempting to focus on the reality of the situation rather than the distorted thoughts fueled by his insecurities. He tells himself that Chan loves him, that his words were meant in fondness, not critique. But the warmth that should have accompanied such assurances feels cold and distant now.

After several minutes alone, battling his inner demons, Minho washes his face, the cold water a sharp wake-up call to the emotions he needed to manage before facing the others again. With a final glance at his reflection, he squares his shoulders and steps out, attempting to mask the inner fight with a calm demeanor.

Back in the dressing room, the atmosphere had shifted. The earlier craziness had been replaced by calmness as the members sensed the tension. Chan immediately notices Minho’s return, his expression one of concern mixed with confusion.

“Minho, are you okay?” Chan approaches, reaching out but stopping short of touching, as if unsure whether his comfort is welcome.

Minho nods, not trusting his voice. His mind is still racing, not just from the comments on the show, but now more painfully from Chan’s unintentional confirmation of those.

“I’m sorry if what I said upset you. I didn’t mean it to sound the way it did,” Chan said earnestly, his eyes searching Minho’s for forgiveness.

Minho manages a small smile, appreciating the apology but still feeling the sting. “It’s not just you,” he admits. “It’s hearing it said out loud, on TV, and then... it just feels like everyone sees me that way.”

Chan’s face softens. “Minho, to me, and to all of us, you’re perfect. And if anything we say makes you feel less than amazing, then we need to fix that, because you deserve to feel loved and secure.”

Chan sounds sincere, and Minho feels a warmth begin to break the icy hold of his fear around his heart. “Thanks, Chan. I just need some time to process this, I think.”

“Of course,” Chan agrees, giving him space. “We’re all here for you, whenever you’re ready.”

-

One morning, a few days later, Minho wakes up earlier than usual, his sleep restless and disturbed by thoughts of dissatisfaction with his physical self. The mirror is no kinder at dawn than at any other time, reflecting back a version of himself he still struggles to accept. With a determined breath, he decides to take a more active approach. He knows that Chan has always maintained a consistent workout routine, even during their break, his discipline unwavering.

Minho walks quietly into the kitchen where Chan is already up, probably preparing for his morning jog. The kitchen smells of coffee, and the early light filters in softly through the curtains. Chan, noticing Minho’s early appearance, looks up with a smile that’s both questioning and welcoming.

“Morning,” Minho starts, his voice a little more than a whisper. “Can we talk?”

“Of course, what’s up?” Chan nods, focusing fully on him. 

Minho takes a moment, gathering his thoughts. “I’ve been thinking... I want to start working out again. Seriously. And I was wondering if... if you could help me? Maybe go to the gym together?” His voice is hopeful yet tense, the weight of his request more significant than the words might suggest.

Chan’s response is immediate and supportive as always. “Sure, kitten. I’d love to help you out. When do you want to start?”

“Maybe today?” Minho suggests, a bit hastily, driven by a surge of motivation that he fears might dissolve if given too much time to think.

“Today it is,” Chan agrees with a nod, his tone encouraging. “We’ll take it easy, start slow, and find a pace that feels right for you.”

The decision made, Minho feels a brief flicker of relief, quickly followed by anxiety. He’s committed now, no turning back.

By the time they arrive at the gym, Minho’s as excited as nervous. It's been ages since he joined Channie here. Chan leads the way, guiding Minho through the initial stretches and warm-up routines. 

They start on some light cardio, and Chan keeps the conversation light, sharing stupid little stories and ensuring Minho’s mind is engaged and his body correctly paced. But as they move on to weight training, Minho, feeling a rush of determination, begins to push himself harder. He adds more weight than Chan advises, his thoughts fixated on erasing the softness that has become his focus of discontent.

“Take it slow, Min. There’s no rush,” Chan tries, noting the strain on Minho’s face.

“I’m okay,” Minho insists, gritting his teeth as he lifts, the muscles in his arms trembling with the effort.

But the desire to see immediate change, to regain some control over his body, drives him to ignore the signs of fatigue that begin to creep up on him. He moves from one exercise to the next, increasing the intensity despite Chan’s growing concerns.

“Minho, that’s enough,” Chan finally steps in firmly after Minho bypasses his recommended weights yet again. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

Minho’s next lift is shaky; his arms quiver violently as he tries to bench press more than he's handled in months. As he struggles to lift, a wave of dizziness washes over him. The room tilts, his vision blurs, and suddenly, the weight feels like it doubles. Chan reacts quickly, stepping in to re-rack the weights, but Minho’s strength gives out. He collapses onto the bench, his breath ragged, his body surrendering to the exhaustion and strain.

Chan is immediately by his side, his voice laced with worry. “Minho! Are you okay? Talk to me, baby.”

Lying on the bench, Minho’s breaths come fast and hard. He closes his eyes, fighting the nausea and the embarrassment that floods through him. “I... I'm sorry,” he manages to say, his voice weak.

“We need to get you checked out,” Chan insists, but Minho shakes his head.

“Just... just give me a minute,” he pleads, needing a moment to gather himself.

Chan nods, visibly concerned, and sits down next to him, offering silent support. Minho’s breathing gradually slows, and the dizziness subsides, leaving behind a sobering realization of his limits.

After a few minutes, Minho sits up, his body still echoing with the aftermath of his collapse. “I’m sorry, Chan. I just wanted to... I don’t know what I wanted.”

Chan’s response is gentle but firm. “You don’t have to push yourself to prove anything, Minho. It’s okay to take time, to build back up at a pace that’s healthy. Let’s just focus on that, okay?” Minho's eyes brim with tears and before he can stop himself a sob ripples through his chest. Chan looks up in shock, surging forward and pulling him into a tight hug. “No, baby, I'm sorry, it's okay. I'm not mad,” he rambles worriedly, holding him tight. 

“I'm sorry,” Minho sobs and Chan's not quite sure what he's apologizing for. 

“Shh, I got you, Minnie,” he promises soothingly, kissing his hair. “I'm here, baby.”

“I-I lied,” he admits. “I said I'm fine but I'm so not fine,” he tells him through tears. 

“What's wrong, hm? You can tell me,” Chan encourages him gently. 

“I just… I feel so out of place in my own body. Every comment, every look—it feels like a critique. I thought if I pushed hard enough today, if I could just start looking the way I used to, maybe I’d feel better about myself. Maybe I wouldn’t feel so… so disgusting,” Minho confesses, his voice breaking under the weight of his insecurities.

Chan tightens his embrace, his heart aching at Minho’s words. “Minnie, you’re not disgusting. You’re not any of the negative things you think about yourself. I’m so sorry you’ve been feeling this way, and I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you feel like you need to change anything about yourself. I love you, just the way you are, always.”

They sit in silence for a while, Chan holding Minho as he cries, letting out all the pent-up emotions he had been holding back. Gradually, Minho's sobs subside, and he feels a sense of relief having shared his deepest fears with Chan.

“Thank you,” Minho whispers, feeling a bit lighter. “I guess I’ve been so scared of not meeting everyone’s expectations, including my own, that I’ve been pushing myself too hard.”

Chan nods, helping Minho to stand up. “Let’s take things slow, okay? We’ll work on a plan that feels good for you, no rush or unrealistic goals. And we'll focus on how you feel, not just how you look. Your health, both mental and physical, is what’s most important.”

Minho nods, feeling grateful for Chan’s understanding and support. They decide to leave the gym for the day, focusing instead on recovery and rest. 

-

Gradually, Minho’s perception begins to shift. The mirror no longer feels like an enemy, but a tool to observe and appreciate the natural evolution of his body. The softness he once viewed with disdain became a sign of the life he had lived, the meals enjoyed with friends, the nights spent curled up with Chan, safe and loved.

Their journey wasn’t without its setbacks. There were days when old insecurities crept back, whispering unwelcome thoughts into Minho’s mind. But now, armed with new coping strategies and supported by Chan’s unwavering love, Minho faced each challenge with a resilience that grew stronger over time.

Through it all, Minho’s relationship with his body transformed. It became less about what he saw in the mirror and more about what he felt within. With Chan by his side, he rediscovered confidence, not just in his physical self, but in his emotional and mental resilience.

One evening, as they are getting ready for bed, Minho stands in front of the mirror again. This time, however, the reflection he sees is different. Not because his body had changed significantly, but because his perception had.

“I’m okay with this,” Minho says softly, tracing the same curves and edges he used to criticize. Chan, standing behind him, wraps his arms around Minho’s waist and rests his chin on Minho’s shoulder.

“You’re more than okay; you’re amazing,” Chan whispers, kissing Minho’s cheek. “I’m so proud of you.”

Minho leans back into Chan’s embrace, a smile spreading across his face. For the first time in a long time, he believes those words. He was learning to love himself again, and with Chan by his side, he felt unstoppable, ready to face whatever challenges came next, knowing he was enough, exactly as he was. “I think I’m finally starting to feel like myself again,” he murmurs.

Chan squeezes his hand, a silent vow echoing in the simple gesture. “I always see you, Minho. And I always love who I see.”

In the end, Minho realized that the journey to self-acceptance wasn’t about returning to who he was before but about embracing who he was now and who he was becoming. Each day brought new challenges, but also new opportunities to love himself a little more, supported by Chan’s love, which remained constant like the horizon—always present, no matter the changes in the landscape.

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