#those broad shoulders holding himself up b

[fandomfluffandfuck]

S, please stop giving me ideas, I’m dying here.

Sebastian’s about to fucking explode either from the look on Chris’s face as the maroon collar settled around his throat is tugged or from the moans it wrenches from the puppy beneath him.

And the way Chris pouts and whines, squirming on his knees when Sebastian leans down and says in his best dom voice “Such a good little puppy for me. Do you think you deserve a reward, puppy?” His head just nods like a bobblehead, forbidden from talking by his Sir, and right now the only thing on his mind is being good.

Christ, I have a problem.

related to this

HOW COULD YOU USE THAT PHOTO OF STEVE RIGHT NOW?

ALSO, how could you dare to switch to evanstan!?

Don't be shy, do it some more

I also now have a problem 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

[tonycries]

I'm A BIG Stepper!

Synopsis. Too big? There’s no such thing as “too big”.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, established relationship, saying it’s “too big”, FÉRAL boys, spítting, chokíng, them being big like REALLY big, cúmplay, oraI (male + fem), Choso’s rings, breéding, víbrators, creampíe, again - REALLY big, kinda mean Choso hehe, true form! Sukuna, dp, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.7k

A/N. When you accidentally choose “thought daughter” and half your synopses are questions WHOOPS.

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - “That? M’bigger.”

“Yer killin’ me, doll.” Toji huffs out in ragged jealousy at those slow, sultry noises. “Look at you- just look at how she’s just begging f’me.”

Such cute lil’ whines leave your pretty lips as he works your puffy cunt open with that hot pink vibrator of yours. Soaked, thick - customized to the exact measurements of the achingly hard cock sat between his legs right now.

“B-but-” you gasp, eyeing down at the way your puffy folds were bulging around the toy. “S’barely even ngh- all the way in, Toji.”

“So?” he rolls his eyes. And Toji knows he’s being ridiculous, he knows it’s for his own good to stretch out your gummy walls so that you can take his massive size. But all it takes is another hard caress of that buzzing length against your poor g-spot for him to snap.

Eyes becoming crazed when your jaw falls slack, back arching up like such a slut up against his hard abs as you squeal, “Toji! Oh my god m’close—”

Close? 

Suddenly, Toji can’t take it anymore - he needs to feel you wrapped around himself. 

Now. 

“M’gonna- wait what- ngh!” You’re batting your dewy eyes up at him when he drags the vibrator out with a loud squelch! All at once. Still reeling from disappointment, “Baby, why’d you-”

“Because.” he interrupts, and you keen when you feel the urgent throb! of Toji’s fat tip kissing at your swollen folds. Red and angry, leaking thick precum over your pussy lips in a pretty gloss. So mesmerizing that you almost miss the familiar flex of his thighs, the way his dark brows furrow in concentration. “-this pussy of yours says s’time for the real deal.”

It’s all that’s said before he’s suddenly dipping his girthy head just barely past your first ring of resistance. Difficult.  

“Relax.” he hisses. Pushing in lingering, determined little grinds past each clench, still easy - still patient. For now. “Breathe f’me. Breathe f’me come on, She can do hah- do it, right, my girl?”

Shit, a part of him thinks he should’ve almost waited longer with the vibrator. Because Toji knows he’s big. He knows your cunt is so tight so heavenly he might just pass out right now. Until- 

“Hngh! Toji!” you scramble onto your elbows when you feel his fat head finally bullies past to brush up against your hidden sweet spots. That little divot squeezing past to mark your walls inside. “You promised you’d hah- last longer with the oh vibrator tonight.”

Honestly, a part of Toji was impressed you were still able to form coherent sentences with the way you were being split apart on his monster cock. 

He leans down to nuzzle your neck, “Awww, did I?” Hiking your limp legs further and further up his broad shoulders where he had you folded in half. “I don’t remember, maybe your pussy was jus’ c-calling t’me.”

“You- you liar!” you cry out, and he can’t help but grow impossibly harder. Fighting off that dangerous, feral part of himself that just wants to ram into you like some animal already. Because oh how he loved when you act like you weren’t bucking up mindlessly into the smooth staccato of his hips as he eases his way in.  “Hngh- fuck you jus’ got- oh!”

The stretch - fuck the stretch. You never got used to it, no matter how many times he used that damn vibrator on you. Pushing you to your limits. It’s like he was nudging at your lungs already.

“F-fuuuck-” you can’t hold back your desperate moans, nails dragging reg marks down his biceps almost the size of your head. “Are you- ngh are you at least halfway in, Toji?”

“Nope.” he hums smugly, popping the p. “Though…”

And in a split second, he’s sitting up, with you splayed out so prettily on his fat length. Lips quirking into a mean little grin when two big arms of his help gravity pull you down, down, down onto his thick cock. Inch by fucking inch. 

Turning his head to lick a long, languid stripe up his wrist. Groaning at the sweet sweet taste of your juices forming a sheen on his skin from the little “preparation” before. And fuck you think you feel him grow thicker - angry veins pulsing against every nook and cranny of your cunt. 

Full. So full - and he wasn’t even all the way in yet. 

“Oh- oh my god- fuck you’re so deep.” you mewl, body jolting with the inability to decide between wanting to run away or slam your hips down for more. 

Toji notices - of course, he does - it was always like this, a few tears, a few whines, a few strokes with that pathetic “replica” of his swollen cock to stretch you out. He splays a hand out over your lower stomach, pressing down. Hard. Twitching wildly at that familiar bulge inside you, “M’so much deeper than that stupid toy.” 

It’s all you can do to whimper, strained and utterly fucked out already. “Wh-what?”

“Heh, ya wanna know a secret, doll?” He’s leaning down to chuckle darkly in your ear - sending shivers down your neck, your arched spine, all the way to where he gives harsh thrust. Calculated. Once. Twice. 

This time, not stopping until he was bottoming out. 

Your puffy folds meeting his pelvis in a lewd kiss, his heavy balls smacking against your ass, thick cock settled deep - right where Toji’s been dying to be all night. Toji coos at the way your poor cunt was stuttering and bulging with the greedy effort to take him. 

He plants a sloppy kiss right on your lips, “That vibrator’s made smaller than me.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Gentleman.

Now, Nanami Kento has always been told he looked like a gentleman - everything from his neatly styled hair, to his perfect suits, to the stern reading glasses always at his nose. Nanami Kento was a gentleman - both inside and out. 

Well, except for that massive cock he hid away behind dapper dress pants, of course. 

The one that always got so girthy and angry at the mere thought of not being stuffed inside your pretty pussy. The one that was currently beading hot precum at your pussy lips, forming a lewd little pool from where he was spooning you from behind. 

The perfect remedy after a long, hard day at work - you, his cute lil’ wife. 

“Bad day?” you whisper over your shoulder, Nanami’s nods coming out in feverish little puffs against your heated skin. “Then, I want you to put it in, Ken. All of it, don’ wanna waste time on preparation.”

And Nanami was never one to deny his wife - never one to doubt anything you wanted. But at this very moment, he’s loosening that speckled yellow tie he didn’t have the patience - nor the sanity to remove. Sliding the divot on his fat tip across your clit with a hushed, “Can’t, my love. I promised to not overwork you.”

You huff, “S’not overworking- just ngh- Ken-”

“Don’t.” he warns, hips rutting up lewdly at the mere sound of your voice. Sliding the mess of his glisteningly swollen cock right between your puffy folds. “Fuck- don’t. Jus’ had a bad day n’ this naughty pussy’s gonna make me lose control, darling. Have you calling out of work tomorrow.” He kisses down your neck left hand snaking down to give your cunt a gentle smack! The cool band of his wedding ring burning against your clit, “S’that really what you want?”

And it was meant to be a question to himself more than anything, really. A reminder that you weren’t even prepared yet - not stretched and teased to his heart’s content like usual. A reminder to fucking reel his sanity back before he breaks you. 

But, alas, maybe you’re a genius - maybe you’re just stupid. Because you whine stubbornly, “Well, I hear it’s the best solution for a bad day, so why don’t you?”

In an instant, that’s all it takes for your leg to be stretched up in the air. The cozy bedroom chill hitting your bare cunt - only for a split-second, before Nanami’s achy tip is filling you up. Everywhere. Anywhere. 

“Hold onto this.” his free hand presses his tie onto your shaky one, hip still pushing. Still rutting up in a steady pressure on your snug cunt. “Pull on it if m’going too rough- fuck- fuckin’ choke me I don’t care. Jus’ let me know because from now on…” he trails off dangerously. 

But you’re not left to wonder what the end of his sentence will gift you. No, because you feel it. 

He’s pushing in - nothing like the slow, languid strokes you were used to. No, barely even giving you the time to adjust while your husband just keeps pressing and pressing and-

“Ah! Ken!” you involuntarily tug on his tie when his sensitive slit massages at those syrupy sweet spots insides. “You’re so deep- fuck just fuck me how you want to.”

Nanami’s head feels light, vision getting spottier with each heaving breath he’s taking - maybe from your tightening grip around his tie, maybe from the way you’re squeezing him so fucking tight. But it takes him a few seconds to pull himself together enough to grit out, “Fuck- I want to. Oh, how I want to.” As if to confirm his statement, he’s thumbing apart your sopping slit, groaning at the sight of you drooling eagerly down his cock. “But you’re so fuckin’ tight I can’t ngh- s’this how you feel- fuck! I think m’gonna hafta take y’like this all the time, my love.”

Each word has him speeding up in jagged little pistons. Feeling so mean with the way he was bullying those cute moans out of you. 

“I don’t care- ngh-” you babble, when his fingers roll over your clit. Squirming your hips down to meet his, trying to press up against those neat tufts of blond at his hilt. “-just want you all inside me.”

Shaping your cunt to this shape of him, losing his breath with each and every dense push inside your sloppy entrance. Still stuck not even halfway in yet - but you feel like you’re losing your goddamn mind. 

“You’re so fuckin’ hah- hold on.” And then, your beloved Nanami pushes your leg up even further, craning his neck over to spit. A steady, sinful stream of saliva right onto the bulging mound of where he was sheeting himself in your pussy. Circling your clit, he hums in satisfaction at the mess he’s made, “Now I can ruin you exactly how I want.”

You open up so pliant for him, massaging every bump and ridge along his long, long length while you let him skim past. Being split open so well. So maddeningly. 

Like you wanted to be ruined. 

And just the thought of it is enough to push Nanami over the edge of his sanity - and to push the entirety of his raw, needy cock inside your tight pussy. Finally. Finally bottoming out.

“Ngh- shit-” he lets out a long breath, sharp canines puncturing at the sensitive skin on your neck. Hips stuttering and getting sloppy with each jittery push deeper inside. Even when Nanami feels your hips fucking back into his to meet the brick wall of his toned abs. His twitching balls sensitive against your ass. “Now, lemme tell ya how how it’s been a-” Just slamming his hips into yours, a ruthless depraved cadence. Fingers ruthless on your clit. “-long fuckin’ day without you.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Till m’stupid!

“P-please!” you try - and fail - to pull off his need mouth from your poor, overstimulated cunt. Fingers clasping desperately onto his long, inky hair. “I jus’ wan’ you in me- hah-”

It’s around your fourth orgasm that night when you’re finally crying out in surrender, big fat tears rolling down your cheeks with each high, legs spasming and trying to run away from Geto Suguru’s mean mouth. Your breath catching in your chest when he only hums around your ravaged clit in answer. 

“I dunno, gorgeous.” Geto teases, sloppy tongue darting around your pulsing hole. Stretching. Lapping up each and every drop of your syrupy cunt. “Don’ think she’s ready to take me, yet.”

Fuck, you knew what that meant. 

You knew that meant another few sweet rolls of Geto’s tongue against your clit, another few bullying praises spat into your sensitive cunt while he dragged you through another high - another orgasm that wasn’t on his swollen cock. 

And despite how much you loved the way your boyfriend teased and toyed your needy cunt with his mouth - you needed more. 

So you tug once again on his dark locks, tongue getting loose with delirium, “You’re so mean, Sugu. So what if I j-jus’ wan’ your cock.”

Oh how he loved to have you begging.

At this, his glassy eyes meet yours right from where Geto was still making out with your pretty pussy in a slow, languid kiss. The squelches and suckles ringing in your ears over your own words. His brow quirks, already with the nickname, huh? Interesting. 

“Can’t cum a-as good if it’s not on your cock.” you plow on. Oh, now it’s flattery? How cute. You manage to sputter out while your words don’t even slow him down, “And! And if you don’t-” Ah, Geto muses, this one’s probably the threat. What will it be? Last time it was making him do all the dishes. The time before that it was buying you that handbag you really loved- “-m’gonna go on a sex ban!”

Oh. 

Oh fuck. 

Now, if there’s one thing you know to never threaten Geto Suguru with, it’s a sex ban. But, alas, desperate times call for desperate measures. 

So here he was - face wrenching away from the honeypot of your sweet cunt like it hurt to leave. Eyes wide as he scrambles to meet you, your slick glistening down his gaping lips, his burning cheeks - fuck, he’s never looked prettier. 

“My baby…” Geto purrs into your ear, coming up to graze his lips against your in a messy crash of teeth and tongue. “Gorgeous, you never thought I’d be serious- right? Hah- sex ban my ass. You’re funny, real fucking funny.” But for all how confident he was, Geto was soothing out his words with the slightest tremor. Hastily sliding his furiously leaking tip between your sopping slit. Up and down up and down up and- “-cuz who said I could live another second without being in this cute pussy?”

As if to prove his point, Geto’s sliding his fat head past your puffy folds, stretching out your entrance so taut around his thick cock. 

A big hand of his finds its way onto the small of your waist, and in a split-second Geto has your position flipped so that he’s splayed out on the mattress instead. Your limp body now toppling precariously where you were sat on his swollen cock. 

“Oh.” his pretty mouth falls slack when his hazy eyes lock down at where the two of you were connected. Your pussy lips spread and sucking him up so well. He marvels, “Oh shit look at you. You always take it so well when you’re cockdrunk like this.”

And it’s true - Geto could barely feel that familiar little resistance of muscle. Instead, you’re letting his vein poke at your cunt welcomingly. Bullying himself inside.

You’re keening when an experimental thrust has Geto plunging in even deeper, throbbing veins massaging every nook and cranny of your gummy walls. You could feel him everywhere. And it’s like he could see the strain to take him. To milk him even greedier. 

“S-Sugu-”

“Shhh, this is what y’wanted, right?” he’s breathing, strained - like he’s at the end of his sanity with each inch you’re bouncing down his length. “To be fucked on my cock? No matter how big?”

You don’t even have the ability to respond at this point - just the way he liked it. That smart mouth of yours too drunk to think of anything other than him. To only whine when he pools your salty tears on his tongue, murmuring into your skin, “Now now, ‘nough with the cryin’ hah- you wanted to be fucked stupid- n’that’s exactly what m’gonna do.”

Ah, he loved this part. 

Loved how all those previous orgasms were crashing together to render you barely lucid when he’s shoving his entire cock up into your slutty hole. Glossy lips trembling when he hits the back of your cunt- already? Shit, that last orgasm must’ve hit you harder than he thought. 

That slightly upwards curve of his dick was driving you wild now buried to his hilt. And only shoving himself deeper with each grind that Geto was bucking up to. Until his heavy balls rested behind your ass, neat black happy trail rubbing up against your skin. Until it was impossible to go any deeper.

Your drunken eyes are snapping up in surprise when feeling him grow even thicker inside you, the rough girth shaping out your sloppy hole. He rasps out a chuckle, “Wonder how loose you’ll be after a fifth one, hm?”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Make him break!

Now, Choso knew your dirty lil’ tricks, he knew not to trust that sultry curl of your lips when you called out to him. That dangerous little glint in your eyes when you begged him to go deeper, one he almost misses with the way your heavenly cunt was trying to suck him up greedily. Almost. 

Always playing with his sanity. 

Always asking for more. 

“But, baby.” he whines, pressing a concerned little peck to that adorable pout on your lips. Breath catching in his chest when you tug stubbornly on his bottom lip. “I don’t wanna- hah- don’ wanna hurt you, y’know?”

In response, you’re only wrapping your legs around his toned waist tighter, sure to leave sinful little marks at those dimples at the bottom of his spine. “I know what I want- n’ what I want is-” your elastic walls squeeze around his girth. Hard. “-more.”

Choso can’t help but let out a slow, hoarse drag of your name. Dark strands of his hair sticking to his forehead when he throws his head back, hips grinding down, down, down-

“Hah! You- oh-” his hazy eyes are flying open when he realizes he’s playing right into your evil hands. Biting his sharp canines down on your pulse - a little warning. “You know what happens when I go all the way, baby. M’not gonna fit- m’gonna lose control. M’gonna-”

“Please?” you hum sweetly.

He was about halfway in now - mouth watering at the way your pussy was spread open so shamefully for him. Already bulging and leaking onto the drenched silky sheets below with the struggle to take him - and you wanted more? 

“Tha’s right.” you hum, and it takes his saturated mind a second to realize he said that out loud. And even longer to blink up and meet your hungry gaze, “I want more, Cho.”

Fuck, and it was so unfair. Maybe it’s the nickname, maybe it’s the way you buck your hips up sloppily, lewd squelches ringing in his ear when you bully his swollen cock just an inch more. 

Maybe it’s just you. .

But that’s all it takes for him to gasp, eyes snapping wider - crazed even - hips stuttering so messily forwards before-

“Fuck, you’re such a little slut, baby.” And before you know it, Choso’s ramming his hips forwards. Letting the loud smack of skin-on-skin sound across the heady air, bruising. Painful, even. “Such a greedy little bitch-” Watching his throbbing length disappear, he’s sure it’ll leave marks - his heavy balls on your ass, toned pelvis against your thighs, fat cockhead hitting at your cervix. “-N’ s’what you’re gonna be treated like.”

It only takes one kiss of Choso’s leaky tip right against the bottom of your snug pussy before he’s cumming and cumming so hard you can almost feel him twitch at your lungs.

Not waiting for you to adjust, not even waiting for his high to bate. no, don’t make him laugh. Just spearing you on his long length, barely even easing your poor, quivering cunt into it before he’s fucking you into the mattress. 

Fully bottomed out now - exactly as you knew would happen.

“No- no no no hold on.” Choso holds both your thrashing legs still with one of his, pushing past that feeble resistance while he finds his rhythm at your gaping hole. “This is- hah-” he groans, voice shot over your wrecked ah! ah! ah! Plunging inside you like he was molding your pliant walls to his shape. “Told you m’gonna break ngh-”

He was massive already - barely even managing to squeeze past and massage your dripping cunt. But oh the sweet overfill of his seed had you keening, scrambling to grab onto the sheets, the headboard, his shoulders to keep even an ounce of your sanity.

“Ngh- fuck!” you whine at the feeling of rope after rope of his thick cum sloshing around inside your plush walls. His veins throb! throb! throbbing! against your sensitive spots to make such a mess of you below. “Fuck- jus’ like that, Cho- keep- hah- keep goin’”

And you didn’t even have to ask. As expected, your boyfriend’s brows after knitting together, pushing your legs so far apart it burned. Abs flexing as his hips moved in jagged, desperate pistons to massage your gummy walls. 

This was what you wanted so badly - the way he always breaks like this.

Always. 

“Y’asked for more n’ you’re gonna get it.” his voice stutters, cracking ever so slightly with each smash into that spongy bundle of nerves. “More- hah!” Letting out a humorless, almost-shrill laugh, “You knew this would happen, huh?”

You’re just batting your lashes deceivingly innocently, pressing a honeyed peck to Choso’s snarl, “I highly hah- doubt-”

“Look at you.” he spits at your bumbling retort, “Can’t even speak.” Two thick fingers coming up to circle the thick globs of seed pooled at your ravaged clit, purposefully grazing against the sensitive nub. “Fuckin’ wanted more and you’re gonna- get it.”

Slamming into you fast. Out of control. 

You open your mouth - no doubt to spit out some other taunt - but before the words leave your lips, he’s shoving his now-sloppy mess of his index and middle finger inside. Forcing the salty taste of his cum spilling out with each thrust, and the cool metal of his thick metal rings. You wanted to break him - and that’s what you’re gonna get. 

“So you hah- better shut up that pretty mouth of yours unless I break the bed again and you along with it”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Twin bitches, twin bitches

“Enough admirin’ me.”  Sukuna chuckles darkly from above you, reaching down to cradle your dazed head with a large, clawed hand of his. “The faster ya get back to doing yer lil’ job, the sooner that pretty cunt can take me.”

And it’s all you can do to heave for air, looking up defiantly at the two massive cocks kissing at your mouth. Barely getting a few breaths in before Sukuna’s hips thrust forwards once again to spear your heavenly mouth one of his swollen lengths. Smirking at the way your glossy lips bulge around him, “Yeah yeah, what? Got somethin’ to say, brat?”

You’re squeezing your soft palm up and down the drenched hilt of his other cock. Managing to gasp out, “I- want you-” Before your mouth is being fucked again like some little fucktoy - by both of them. Over and over. Taunting, “I want- you- now.”

“Now?” And Sukuna sounds genuinely surprised, baring his sharp canines in a shocked grin. “Y’think you can hah- already take me now?” Hissing as he drags your sloppy mouth up and off his sensitive lengths, only to question. “You sure about that?”

This angle gives you the perfect view of his intimidating cocks - massive, painfully hard. Fat tips flushed the same shade of pretty pink, angry and weeping all over your swollen lips. Twin veins throbbing urgently at your hot breath, both swollen lengths twitch so animalistically when you spit. Once. Twice. 

“Heh- you always do surprise me, lil’ human.”

And shit you were goading him into it - toying with him. 

But you didn’t expect that in all of two seconds, Sukuna would be lifting you easily off the ground with two big arms, wrapping your boneless legs around his waist to fit you snugly like a puzzle piece against his muscled body.

“Wh-what-”

“Y’asked, my girl.” he whispers, ragged at what a needy lil’ slut you were being for him right now. His other two free arms aligning both leaky tips at your quivering cunt. “N’ since you’re so fuckin’ spoiled, guess I gotta always hah- give ya what you want, huh?”

“You mean- oh-” It’s right around this time that you can’t think - you can’t even breathe. Can’t do anything but surrender to the two massive lengths bullying past your stretchy ring of muscle. Molding the entrance of your cunt to the shape of his cocks.

“Mmm fuck m’never gonna get tired of this stretch.” he’s groaning throatily, humming with each little half-thrust inside you. Just barely a push and pull. “So wet n- how the fuck hah- are you this tight?”

You scoff, mouth sharp even when it feels like he’s splitting you in half, “I can think of ngh- t-two reasons.”

And then Sukuna has the audacity to throw his head back and laugh - laugh - loud and baritone, the force of his chest rumbling having you slipping deeper and deeper down his massive cock. Losing your barely-there footing with each inch he’s feeding into your needy cunt. 

You sputter, “Ngh- f-fuck you’re in so deep.”

“F-f-fuck you’re in so deep.” Sukuna mimics your moans in a pitch much higher than his own. Giving the fat of your ass a sharp smack! as he massages your way down. “M’not even hah- halfway in yet so ya better buckle up, brat.” 

And it was true - he was still pushing in desperate, purposeful ruts upwards of his hips. Short strokes that you’d never have the king of curses do - unless he was feeling particularly nice. 

Your legs dangle in midair, nails digging into his tan skin with each smack of his heavy set balls with each movement, leaving a smear of precum and spit. Sliding you down so much easier than he thought it would. Down, down, down…

“Ya feel me in here?” you’re gasping at the pressure of one of his sharp nails. Dangerous. Trailing down, down, down to draw an imaginary line on your stomach. One. And another one not too long aways, “And here?” At your cockdrunk little nod, he smiles - dark and wild. “Use your words if you ah- want what’s comin’.”

He feels you milk his cocks even harder at that, like you’re trying to drag out something delicious when you squeal, “Can feel you- can’t feel anything but you-”

The tip of his thick finger dances higher and higher. And he gruffs out, “Well, soon enough m’gonna be- hah here!”

That deep promise is all that runs through your oversaturated mind before Sukuna’s ramming into you - no mercy. Just shoving you down his throbbing cock until he could see them bulge outwards from your supple skin, leaving a lewd little mark right where he predicted it would be. 

Bullseye. 

“Oh fuuuuck, so nice n’ tight f’me.” Sukuna whimpers - he whimpers. Fuck, the feeling of your walls trying desperately to take shape to his cocks so addictive. So dizzying the way he can feel himself rubbing against one another, bulbous veins throbbing in time to an erratic staccato. “So nice and- and-” he’s losing his words now, slurring with each languid half-thrust up into your cervix. “-mine.”

The word seemed to have made something so feral and dark poke its head out of Sukuna’s exterior. Because then he’s dragging you sloppy cunt like he owned her, all the way from his weeping tips down until your clit was scratching against those tufts of pink at his hilt. 

Slamming into you promisingly until you see stars, until you’re cumming. Electricity running through your veins just at the feeling of being so full. 

Fucking you through your high, Sukuna only taunts, “Now this is where the real fun starts.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - NO CONTROL

“Why the- why the fuck-” your gasp is drowned out by the sharp rip! of fabric echoing across your boyfriend’s luxurious childhood bedroom. Pieces of your poor panties currently laying in tatters on its hardwood floor, “-do they make these things so easy access?”

As if they could be anything but easy access. 

Not with the way Gojo had you bent over the nearest desk he could find, your wrists pinned, skirt bunched up, cunt slobbering and already struggling around where he was just dipping his fat head inside. 

Yet, you still manage to hiss over your shoulder, “If- if it’s so ‘easy access’ then why the fuck did you hah- rip it, you fool?”

But ah you should’ve known better than to give Gojo Satoru one of your glares. Because that along with your honeyed insults have him twitching ferally inside you, the curve of his cock jolting perfectly against your hidden sweet spot. Of course. 

“Because.” he gives you a sly chuckle, the very tip of his aching cock dragging along your gummy walls. “You should know this by now.” Nipping at the shell of your ear, “M’so big that even those panties are a problem, sweetheart.”

And oh the smug bastard, he’s pushing into your heavenly cunt in languid grinds. Savoring. Hypnotic. 

You’re gasping when one of his calculated thrusts mashes against your sensitive areas, the slow push and pull having your nails almost digging into the wooden desk. Scrambling onto your very tip-toes to glide your gummy walls against his thick length.

“Toru…” you moan, hissing in warning. “Y-you better be quiet or else your hah- your parents are gonna hear us.”

“Hah! Me? Me?” he cackles, drinking in your bleary gaze, the way your mouth was falling slack with each tempo of his hips. “Think you should be more ngh- worried about yourself, sweetheart.” He’s pressing a hot mess of a kiss one your swollen lips, your shoulders. Down, down, down wherever he could reach down your arched spine, “Besides. We’ll be s-sneaky, m’jus’ puttin’ in the-”

And perhaps for the first time in his life, the great Gojo Satoru is utterly speechless. Words catching in his chest at the sinful sight right below him. 

Your legs spread, shaking. Inner thighs smeared with the glossy sheen of the mess he’s making of your poor cunt. And you pussy- oh fuck, your pussy. With your puffy folds spread, bulging even with the effort to take it just past his fat head. Quivering and struggling with each experimental grind. 

Fuck, it was hard to look at it, too. It made him throb so painfully - it made him grow bigger. 

“Ngh! What the fuck-” you spit at the feeling of that familiar burn, your syrupy walls being stretched to their absolute limits. 

“Shhh shhh- change of plans, sweetheart.” Is all Gojo grunts in response, bending his long, long legs at the knees to bully himself inside easier. Two big arms wrapping around your middle, reaching over to give your clit a determined swivel of his fingers. “M’gonna go about- halfway? Yeah, halfway.”

And yet, he sounds unsure himself. Voice just a pitch higher, breathy, like he was losing more and more of his sanity with each little half-thrust he’s gifting your poor cunt with. 

Just quick, methodical little kisses of his hips to yours, heavy balls smacking against your thighs with each inch your greedy cunt is swallowing up. Milking the absolute fucking soul out of him.

“F-fuck!” you keen when that thick vein of his down the middle massages your good spot. The adorable sound making Gojo’s eyes light up, smirking as he hikes his knee up higher to piston deep into your dripping pussy. Heady with the squelches from below. “Th-this is hah more than- half Toru-”

Fuck, was it? 

Gojo hadn’t even noticed - too drunk on the way you were squeezing his poor, overworked cock so tight. Until it was almost difficult to plunge into your dripping cunt - to split you apart on it exactly the way he wanted. 

But, well, now that he was taking a long, hard look - he was just a bit more than halfway through. Brows raising in delight at the way your hips are pushing back in mindless little swivels for more. 

“Then, I guess-” he trails off, two large hands of his coming to rest at your waist. A disappointed whine rips from the back of your throat when his ruthless hips slow down to a still, pulsing with anticipation. “-might as well finish the job.”

“Oh- what- you fuckin’-” The rest of your sentence is swallowed up in the way he rolls his hips forwards - fully. Inch by fucking inch. Catching in your ring of resistance less than all the way through, but still pushing. Still rutting forwards so animalistically. “Toru—” You whine at the stretch, the pure dizzying feeling of him shaping your cunt to the thick girth of his swollen cock. “S’too big- I can’t ngh-”

Pretty pink lips shut up your babbling mouth, murmuring deeply, “No no no no- no you can take it- you can oh.” Long, slender fingers coming up to roll against your poor clit, loosening your feeble reisstance, “Look at the- fuck jus’ look at the way you want me.” And you’re barely registering the hand smushing your cheeks together in an embarrassing pout, forcing you to look down at the steady, lazy torture of him splitting you apart on his massive cock. “This isn’t even fuck- me. Look at how you’re fucking back. How you want me so badly.”

And, usually, you’d snap at Gojo - tell him he’s too cocky for his own good. 

But it was true. 

You were meeting his sloppy, untimed bounced halfway through. Helping yourself be fucked into that expensive desk. And he’s pushing - so persistent. 

So utterly wrecked when his leaky tip nudges against your spongy cervix, stars behind his eyes when his heavy balls smack your thighs. Unstopping - not until your ass was settled snugly against those tufts of white at his base. Finally, all the way in.

Through it all, he manages to rasp out, “Hey, did ya know the walls in his house are soundproofed?”

“...”

“So why don’t we go a proper round, sweetheart? Or five?”

A/N. I did NOT expect these to get so long but yk what I’m not upset.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[sp4ceboo]

a/n: ok so. alpha deku. this was specifically inspired by @kajinovaa's art (here and here) because. what the fuck man. this gave me severe brain rot. absolutely delicious artwork, belongs in museum.

tw: 18+, smutty, afab omega reader, a/b/o, alpha deku goes into rut, breeding kink (it's abo, what were we expecting)

wc: 1.2k

Everyone knows when your alpha is close to his rut.

Since Izuku has risen on the hero rankings, ‘everyone’ has become anyone who happens to be watching the news that week. Citizens, villains, news reporters, hell, even his mother - they all know. It would be hard to not notice, not with the pheromones that practically ooze off him, and especially not with the way he acts.

Normally, the villains are the first to know. You always patrol with Izuku (he insisted it be that way, but you wouldn’t have been paired with anyone else with how obvious it is that the two of you work best together), and usually, you’ll divide and conquer any minor villains with ease. You’re ridiculously attuned to each other, able to communicate in battle just as well with your eyes as with your words, and it makes it pretty hard to mount a defense against.

All of that flies straight out of the window the moment his pre-rut hits; the hormones give him an extra edge, a strength derived from something primal, and his hindbrain takes control. Your mate is a force to be reckoned with already, but in pre-rut, he’s unstoppable.

You’re aware that he knows you’re perfectly capable of holding your own, but once his instincts take over, there’s no stopping him. He’ll break a villain’s hand if they come too close to you, flashing his canines and snarling keep away from my omega while he pumps out a ridiculous amount of pheromones. By then, they’re already running: it’s no secret that his threats aren’t empty when it comes to you.

The reporters are the next to find out, and you hope that the ones that get sent to interview you and Izuku while he’s in pre-rut get paid extra, because he’s impossible; once he’s sure the villains are successfully detained, he’ll latch onto you, curling an arm about your waist and wrapping himself around you from behind.

It’s worth acknowledging that Izuku is big, even by alpha standards. He’s fucking huge, broad shoulders and massive thighs, still bristling from the fight, and he dwarfs your frame entirely when he crowds into you the way he does. You’ve seen fan-made compilations, clips of him draped over you, nose buried in your hair as you answer reporters’ questions, captioned with things like ‘proof pro-hero Deku can’t get enough of his mate, if you hadn’t noticed already’.

You always politely smile for the cameras, but he has no patience for them. He never speaks during those interviews, instead drowning his restlessness in the familiarity of your scent, growling if anyone comes too close and only letting up once they retreat.

At that point, you already reek of him - well, more than you usually do - and when you feel that you’ve shown face enough, you excuse yourself. No one can refuse you, not when you have a more than just sizeable alpha hanging off your shoulders, glaring at anyone who might dare to object.

On the way home, you’ve made a habit of filing your request for leave from work (that is, if your manager hasn’t seen the news and already granted it). You’ve never been refused leave, but that doesn’t surprise you. The risk of having pro-hero Deku off patrol is nothing compared to having him half crazy, half feral and fully grumpy, supposedly watching over the city while in reality all he does is want after his omega.

Reliably, you’ll barely have gotten through the doorway of your home, struggling to close the door behind you, when he finally lets loose.

He’ll be all over you, hands tugging at your clothes while he laps at your scent glands, almost drooling as he breathes in your pheromones. Rut reduces your alpha to nothing but a mess. You won’t even be more than a metre into your house, and he’ll be grinding against you, fondling you, groaning in your ears and telling you sinful things: that you smell so fucking good, that he can’t wait to be deep in your sweet omega pussy.

They’re always dirty, the things he mumbles in your ears, but it always circles back to the same thing - I protected you so well, didn’t I, omega? I kept you safe, right? - and you nod every time, kissing him sweetly - yes alpha, of course you did - and tilting your head back to give him access to your throat, a display of trust, because that’s what he needs to hear. That’s what has his cock throbbing against your hip, achingly hard.

It’s what sets that part of him ablaze, just like you burn whenever he tells you that you’re such a good, pretty omega for him and that you take him so well while he fucks you through your heat. Yes, Izuku understands you can protect yourself, but he needs to know that he’s a good alpha to you, that he takes care of his mate and keeps you happy and safe and content.

The moment he hears that, he won’t stop until you're knotted and pumped full of his come.

He’ll take you against the first flat surface that presents itself (usually the wall of your foyer), slipping in easily because your body responds to him even before you’ve smelt his exquisite pheromones, your pussy all slicked up and fluttering for him. He won’t stop for days after that, ruining you on his cock over and over again, eyes rolling back in his head as he slurs about how he’s going to give you his pups, and though you know it won’t take because of your medication, sometimes you wish it would.

Right now, you lie on his warm chest, tracing the constellations of his freckles with your fingertips. Today his rut started no different from how it normally does, and he’s purring softly in his sleep beneath you, his warm palms splayed wide over your back; you smile at the occasional snore that leaves him. Your mate has been busy recently. You’re not surprised that he knocked out so quickly.

He’s fucked his knot into you already, and from where it sits snugly inside you, you can feel it slowly coming down. You don’t bother to lift yourself off him though - he’s far from done, and besides, he’ll just ease it right back into you the moment he wakes up.

You’ve heard people comment on how your Izuku is pretty high maintenance during his rut, that he should take suppressants to give you a break, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

He stirs, and you watch his green lashes dip as he blinks his way back to consciousness; gently, he catches your fingers, his palm calloused against your skin, and lifts your hand to his mouth to press kisses your knuckles. Your lips curl up at the sight of him, unruly hair mussed, glowing in that way he does during his rut, and sleepy eyed, he smiles back.

Already, you can feel him stiffening inside of you, his body getting ready for another round. He cups your face in his hands, fitting his lips to yours, and you find yourself grinning into his kisses.

Yeah, you definitely wouldn't have it any other way.

[nouearth]

nsfw alphabet w/ bruce wayne.

bruce wayne x male reader.

a/n: something new i've been meaning to try, so thank you for this request for finally pushing me to do so!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

we all know bruce is a busy man. it's an unfortunate norm to wake up in the morning to his side of the bed and see nothing but the wrinkles of the bed sheets that once warmed his body; to visit him at work because he forgot lunch (again) and wait in his office because he was currently in another meeting; to watch him with exhaustion and worry in the night while he scans through evidence files regarding a new criminal case.

in short, it's exhausting to even think about putting yourself in his shoes, and bruce wonders how you managed to stay with him for so long. it's not his fault, though, and you tell him that through sweet whispers in his ears when he's feeling down, through a simple doting embrace when he falls asleep during the rare occurrence you two could watch a movie together. and he's grateful to have someone like you.

whenever you two had sex, bruce would make sure he took his time with you. he doesn't stop until his body is spent, until your body is wrecked from the love and lust he has for you, and when you two finally finish after a series of rounds, he holds you close. breathing, panting—floating because he lost count in how many times he had come in your wrecked hole.

he spoons you, your back to his sweaty chest, refusing to pull himself out of your hole (at least until his cock goes limp), and he likes having his palm over your own chest to remind him that you're still here. your heart runs an electrifying marathon, then slowly comes to a calming jog because he adores your body, caressing and allowing his hands to roam free wherever he pleases. he loves feeling every tremor your body would retrieve as he dozed you off with a slurry of languid kisses across your nape, then the melt of your muscles the closer he holds you, and when you've fallen asleep and let slumber press your full weight into him, he does the same—because you're safe now.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

not to sound like a pervert, but bruce really loves your thighs. whether they were exposed in those shorts you like to wear inside the manor or deliciously full and contained in those dress pants he brought for you; he always had his hand on your lap. whenever he needed your attention and you were sitting next to him, he would squeeze your thigh because you were ticklish there. whenever you two went out to eat, he preferred sitting next to you because your thigh was the toastiest furnace for his hand. he just liked how... complex your thighs were. soft and malleable to touch yet toned and firm when he suckled on the flesh. not to mention, they were the perfect handles whenever bruce went down on your cock and sucked you off.

for bruce, he's quite proud of his shoulders. they've always been broad since he was younger, but with intense training, they've only gotten larger and broader since then. and he's glad that he isn't alone in this inclination. whenever bruce was stressed, you'd massage his shoulders until he snapped out of his migraine and turned to thank your presence with a kiss. and of course, bruce's shoulders weren't for purely aesthetics. they were also extremely useful, practically acting as your own bike handles, as you rode his cock. they provided you balance and leverage as you worked a sweat on riding out his orgasm inside of you, until your ass was thickly filled with his warm seed. and even that, that doesn't stop you from stopping and milking him out.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

god, when it came to you, he is obsessed with your cum. he's completely enthralled how much cum could come out of you simply from him fucking you, and it was why he preferred you riding him, or at least on his lap, so he could have the best view of your cock spitting out thick loads of cum and fuck, splash zone much? he loved how warm it was when you would spray across his face, even his face at times as he proceeded to fuck you harder. and knowing that it would make you blush and whine, he loved scooping your cum up off his body and tasting you. nowhere near sweet like fantasies have endorsed, but perfectly and deliciously edible on his tongue, to the point where he makes sure he'll be sucking you off clean before you doze off.

for bruce, he loves the sight of his cum anywhere on your body. in your ass, on your back, between your thighs, every place imaginable was a turn on. but if he had to pick, fuck... coming on your face was a true delight that would beckon him for another round simply from watching your features get layered and layered with his thick loads. it was dirty, erotic, and demeaning, especially as you waited for his loads on your knees, but fuck—he couldn't get enough of it. he couldn't get enough of decorating you in his own musk.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

it's all about taking control for bruce. whether it's him as the caped crusader or him in bed, bruce likes being treated as someone respectable, someone with honor, someone with authority. and when it came to you, he likes being called sir.

on some occasions, it would be your secret code for him if you were horny and needed to go somewhere private with him in public.

feeling a little famished, sir. hm? couldn't quite hear you. sir, i said i'm feeling famished. now get in the bathroom before someone takes— okay, okay! geez.

on many occasions, bruce would use it to his advantage and tease you in bed. the tip of his cock would barely graze your pucker, tracing and circling the tender flesh with a covet for your begging. c'mon, tell me what you want. use the right words. f-fuck, please. i n-need your cock, sir. louder. i need you to speak clearly. sir! please! sir! i need you cock!

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

they weren't wrong when the media labelled him as a 'playboy'. although, he had definitely settled down by the time he met you; earlier on, it was nonstop hook-ups with majorly women. for men, he'd leave it at blowjobs and nothing more. but hey, despite his inexperience with men, a hole was a hole, right? as long as it took his cock without any pushback, there was no complaint! besides, there was little difference in pleasuring women and men. he even found it exciting to learn from you, to learn with you, in how to give each other the best pleasurable one could offer.

you could proudly boast that you were the first one to put a finger in bruce's ass. and perhaps, convince him to put something else inside of him.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

it's already been mentioned before, but bruce loves having you on his lap. not because of laziness or anything, but he truly loves your body and how incredibly vulnerable it had become as you fuck yourself on his cock. it was a culmination of your body putting on a performance for him and showing off his favorite parts about you, exposing it and further enticing bruce to do whatever he wanted to you, with every single bounce.

the bounce of your cock and pecs in rhythm with your hips, fucking yourself down on his cock; the droplets of sweat covering your skin in a greasy yet glorious sheen that could make him cream inside of you right then and there; the change in your expressions whenever bruce began fucking up into you instead, meeting your own hips in a steady and quick pace. his arms hurt from straining his own weight, but fuck was it worth it when you came all over him in thick, long spurts.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

bruce isn't usually humorous in bed. rather, he finds enjoyment in teasing you through a mixture of his demands and his actions. what always worked was pulling his cock out until only the plump tip was nearing its exit, and he always found amusement in how quick desperation came to possess your body and thoughts as you'd wiggle your ass back in attempt to shove him back inside.

mm-mm, what's the word? p-please, sir!

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

since you've known bruce, he had always maintained a very tidy and orderly appearance, probably because he was constantly in the spotlight since he was a kid, and his groin completely mirrored that upbringing. rather than completely going bare, he likes leaving enough hair to provide you a preview of what's to come after the first few centimeters of trimmed hairs—an appetizer before the main course, he reckoned.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

with how much work and his second persona has taken over his life, that left little time with you, and he feels absolutely guilty about it. it depends on the mood, but whether you two were engaged in rough or vanilla sex, bruce made sure to stick close to you. lace his fingers into between yours, have his mouth on your body at all times, mark you and kiss you wherever he hadn't, remind you how much he missed you, how much he loved you, how you were only his. fuck, he was possessive, and you found that incredibly romantic as much as it was suffocating at times. he made sure you praise you, to remind you how beautiful you looked taking his cock like this.

and before he falls asleep, he'd always whisper in your ear that he loves you, even if slumber had already taken you as hostage and stripped you away from the comfort of his assurance.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

bruce tries his best from jacking off, especially since he knows how much more gratifying it is to have you clench around him; to have you on your knees and swallow his cock down. but fuck, you were a tease. you loved sending him thirst traps whenever you knew he would be swamped up in a day full of meetings, and you knew you'd successfully infiltrated his mind when he would dislike your message with a thumbs down.

though, thanks to bruce sending you countless videos of him rubbing himself through his pants, you were left with little imagination on how bruce was spending his short break.

bruce has never been so thankful for you in his life. it took some convincing to get bruce on board with filming himself fucking you. and ever since then, bruce no longer had to rely on the memories of your warm touch, of your sweaty scent, of your whimpers as he blue-balled himself in his office.

right then and there, he'd whip his cock out from the zipper of his pants, and jacked off to the most recent video between you and him on his phone. and not to toot his own horn, but fuck was bruce a great director. up-close shots of your body, glistening under a layer of your own hot sweat, followed by thick droplets from bruce's. the flash on his phone made it so much more erotic, like an amateur porno, as it would focus on his cock driving deep into your ass from his perspective, his groans rumbling intimately over the speakers. bruce's abdominal muscles would flex and his core would engage as he mustered another strength to power through exhaustion, fueled by your begs and whimpers for him to fuck you harder, and fuck, it was better than porn. to recount and watch how he wrecked you that night made him bust multiple thick loads, and unfortunately soil his pristine suit.

to which, you'd most definitely pay for, one way or another, when he gets home from work.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

remember when i mentioned bruce liked having control? well, that definitely comes into effect when he's rough-housing you. only if you're in the mood of course (and you were always in the mood), but there's something so gratifying to him when he has his hand around your neck, your skin blooming under the warmth, squeezing harder and harder as he's fucking you into the bed. being rough with you also goes hand-in-hand with his praise kink, singing you low and sweet affections in your ear while you're taking his cock like you've always meant to.

that's it, fuck. good boy. like that? you like that?fuck, your sweet hole loves that.

L = Location (favourite places to do the do)

he'd love to be more experimental, but unfortunately that has to account for his schedule and for the most part, you two mostly have sex in bed. if not, it was a little quickie in his office. which isn't bad, but the idea of his temptation wearing his patience thin and just absolutely ravishing you in his car, or in a bathroom some place, had run through his mind multiple times.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

as much as bruce knew that you dreaded it, there was a reason why he insisted on you coming to his charity galas. it was those god-damn suits he'd buy for you and it would be the only time he'd think to himself that the money was well-spent, if it even mattered to him.

bruce, i don't think i need another suit. what's wrong with the ones you got me two years ago?

out of style, out of season. see, i told you there's a reason why we don't follow trends.

it was distracting. it was the rare times where you'd look completely different from your normal self. your hair in a different style. your suit tailored according to your build. your confidence covertly reviving because you didn't want to admit that you actually really liked looking like this. your forearms breaching free when you rolled up your sleeves, and fuck, it was so seductive. if bruce hadn't dressed you and helped out with the styling, he'd assume you'd come from old money.

sometimes he'd regret it because all eyes were on you, on bruce's man, and it was a complete nuisance dealing with drunk patrons attempt to flirt with you as if you could even understand anything they were saying with their limp tongue in the way of their speech.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do)

listen, bruce is down for anything, but he doesn't exactly get wax play. maybe he's been almost set on fire too many times to count, but the idea of accidentally burning your skin because he poured too much or something makes him freak out. it was more about the discomfort regarding your safety, than his overall distaste for it.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill,)

bruce doesn't admit it, but in your words, he's pretty selfish. not in a bad way because he always makes it up to you afterwards, but it was the control thing coming to play again. you suck him off first, and then he'll reward you with his own mouth if it was deemed worthy enough (you know it's a bluff, but it's always fun to play along).

he loves seeing you take his cock. it feels like almost every other day where you're down on your knees and sucking him off, and he hasn't gotten tired of it yet. you know where his cock like no one else, know where he was the most sensitive, how he liked it sloppy and dripping from your spit. it was a fucking turn on to see you so devoted to pleasuring him.

for giving, he's better at rimming than giving you blowjobs. for the most part, he hates that gagging feeling whenever he barely took his cock in your mouth, and you'd always tease him for it, making him blush profusely. he's never been bad at something, even if you don't say it, so he makes it up in devouring your ass like it's been a week since he's had proper food. like your blowjobs, he likes having you dripping in spit, your musky hole wet and tender from the amount of turns he's had licking and fucking you with his tongue. and the way you pushed your ass out and arched into the back as he buried his nose in between your cheeks discovered a new kink of his: asphyxiation.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual?)

for the most part, it depends on his mood and energy. if it was a stressful day, he expects you to let him wreck your body until it was spent and pliant beneath him. to properly get him off, he needed the most lewd sounds to come out of your mouth; the writhe in your body because he got a little carried away at first but you then slowly adjusted yourself to; the friction of the sheets burning at his knees; he needed you hard and your body was going to feel the consequences the next morning. and then there are days where bruce wants to take his time with you, worship your body with the hands you would always hold onto whenever you felt at unease; with the mouth you would always latch onto with your own whenever you needed to renew vitality; with his body you would always safeguarded yourself in no matter how you were feeling because you knew bruce never failed to protect you. his thrusts would slow, languid but never lazy as he liked keeping you on your toes and hitting you at the deepest spot with a sudden rut, and then measured again as he pulled himself out, watching his cock throb and watching your hole take all of his love in with no objection.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often)

quickies were never as satisfying as the time fully spent with you, but it got the job done. usually on days where he was the most stressed and needed to let something out, he'd call you over to the office for lunch and where you were expecting to eat your steamy leftovers with him, you ended up bent over his office desk, naked from the waist below, taking bruce's frustration up for the day. not that you were complaining, though. he always extended his lunch to properly eat with you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment, do they take risks)

bruce is pretty content with his sex life with you. if you mentioned something about a new kink or wanting to experiment, he'd take up the entire night or two researching up about it, studying it methodically to ensure nothing wrong can happen and how to handle the situation if it does.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last)

the man can go all night, have you seen his training regime? and the best part is? you let him have his way with you with multiple rounds despite usually being the one to cum first, and it would be a norm to have you coming again in the same night.

T = Toy (do they own toys? do they use them?)

he owns very little toys, no other reason being than bruce wanting you to rely on his dick for pleasure only. he wants you dependent on it, so there's a pretty big chance you might offend him if you suggest a phallic-type toy.

why the hell do you want a dragon dildo?! fifteen inches?!?! jesus christ—am i not big enough or something?!

what—no! didn't you say you liked seeing me struggle?! if anything, it's for YOUR own pleasure, bud. geez...

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

bruce loves teasing you. to be honest, who in the world doesn't love teasing their partner? it's adorable to see you try to squirm away from him when he's hugging you from behind while you're doing whatever and kissing the shell of your ear, then slipping his hand down your pants to feel how hard your dick had gotten from the most minuscule action. and fuck, when he throws in a little verbal play to remind you about how your dick is his and no one else's; you'd be thinking about it for the rest of the day, at least until bruce left for work and you were back onto his bed, sprawled out and whimpering as you spilled multiple loads over your tummy.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make)

there's something extremely sexy in a way that bruce tries to contain his volume through gritted teeth. it was intimate the way lust unveiled himself. hushed groans in your ear, biting into your earlobe then neck to keep himself from moaning out loud, and fuck, he'd tremble from how much pleasure you were giving him. it would be reflected through his breaths, ruptured as he panted in your mouth during a kiss.

and you were so fucking proud when the moment he disposed a load inside of you, he couldn't help but gush out a deep, guttural moan from within, one that would shake you to your core, and possessed you to spill your own load simply from the sound of his relief.

W = Wild Card (get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

if bruce had all day with you, he'd want to spend it dry-humping you, specifically in suits. he saw it in a movie once, two men gyrating each other while one was on the other's lap, and it was even hotter than two nude men blowing each other off. and fuck, was he right. there was nothing more infuriating than seeking for pleasure that could be more gratifying. he'd angle his hips, you'd angle yours, and you two would rub, hump into each other's cocks, grind against one another with a steady rhythm while he stilled your head for an equally heavy make-out session. you'd beg for him to just take you right then and there, rip your clothes off and everything, but no. bruce doesn't and never does, and he persists, relieving your aching cock with his own until you two stain the inside of your dress pants, a deep and thick wet spot forming at the center of the trousers afterwards.

X = X-Ray (let’s see what’s going on in those pants)

bruce would be above average, but definitely not hung like most people assume, and you liked that. it was perfectly fit for your body and most importantly, bruce knew how to utilize that thing. he dug deep, made sure you feel every inch, and fuck, his heavy balls holding his thick cum-loads were the cherry on top of your desires for him.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

sex would be the first thing on his mind whenever bruce is stressed. maybe not so much when he's pummeling down criminals, but more so in his daily life where he's swamped in meetings and talking with shareholders. i mean, is it his fault that you looked so good frying up eggs this morning? you had absolutely no reason to, especially when sleep was still laced in your face.

Z = ZZZ (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

bruce has always been a nocturnal animal. even when you've fallen asleep first and nothing but the sounds around him were a droning brown noise specifically curated to lull him to sleep, he'd still remain awake for a while before falling asleep. there was too much on his mind, even if he had emptied it out inside of you. overwhelming thoughts came in as quick as they came out, and luckily, you were there to be the support he needed.

the soft snores of your slumber were evidence that you felt safe with him, a reminder that you were able to sleep like this because he did a fucking great job in keeping you away from danger, and he hoped it would remain that way as he snuggled into you, holding you close to his chest as if tomorrow could change the trajectory of fate.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. andif you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[umathurwin]

i still keep your number and your necklace

kiara carrera x rafe cameron; nsfw 18+

summary: Rafe pays Kiara a little visit at the surf shop when she's alone. Surely he won't have any ulterior motives, right?

tags, warnings, and more on ao3 !

“what are you doing here?”

no greeting, no niceties, nothing. rafe hadn’t exactly caught her at a great time, given the screen of texts between kie and her boyfriend was just a sea of blue now. even without that, she probably still would’ve had an attitude.

“damn, kid, i can’t come to shop? i can’t be a paying customer?” he mocked, fiddling with the displays and knocking over a pack of neon lures. he ignored the mess.

kiara didn’t give him a response, and he conceded. “fine. just wanted to stop by and say hello, is all.”

“so say it. then leave.”

rafe hissed, like he’d just touched a hot stove. “sweetheart, what’d i do to deserve this treatment?” he asked, pouting at her and walking around the counter.

his cologne reached her first and she had to shut her eyes to keep focus. as he slotted himself behind her, surely towering over her frame, her fingers wrapped around the bone-handled damascus that john b had given her for protection against wacky customers. and what better time than now?

he’s a little too perceptive for her, though. “my god, drop the knife. i’m not here to hurt you.” when the blade clattered to the ground, he smiled. “actually, i’m here for the opposite.”

oh, great. not again.

of course this wasn’t the first time he was paying one of these little sick visits. actually, she’d noticed a bit of a pattern of her dating a new man, and rafe quickly showing up to re-stake his claim on her body.

the first few times, it had been a typical bedroom-window tryst with him climbing into her sheets and folding her legs up to her ears, her biting her fist and trying to remain quiet. later it evolved into him dragging her to the backseat of his car at events and him cracking jokes about how obvious what they were doing was, and how neither of them must care. now, apparently, he’s evolved to showing up at her place of business in broad daylight.

“rafe, you know i can’t—”

“can’t? bullshit. you sure can,” he barked out a laugh before mocking her again. “can’t. that’s funny. what’s stopping you, exactly? and don’t tell me that pissant blonde you’ve been running around with. do you always pick boyfriends whose asses you know i could beat? is there some kind of thrill behind it?”

kiara squeezed her eyes shut, fingertips digging into the pressboard surface of the counter. her body betrayed her, the same way it always did when rafe got his hands on her, and she keeled back into his touch. “rafe… c’mon.”

“what?” he snapped, holding her hips tighter and grinding against her. his cock slotted against her a little too well and she had to bite back a whimper. “you afraid someone’s gonna come lookin’ for us? don’t wanna get caught with your pants down?”

“yes! i mean, no!”

“don’t even know what you want. poor girl,” he tutted. rafe took one hand and drifted it up her side, catching on the bottom hem of her shirt and lifting it a bit before it fell. no chance he didn’t feel the goosebumps on her skin as he trailed up her arm to her shoulder.

there’s a quick moment of relief when she felt him step back and his presence was replaced by a wave of humid air. too bad this was because he’d decided to kneel down, perfectly settling where his face was at eye level with her ass.

she could feel her face burning as he inspected her, gripping the soft flesh and pushing his thumb hard on the denim seam resting above her slit. her legs were starting to buckle and her head fell into her hands ashamedly.

he tugged her shorts down, catching her underwear and pulling those down too. rafe smiled when he was greeted with the familiar sight of her sticky, wet cunt. “goddamn, kie. d’this start the second i walked in here?”

“no!” she whined, but it was less a response to his question and more of a protesting squeal when he buried his face into her pussy. he dragged his tongue along her folds, adding drool to the slick mess.

kiara gasped, and her fingernails caught on the rough surface under her. her back arched and she had to fight not to reach back and grab rafe’s head to guide him.

(not that he needed much guiding, anyways. he’s had his tongue buried in this cunt so many times he’s confident he could make her cum in his sleep.)

as he lapped at her clit, she dropped the hesitant act and grinded back against his face. rafe grabbed the back of her thighs and she could feel him smiling into her pussy. nasty.

his angle could be better. she began to lift her leg to give him more room, but her dignity had her dropping her foot to the ground again.

once again, too perceptive. he grabbed her calf roughly and lifted her entire leg until her knee could rest on the counter’s edge. if she’d been modest before, she couldn’t be anymore with her dripping cunt right on display for him.

no time to feel bad about this, because he dove right back into eating her cunt. one of his fingers trailed near her ass and she let out a weak noise, so he pulled back. he must be playing nice today.

it wasn’t until she was riding out a powerful orgasm on his tongue that she realized how lucky it was their shop had no cameras. it wasn’t the safest set-up, but at least she was in the clear still.

he tugged her back to the ground, making her stand on wobbly legs. as rafe’s cock pressed against her slit, the illumination of her phone screen caught her eye. jj had responded, finally.

oh, right! what she was currently doing was bad. “fuck, please hurry, you have to leave soon—” she mewled. as he pushed inside her, rafe’s thumbs spread her open so he could sheath himself even easier.

“jesus, quit whining, will ya? i just made you cum, now it’s my turn. shut up or i’ll fuck you right on this floor.”

he’d do it, too. he’d bully her to the ground until her palms and knees were slipping on the disgusting surface below them. he’d belittle her for how she was still enjoying the degradation. he might even grab the back of her hair and push her all the way down until her cheek grazes the floor, too. he’d do all this and so much more, so she shut up.

then he was fully nested inside her. like always, the clock slowed and blood rushed in her ears. relaxing enough to let him in was one thing, bracing herself for what came next was another.

“mm, fuck, you feel that? well… you’re pulsing around me, so i guess you do. isn’t that divine? yknow i’d stay in here all day if i could.” rafe withdrew about halfway, then slowly pushed back in to the hilt. “if you’d let me. i know you miss this. feeling so full,” he thrusted a bit, just to fit the last of himself inside her, and she cried out. “feels the same as the last time. which says a lot.” when a slutty moan spilled out of her, he knew he’d won. he pulled out again, but this was the end of his mercy.

the trinkets on the counter were rattling as he fucked her, and he wouldn’t allow her head to fall with a firm grip on her curls.

“how about i make a little deal with you?” he asked, forcing his cock in so far he nudged against her cervix.

kiara cried out and sucked in a gasp. “w-what?”

“if you don’t cum while i finish up here, i’ll never bother you again.”

too much logic, too little brains left in her skull. “you… you’ll wh—?”

“dumb girl,” he muttered and thrusted again. “i know you’re too drunk on my own cock to think, but try to follow along.” rafe slowed to a pace which tortured her, dragging along her walls enough to spark pleasure but not enough to build. “don’t cum, and i’ll leave you alone. got it?”

she nodded desperately, as best she could with him still holding her hair.

around this time, he’d get mouthy. rafe never could keep his thoughts to himself and the problem was tenfold when he was buried inside kiara. if it had come from anyone else’s mouth, his words would be pathetic, begging. but from him? he taunts.

when are you just gonna admit you need this, huh? i come back every time and you’re just as fuckin’ eager. it’s like you know i own you, but you can’t accept it. you know how good you’d look with me again? yknow how well i’d take care of you? be the prettiest fuckin’ girl on figure eight. it’s all yours, but you keep being a brat. good thing i’m always around to keep you in line, huh?

not this time. now, he was dead quiet, and the sick noises coming from where they met spoke for him. forced to accept the loud reality of what they were doing in the very place kiara would have to come back to every day.

without thinking, one of her hands tried to reach down to play with her clit, but he caught her wrist and twisted it around to pin behind her back. she was still stimulated, as every thrust of his cock sent his balls hitting against her clit. “good try,” was all he muttered.

tears welled up in her eyes when she realized she was going to cum anyways. he’d even tried to make it a fair fight by not touching her or saying anything. she was just a doll for him, one that bent over and spread her legs and moaned and begged for more. he didn’t even have to try, and she still tensed up and trembled as a second orgasm washed through her.

her legs nearly gave out entirely as she came, shaking and twitching under her. rafe’s possessive hold on her prevented her from collapsing to the filthy ground, and he smirked. “fuckin’ A. that’s a feeling i’ll never get tired of.”

she would die before ever admitting this, but she felt much of the same.

after he came, rafe lifted kiara so her feet were no longer on the ground, and her torso was entirely on the counter. he was careful in pulling out his cock, making sure none of his seed dripped out of her aching cunt. he quickly pulled her underwear and shorts back up, sealing in the mess they’d just made together.

“guess i’ll see you tonight, huh?”

[brewstersbru]

todoiida u have enamored me, have a fic abt it 🔥🧊🏃🏻‍♂️

Iida touches Shoto a lot. 

It’s scary, at first, because his hands are broad and callused and vaguely familiar in a way that sends a spike of panic down Shoto’s back. But he never uses them in the way Shoto expects him to. 

He’s gentle, so, so careful, even when it’s a high-speed scoop up in the midst of battle. It’s odd to be considered in those kinds of situations. Nice. And maybe Iida isn’t giving him any special consideration, maybe he’s like this with every person he rescues because he’s just that kind of man. It’s still nice, though.

He noticed it, first, when they fought class B, and Iida had rushed to fish him out from where he’d nearly drowned in liquid concrete, trapping himself under literal tons of it to do so. It was a frantic situation, Shoto was only half-conscious, he could’ve gotten away with being a little rough. With putting comfort to the side in the name of saving a life. But he didn’t. He’d cradled Shoto close, holding him lightly against his warm, humming armor and tossed him to safety. 

Then there was everything after his grueling fight with Dabi. Bleeding, and feeling more cavern than boy, Shoto had crumpled. It was over, but at what cost? Everyone was cheering. He’d done what he was supposed to. The mission was a success.

Then why did he feel so sad?

Iida caught him, with hovering, sturdy arms. Hugged him to his side when he needed it and let him cry, without judgement. Because he understood what it felt like to lose a brother, even if that brother didn’t stay lost. 

Defeating Toya was just the first step, they had been in the middle of a war. There was more to do, always more that needed doing. Iida could’ve urged him to stand. Tried bolstering his courage to get back into the fray. He should have. But he didn’t.

Not until Shoto had been allowed to feel everything he needed to. 

Shoto thinks back on that day, often. And not just to torture himself with images of Toya’s last stand. Of the memories of his sizzling fists against his skin. Sometimes it’s just to remember how Iida’s fingers felt against his face, as he fitted him with his mask. Brushing hair away from his eyes—careful, but not pitying against his scar—and asking if it was too tight. 

If he lets himself, he starts thinking about how it might feel without the mask, without their hero gear in the way. He imagines leaning into it. 

He wonders if that’s okay. If he should be recriminating himself for his thoughts. He’s never had time or mind to fall into these kinds of fantasies before and he’s not sure what to make of them. All he knows is that he likes Iida’s touches, and that he wishes there were more of them.

Not all of them occur in the battlefield, of course, but that’s where they’re most abundant. Shoto’s in the line of fire often, given his quirk and years-long training for it, while Iida excels at rescue. They make a good team. 

It’s nice in the dorms, though, because then it’s really Iida’s hands. Without gloves. 

They’re fleeting, little touches. A brush against his side as Iida sidles past, apologizing for encroaching on his space. A gentle shake to his shoulder when he falls asleep on the couch, waking him and directing him to his room so that he doesn’t wake with a crick in his neck. 

Small things. But Shoto cherishes them the same as he does every other touch Iida deigns to give him. It’s addicting, almost, now that he’s got a taste for them he’s ravenous for more. 

Iida’s hands are so warm. Shoto thinks this extends to the rest of his body because of his engines but he can’t be sure. He wonders how his right side would fare against it. If Iida were to touch him there long enough, with enough pressure to really feel.

He feels a little wild with it. The longing he has for these touches. Shoto doesn’t think he’s ever wanted something like this before; badly enough to consider asking, even if the answer will probably be no.

Standing at the door of Iida’s room at one in the morning, shivering with the memory of a cold so intense that it froze the tears in his eyes, Shoto considers his options. He could knock. Iida’s probably asleep right now so that would either wake him from sleep (which he would feel immensely guilty about) or go unanswered. 

Shoto doesn’t wonder why he’s come to Iida’s door, in the haze of gloom that had descended upon him immediately after waking. He knows why he’s here. 

Iida feels safe. Is safe. But it’s also one in the morning. And just because he touches him nicely when touching Shoto is necessary, doesn’t mean that he’ll want to touch Shoto otherwise.

He bites his lip, pulling some chapped dead skin from it with his fingers and wincing at the sting. His other arm clutches his pillow to his side. 

Before he can make up his mind, the door to Iida’s room slides open with a near-silent whoosh. Suddenly, standing in front of him is a yawning Iida Tenya, sans glasses. 

After rubbing his eyes, Iida squints at him.

“Todoroki?” 

Shoto swallows around something large clogging his throat. Coughs once, twice.

“Uh. Hi. Iida.” He says, wincing at himself. Even he knows that isn’t the way to greet someone whose door you were lurking outside of at one in the morning. Iida steps closer, still squinting.

“Are you- alright? Todoroki?” He cuts himself off and the sentence comes out choppy, but unlike his usual confident staccato.

“Yeah- yes. I’m fine. I’m sorry.” Faced with the reality of having to ask Iida to touch him, Shoto shrinks. He can’t do this. Not with Iida’s hair all mussed up, cheek slightly imprinted with the wrinkles of his sheets. 

Iida squints at him for another moment before holding a finger up and retreating into his room. He leaves the door open, though, and that is the only reason Shoto doesn’t turn tail and leave. 

Perhaps he’d disturbed him. Maybe, somehow, he heard Shoto’s engrossed shuffling outside the door and decided to investigate. He was owed an explanation, at the very least, and another ten apologies.

Just under a minute later, Iida returns, now sporting his usual square glasses and a small smile. 

“Ah. That’s much better.” His brows furrow as he looks at Shoto. “You’ve been crying.”

It’s not a question and Shoto doesn’t argue. He has. Or, had been about a half-hour ago, when he woke from the nightmare. He hadn’t bothered cleaning himself up before marching over here; mirrors are a little difficult when he’s like this. 

“Yes. I’m- I’m very sorry if I woke you…” Shoto can’t bring himself to finish the thought. To explain why he’d come here. What if he’s disgusted? What if he never touches him again?

The thoughts are irrational— Iida has always proven himself to be kind to a fault, he’d never judge Shoto for this— but that doesn’t stop them from occurring.

Iida’s gaze slides down to where his hands are clenched around his pillow, trembling slightly.

“Please, don’t apologize. You didn’t wake me, I was going to get some water.” He says.

Shoto nods without saying anything and angles himself so that he’s no longer standing in his way to the elevators. 

“Right. Well, you should go. Do that.” He’s looking resolutely at the ground unwilling— and perhaps unable— to meet Iida’s eyes.

Iida hums. 

“Why don’t we go together? I think I’d rather have some tea, now, and it’d be nice to have someone to share it with.” He smiles at Shoto, who just barely catches it when his eyes dart up and then back down to his feet. That sounds nice. And Iida is being so kind. 

He jerks his head into a stiff nod, following slightly behind Iida as he makes his way to the elevators.

Iida presses the button and they wait in silence, side by side, for the doors to open. When they finally do—after what feels like an eternity but can’t have been longer than thirty seconds—Iida brushes a hand, flat, at the small of Shoto’s back to usher him inside. The unexpected (but much yearned for) touch causes a jolt of electricity to flow through him. Unfortunately, it manifests as a flinch, and Iida steps back into the far corner of the elevator, apologizing. 

“No!” Shoto bursts out, going to follow him before staying himself. No one likes getting cornered in an elevator. 

Iida raises his brows, likely not expecting to see Shoto so fired up about something so trivial.

“I-“ He wars with himself over the correct words, now committed to being honest. The want is too much, especially after getting a taste of that warm, addicting touch. Iida waits patiently.

“I like it. When you- when you touch me.” He flounders. “It’s…” Shoto squeezes his fingers further into the soft down of the pillow, searching for a way to adequately express how Iida makes him feel. Nothing is big enough.

“Safe.” He decides on, and it’s still woefully lacking. “Warm.”

The elevator doors slide open and Iida steps closer, hovering his hand above the same place he’d placed it before. 

“Alright.” He says. “Is this okay?”

Shoto nods fervently and allows himself to be steered towards the kitchen. Iida’s hand is a nice, solid weight against his back. Something to focus on. He breathes deep and relaxes slightly.

“Thank you.” It’s more whisper than words but Iida hears it. They come to a stop just in front of the island, where Iida retracts his hand.

Shoro mourns the loss of it, but tries not to let it show. Iida has already given him so much tonight. His time, his touch, his understanding. Who is Shoto to ask more of him?

But Iida doesn’t move away. Instead, he shifts on his feet and asks, a little shyly, “Would you like a hug?” 

Shoto would love a hug. Hadn’t even let himself imagine a real one (and not a side hug or a piggyback in the midst of desperate fighting) lest he become too enamored with the idea. Before he started wanting too much.

He nods, a little frantically, and looks up to find Iida already staring at him, something inscrutable in his eyes as he holds his arms open. Shoto sets his pillow on the island and steps forward, wrapping his own arms around Iida’s middle, tense, at first, but melting to push his face into his neck with each passing second. The tears return, but Iida doesn’t mention them. Doesn’t do anything but rub at Shoto’s back in rhythmic, circular motions, muttering variations of “It’s okay.”, and “You’re okay.” As he cries. 

Iida is warm. Shoto was right. Enough that the right side of his face fits blissfully against his skin. 

Before long, though, Shoto becomes acutely aware of how much of Iida’s time he’s wasted. How long has it been? Minutes? An hour? He should pull back. Should let him get back to his night and content himself with what he’s been given. At this point, he’s just being greedy.

With effort, Shoto pulls himself away from Iida, swiping viciously at his eyes as he does. 

“Thank you.” He chokes, again. “I’m sorry.”

Iida’s expression cracks, a little bit, before righting itself. “You don’t have to apologize, Shoto. In fact, I must insist that you don’t. It is natural to want to be touched, it’s ingrained into us as human beings.” 

He coughs, averting his eyes to the side. “And… and, well, I liked it, too.” 

Shoto stalls, processing the words.

“You did?” He asks, voice small. Iida smiles at him. “Of course I did. It’s you.”

It’s like a bomb has detonated deep within Shoto’s chest, blasting open a whole slew of possibilities he used to keep under lock and key. 

“Then- then can you hold me again? Would you? Your hands are so kind.” It’s an odd way to say it, and Shoto knows that, but it’s also the only way that he can. Iida understands, anyway, or seems to, if the complicated twist to his mouth is any indication. 

“I will. And you deserve to be touched kindly. You don’t have to beg.”

Iida draws back into Shoto’s space—who had sat himself in one of the stools at the island, ready to spend the rest of the night just watching—and settles himself between his legs. 

With tickling, tender pressure, he cups Shoto’s cheek, then slides his hand back to cradle the back of his head and hold him to his chest. Iida’s heart beats slow and steady, a deep thrumming beacon of warmth inside an already warm man. 

Shoto uncurls his fingers from his pajama pants to pull himself closer, breathing deep as Iida’s fingers toy with some of the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“This is nice.” He breathes, because he knows Iida doesn’t want to be thanked again. Something light presses against his hair for a lingering moment before retreating.

“It is.”

[medullamindset]

NSFW alphabet with Loris

Content warnings: obviously nsfw, mnetions of potential pregnancy kinks, lactophilia, brief mention of period sex under "Wild card", panty sniffing, somno, Reader is female coded (boobs, vagina, is physically smaller, ect.) but no pronouns used.

A - Aftercare

(what they're like after sex)

Loris is NEVER skipping aftercare on his own terms, if you just wanna go to bed he'll ask you to atleast drink some water first, then rub your tummy or back till you fall asleep, kissing the crown of your head and smelling your shampoo till he drifts off too.

But if he was particularily rough or you went for very long he'll run a bath for you and rub your back. He cares about your comfort so much. He'd literally handfeed you grapes if you asked. Dont even move.

B - Body part

(their favorite bodypart of their partners and theirs)

On you, Loris loves your torso, thick or thin. that sounds odd but like.. Hes so entranced by the way it twists and turns, the way your fat folds over itself when you bend, or the way your ribs poke out a bit when you stretch.. Shit just does it for him. Bonus if you have a bellybutton piercing, a happytrail or hip/womb tattoos, all three would literally kill him. his mouth is watering, he wants to eat you alive bro.

On himself, Loris is very proud of his height and stature. No one fucks with him (besides you, literally). Hes approx 200 cm's tall, hes broad and strong.

He could deck anyone who lays their hands on you. Not to mention carrying your bags, reach things for you, kiss your forehead, engulf you completely when cuddling, carry you when your feet hurt

..bend you in any way that he likes........

C - Cum

(anything to do with their cum)

Thick ropes, milky-white and slightly salty. Alchohol is very dehydrating. So lets be real, his cum wouldn't be a delicacy. Just remind him to drink water ok? But that's not to say it wouldn't still be erotic, he cums quite a lot, rope after rope, PAINTING you, whether thats inside or on your body.

👀 <-- link

D - Dirty secret

(a dirty secret of theirs)

Something Loris will NEVER admit to you unless caught in the act, is how often he sniffs your clothes when getting off all alone. I mentioned in my Loris headcanons that hes got a thing for smells/the smell of his lover and ong it doesn't even always have to be ur used underwear... It usually is cuz he only really jacks off when he misses you like CRAZY and is DESPARATE FOR THAT COOKIE. But he loves to just hold your sleep shirt up to his nose when jerking off, imagining it's his face in your neck while you work his length with those pretty hands of yours. Or humping the matress with his face pressed into your pillow hnngh.. But yeah hes an underwear sniffer 👻

E - Experience

(how experienced are they? do they know wtf they're doing?)

Loris has a fair amount of experience from his 40 something years of life. Hes far from a sexgod but hes not a virgin either. Hes had sex w sum cuties in his 20's-early 30's but man, his size has gotten in the way on multiple occasions, girls frustratingly putting their clothes back on when they couldn't take him or when it hurt. He was honestly a bit nervous first time you we're in bed together cuz he knew his size was something to 'gulp' at if u weren't used to it. But u took it like a BOSS 💪💪💪😎

Long story short, he knows what hes doing. Took a little while to get fully comfortable the two of you, but now hes shameless.

F - Favorite position

(their favorite position basically)

Its a tie between missionary and cowgirl.

He loveloveLOVES having you under him, pampering you, praising you, interlocking hands above your head, pushing your knees up to your shoulders to watch you come undone completely, getting a full view of your bouncing tits as he thrusts into you with vigor.

But ohhh aren't you a sight when bouncing on his cock? Your nails scratching at his chest, playing with his happytrail absentmindedly. He loves watching the way your body moves, once again the whole torso thing,, the way it rolls back and forth as you arch your back to really move up n down his length. Its near hypnotizing.

The heels of his feet are planted firmly into the matress/floor the whole time so he can start snapping his hips into yours the second he feels your thighs give in.

G - Goofy

(are they more serious in the moment? or do they let a little humour slip?)

To Loris, what is sex if its completely serious? Thats no fun, it should get to be a little silly now and then, like imagine hes fucking you eyerollingly good but suddenly a rather harsh thrust from him has your head hitting the headboard with an awfully cartoonish 'bonk!', he'd slow down immediately and just look at u like this 😧 until you burst into a fit of giggles and tell him you're okay, he mutters a 'Sorry-..' before joining you in laughing, cradling your head and planting a kiss to the very top before pulling you down and readjusting the pillows a bit, starting off nice and slow again to gradually pick up where you left off.

Or imagine hes fucking u in missionary and gets an AGONIZING charley horse heheHA i love him

You end up giving him a massage while he just lies there with a dopey smile, feeling a little silly about the whole thing.

H - Hair

(how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes ect.)

I live for the hairy bear type but Loris has a seemingly naked chest under that unbuttoned v-neck shirt of his (slut), no hair, his happytrail on the other hand ohhh mama, thick, dark curls streching from his trimmed brush all the way to his bellybutton. His arms and legs are fuzzy but the hair there is lighter so its not as visible. Doesn't shave ever but he tames that jungle every once in a while, just to keep it modest y'know.

now about a partner with hair... He loves that shit, if ur visibly hairy, no matter ur gender he finds it so gorgeous. He thinks all natural is hotter than clean shaven. Bonus points again if u have a happytrail yourself or visible arm hair he LIVES FOR THAT SHIT. And hes not afraid to explore your jungle either ykwim? Hes pulling the drapes aside and going to fucking town idc he dont care nobody care

I - Intimacy

(how are they in the moment? the romantic aspect.)

Hes so devoted to you, Loris loves ALL of you and hes gonna prove it. His lips are on yours more than half the time, groaning into your mouth and mumbling praises into your skin as he travels down your body, worshipping it piece by piece, limb by limb. He saids some of the sweetest things to you.. Little 'Pretty baby's, 'so soft's and 'could just eat you alive's whispered to you in exchange for those pretty noises you make STOP

J - Jacking off

(masturbation headcanon)

Loris didn't really have any interest or "reason" to masturbate before meeting you. He was too busy being shitfaced drunk or sleeping or both. But when you're gone away and hes left alone with only traces of you and your scent lingering in the sheets.. He can't help but get desparate sometimes.

He always imagines its you instead of him, your much softer hand pulling his foreskin back and teasing his tip, your gummy n slick walls squeezing around him, your warm tongue swirling around his shaft like a ferret on adderall. But its never the same, your laundry comes in clutch tho!

K - Kink

(one or more of their kinks. do they have any?)

Mild somnophilia kink, he wouldn't mind his body being your alarm in the morning at all and vice vercsa (◠‿◠) (i wrote something abt this actually it's in my pinned) he'd will do foreplay until you stir awake tho so u can turn him away if u decide you're not in the mood, OR grumble something with a pout all while pulling him closer, urging him to keep going.

But he'll literally let you do whatever you want to him when hes asleep, or in general tbh. Hes such a dog in that sense, if you're in the mood it wont take long till he is too.

But also hes open to try things if you've got something in mind. Like mild pain kinks, you wanna drag a knife across his skin while you ride him into next orbit?? Gulp okay, beautiful.. ,')

But ya in general hes not that "hardcore", to name a few; spit kink, somno, mildest of pain kinks, size kink, Auralism-he loves all the noises that come with sex, esp yours, mmmmmaybe he'd have a pregnancy kink... Just like,... Ok imagining you all round and bare does THINGS to him alright? Thats probably another dirty secret of his tbh. If he were to get you pregnant he'd probably develop lactophilia too, hes nastyyyyy goddd

L - Location

(favorite places to do it)

He perfers sex in the comfort of your own home, he doesn't mind where, you've had sex in practically every room. Wherever its initiated,, your bed, your desk, the couch, the kitchen counter, the kitchen table was too wobbly so you were pushed up against the nearest wall instead, and sometimes you do it in the shower but its a bit trickier.

M - Motivation

(what gets them going?)

Your moans and bodily reactions really keep Loris going. Your stomach twitching when he nips at your inner thighs, followed by a labored gasp.. He just loves to know hes making you feel good. Your back arching as you near an orgasm, holding your breath subconsiously, hands playing with his hair before suddenly gripping it and pushing his face further into your heat. He aims to please (ღ˘⌣˘ღ)

N - No

(something they would not do, turn offs)

Loris would never do anything that involves inflicting pain on you. No cnc, no masochism, no slapping, choking, cutting, burning. He doesn't wanna call you degrading names either, or be called degrading names for that matter. He doesn't understand it, it isn't fun to him.

He would be kinda confused if you suggested it, turning the whole thing into a conversation about healthy relationship morals instead lol 😭 He just wants whats best for u

O - Oral

(giving and receiving headcanons. do they like it?)

Giving; Loris is a MUNCH. He almost always goes down on u during foreplay, some days he'll spend hours between your legs kissing and licking and sucking. Arms holding you impossibly tight, sometimes reaching up to play with your nipples, rutting against the bed out of desparation. He eats pussy not only cuz it brings you pleasure, but him too. He gets so lost in it, moaning at just your taste alone. He'll lay his head on your stomach and pass out after a while, as if he's the one who just came six times.

Receiving; He loves head, the sloppier the better. And if u can take all of him good LORD. Hes panting and groaning, his stomach flexing at the way you trace the protruding veins of his cock with your tongue. He genuiely loses it when you look up at him, your eyes watering at the odd feeling of his dick twitching in your throat.

Sometimes he doesn't last for more than five minutes, the wet warmth of your mouth just drives him up the wall.

P - Pace

(are they fast and rough, or slow and sensual? both?)

Like i said, Loris aims to please. He can go slow and passionate, it always starts slow, low grunts like a warm wind against your skin as he licks and kisses up your sternum. Panting against eachothers mouths with your foreheads touching. But then it picks up, and he leans back to watch you come undone, not closing his eyes for one second. If you ask him to go harder he wont hesitate, anything for his baby. He honestly gets a little full of himself when your pouty whines turn into broken moans and shouts of his name, babbling about how big he is and how good he feels, clenching around him so hard he might bust right then and there.

Q - Quickie

(their opinion on quickies, how often, ect.)

As previously mentioned, Loris gets so in the zone a quickie just wouldn't happen. Unless you're the one in charge that is. Quick penetrative sex wouldn't be as enjoyable if he feels hes in a hurry, and if hes giving you oral you're cumming more than once. Blow him and you can be done in minutes, but honestly, wheres the fun in that?

R - Risk

(are they came to experiment? are they willing to risk getting caught?)

Hes not big on the idea of getting caught anywhere, you've blown Loris a few times in bar toilets and stuff but that's with the door locked. If you can't lock a door its not happening.

S - Stamina

(how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Loris has good stamina for someone his age, he visibly works out i mean have you seen him? He can last rounds. After two or three of snapping you in half he might need a small break lol but after a few minutes he can go again

T - Toys

(do they own toys? are they interested?)

Depends, Loris is intruiged by vibrators. If you already have one he might pull it out and use it on your clit while fucking you, and he'll maybe let you use it on him from time to time. Hes a bit iffy about dildo's tho, he gets borderline greedy when it comes to you so he could never sit back and watch you fuck yourself with one. And also its not coming near his asshole.

U - Unfair

(how much do they like to tease? being teased?)

I said greedy and i meant it. If he can help it, Loris cant contain himself once hes got you naked and splayed out for him. Maybe he'll try teasing you a bit, but a pouty whine of his name and a tug at his hair is all it takes for Loris to give in :( now if you're teasing him? The man is whining quietly to himself, trying to contain himself and hold back on the complaints, grabbing at any flesh of yours he can reach, just watching with those pleading eyes of his and a small frown AUGH PATHETIC 🧐👉👌

V - Volume

(how loud they are, what sounds they make, ect.)

Loris can get real noisy when fucking you, the pleasure near suffocating as all his senses are stimulated. He starts off panting as you make room for him, but those pants eventually turn into grunts and guttural groans, even whining sometimes if it feels extra good for some reason, or hes really worn out/overstimulated.

W - Wild card

(a random headcanon for the character)

Literally does not care if you're on ur period, if you're both horny whats that gonna stop you? The mere fact that you're comfortable enough with it fills him with pride, that you dont feel the need to hide/shy away from intimacy just cause ur going through something so natural. He'll gladly fuck you mindless if your cramps are bothering you, just say the word. Stepping into the shower with you after to clean up, no shame lovey

hes got pj's and a heatpack prepared for you right when you come back to bed.

X - X-ray

(Lets see whats hiding below that belt..)

Long and thick, 7.5 inches and 5 diameters to be precise. Its such a good stretch, hurts for a bit but it turns into eyerolling pleasure in no time and also why he eats you out like a man starved beforehand. He has two extra prominent veins running from the base to his tan-ish tip, uncut. Well trimmed as previously stated c:

Y - Yearning

(how high is their sex drive in general?)

Out of 10 its like a solid 6, it isn't hard to get him going. Just wear something you know he likes, do something subtle you know turns him on and boom, horny. And hes overall a very passionate person with his partner, he loves being intimate in any shape or form. If ur someone with a high sex drive hes lowkey willing to fuck you everyday

Z - Zzz

(how quickly do they fall asleep after?)

Is definetly tired post-sex, but he isn't one to just fall asleep straight away. Hes at your service with everything you need first and foremost. The second you're good tho he is crawling into bed, engulfing you with his size, like a big, snoring weighted blanket.. Shamelessly sniffing your hair with a hand running up and down your back soothingly. And yes, he snores <3

had more to say than i thought lmaoo eat up LorisNation C:

[holylulusworld]

How like a wolf (2)

Summary: The new alpha in town caught your attention.

Pairing: Alpha!Anders Lassen x Omega!Reader

Warnings: a/b/o, chasing kink (implied), scenting, love-struck reader, chasing, smut, unprotected sex, knotting, claiming

How like a wolf (1)

Howl like a wolf masterlist

Unable to speak, think, or fight the alpha, you just stare at him. So far, you have never had the chance to see him up close.

Not only is his scent intoxicating, but his appearance is too.

He’s shirtless, dressed in only a pair of pants. His feet are bare too. Anders loves to feel the ground under his naked feet, and the wind touch his skin.

Alphas always do.

Overall, this alpha is the embodiment of raw, unadulterated masculinity. Pure alpha. Strong and wild.

You look at him, drinking his appearance in. His body is all broad shoulders, rippling abs, and thick, muscular arms. He’s even bigger when he stands right in front of you. – Huge even.

A scruffy beard and those piercing eyes just add to his raw and wild appearance.

Your eyes drop to his large hands, and you swallow thickly. You’re sure; he could easily snap your neck with these paws. – Or pin you to the ground.

“Got nothing to say, little one?” He asks, amusement written all over his face. His eyes sparkle as you open your mouth, but you clamp your lips shut seconds later. “Answer me, omega.”

Shaking your head,, you drop your eyes, only to stare at the impressive bulge fighting his pants. Anders had lots of fun chasing you around; you’re sure about it.

“Omega, answer me.”

“I didn’t…I wouldn’t—” You shake your head as you get his wallet out of your pocket, hands shaking as you try to hand it over. “I—”

“Hmm…” He lifts your chin with his index finger, holding your gaze. “You wanted to get my attention,” Anders states. “Now you got it.”

Your throat is dry, and you cannot answer the alpha. Your eyes drop back to his cock beneath the fabric. You lick your lips, unable to think of anything else than letting the alpha have his way with you.

“You’re not ready for an alpha like me.” His features soften when you tighten your hold on his wallet. “Let’s get you back home.”

“No—” You snarl before, to his surprise and yours, you go for another sprint. Laughing as he curses under his breath.

“Little one, don’t tempt me. A hunter always claims his prey. If you don’t stop—” He calls after you, but you are not going to stop.

Anders slowly cracks his neck. He laughs because now you are going to become his next prey, and he’ll take you home as his sweetest trophy.

The alpha dips his head, inhaling deeply to follow your scent. He hums before going for a sprint himself.

His large feet carry him faster through the woods than you could ever run. Anders easily catches up with you.

You try to run, but the alpha’s too fast, too strong. Anders growls before he tackles you to the ground, his large body burying yours under him. He settles between your thighs, growling as he hunts his prey down.

“Not so fast,” he snarls as you wiggle in his grip. He smirks before pinning your wrists above your head. “I hunted a slow little mouse.”

Anders is teasing you, but his hips grind into yours. You can feel his erection press against you, leaving nothing to your imagination.

“You're mine now, sweet prey," he snarls, his beard scratching the soft skin on your neck as he nuzzles you.

“Please,” you beg while desperately bucking your hips. You’re on the verge of tears when he lifts his head to look down at you. Anders crashes his lips onto yours, his mouth devouring you.

“Silence, omega,” he warns, and you lie still. Anders used his alpha voice, and your omega eagerly submitted to him. “I want to enjoy my prey.”

He holds your hands down with one large hand, his free hand roaming your body. His rough fingertips trace the soft skin on your inner thigh, causing goosebumps to erupt all over your skin.

Anders rips your soaked panties off your body, exposing your wet cunt to him. He smirks as you just stare up at him, mesmerized by the hunger in his eyes.

“You’re mine to claim.” Anders runs one long finger through your folds, gathering your arousal. He lifts his finger to his nose, inhaling deeply. “I wanted to take my time, but you’re a naughty one and need to be tamed.”

“Please,” you beg again. “I’m yours..." He chuckles darkly. Anders already knew you were going to be his most prized trophy.

“I won’t be gentle because you stole my wallet,” he breathes against your lips. Anders steals a kiss, tongue delving into your mouth. “Have me then.”

Before you can protest, he manhandles you on your belly, making you yelp. True to his word, Anders is not gentle. He sheaths his throbbing cock inside of you, groaning as you clench around him.

He stretches you wide, pressing deeper into you than anyone before. “Good omega,” he pants into your neck. “Such a good, slutty omega letting me stretch her hole so good.”

Anders is not wrong. You barely know the alpha, but let him push his cock into you. Bare. Without any protection. Now you lie underneath the giant as he sets a brutal pace, pounding you relentlessly.

“That’s it, going to make me cum inside of you, fill you up, get you round,” Anders snarls, his hips snapping into your ass. “You’re going to take me every day from now on.”

You whimper with every deep thrust. You’re lost in the feel of him moving on top of you, inside of you, your mind consumed by the need to be claimed, to be used.

“Feels so good,” he groans. “Fucking this cunt is heaven.” Anders sinks his teeth into your neck, leaving a permanent mark.

Your walls immediately clench around him, your orgasm washing over you, drowning you in a wave of pleasure.

The alpha growls like an animal, his hips stilling as he spills his hot and endless cum into you. You won’t be able to part anytime soon. His knot locks you together and chains you to the alpha as he wraps his arms around you.

“You're mine now,” he snarls. “No one can have you. NO ONE!”

You sigh and nod, waiting for his next move. Anders easily rolls onto his back, taking you with him. His arms hold you safe as you slowly drift into sleep.

[hatsbuckets]

TF 141 Body Swap AU HC Expanded

As requested, I've expanded to the cast of characters, rearranging some from the original. :) I was going to add Pharah and Alex... but I didn't and tbh, those two would not get rounded up into this chaos lmao. this was too hard to figure out but... ii happily did it....

Based off this post! and this ask!

WC: 1200 Warnings: none

Ghost:

Ghost woke up in Laswell’s body and immediately felt wrong. Everything was too light, too open, too exposed. Her smaller frame felt like it couldn’t hold a shadow, let alone a presence. His usual solid, grounded movements felt jittery.

The face in the mirror was a shock. Sharp lines, piercing eyes—nothing to hide behind. No mask. No armor. Just skin and hair and a fragility he wasn’t used to seeing, let alone feeling. Even standing still felt vulnerable.

It was a far cry from the towering wall he’d been.

He did appreciate that there was no urge to smoke or eat the awful things he puts in his own body. And he respected the hell out of her. And he'd do his best to keep her body healthy, clean, and unbruised. and if it came time to shower, you bet your ass his eyes stay up, as if it were even a question.

Laswell:

Laswell in Nik’s body felt like she’d been dropped into a machine. Everything about him was large—his shoulders stretched further than she expected, and even walking felt like trying to navigate heavy equipment. His hands were rough, oversized things that didn’t feel like they were meant for desk work. Which they weren't.

The height was disorienting. She kept brushing doorframes and misjudging distances, her new longer stride throwing off her usually measured pace. His accent coming with her words we weird, but she found it charming, something oddly familiar.

He was strong. And when the boys started giving her more and more things to lob around and carry, she entertained it. Nik simply asked that she not break him too badly.

Nik:

Nik in Roach’s body felt like a shadow of himself. Everything was too small—his arms, his legs, his hands. He moved without the weight he was used to, every step feeling almost… unfinished.

The silence was the hardest part. Roach didn't speak, now he understood why. He was very able, and could manage short sentences, but otherwise his-Roach's-body refused. It wasn't meant for someone who had a snarky reply to everything.

He eventually took advantage of Roach's agility. He ended up scaring the hell out of Soap and Kyle, to everyone else's delight. Not so bad, then.

Roach:

Roach woke up in Price’s body and felt like he’d been rooted to the ground. Nope. Nope. Nope. Big ol' nope. Everything was heavy—his arms, his legs, even his steps carried more weight than he was used to. His shoulders felt impossibly broad, and his hands, rough and massive, were clumsy at first.

The mustache was a constant presence, an itch he couldn’t ignore. Every time he moved his mouth, he felt it bristling against his lip, teasing him. The hat sat snugly on his head, though, and he found himself very happy wearing it.

He found that words were easier, but still didn't speak. Watching the chaos unfold around him, content with sitting back to rest his now aching legs... Surely Price wasn't that old...

Price:

Price in Rudy’s body felt… small. Not weak, but light in a way that made every motion feel less grounded. His hands were steady, sure, but they lacked the roughness and weight he was used to. His legs carried him with a quickness that didn’t suit his usual deliberate pace, and his smaller frame made him feel like he’d been cut down to size.

His reflection was jarring—clean-cut, almost unassuming. There was nothing wrong with it, but it wasn’t him. Rudy's voice was also lighter than Price's, carried in a way that Price's own didn't.

He did force a hat on, happy enough to enjoy the smaller frame that was less battered than his own.

Rudy:

Rudy in Alejandro’s body felt like he was wearing a suit of armor. A warm, gruff suit of armor. Everything about it was broad, loud, commanding. His shoulders filled the room, and his steps carried the kind of weight that turned heads.

It was disorienting. His movements were heavier, and his usually precise, careful gestures felt exaggerated in the bulk of the frame. His reflection was overwhelming—sharp jawline, intense eyes that trapped him in the mirror, a figure that seemed built to lead. It was too much, all at once.

Alejandro:

Alejandro in Gaz’s body felt like someone had stripped away all his power. His arms were too light, his legs too quick, and the smaller frame lacked the presence his own body offered. Every step felt like it carried less weight, and it gnawed at him.

The face in the mirror didn’t help. Gaz’s sharp features and lean build stared back at him, unassuming and calm. It wasn’t a bad face—it just wasn’t his.

Gaz was athletic though, and that athleticism was refreshing. He couldn't help but enjoy that bit, at least a bit. But Spanish coming out of Gaz's body? With Gaz's voice? Oh nonono.

Gaz:

Gaz woke up in Graves’ body, and he hated it immediately. Everything felt too heavy, too stiff. His arms were bulky in a way that made every motion feel slower, less precise. His legs carried him like a tank, deliberate and cumbersome, as if the body itself was built for brute force instead of agility.

The face in the mirror didn’t help. Graves’ sharp, clean-cut features stared back at him, smug even when he wasn’t trying. His shoulders felt wrong, too wide, too squared off, and the Southern twang that came out when he spoke made it all weirder, but he learned to enjoy it quickly. "Anybody fancy a cuppa?" drawn in Grave's southern accent was hilarious.

Egged on by Soap and Ghost, slowly it became comedic gold. He gleefully tormented Graves body by indulging in black pudding, marmite toast, and other “proper” British foods, knowing Graves will hate it. If his taste buds aren't altered forever, Gaz will consider it a mission failure.

Graves:

Graves in Soap’s body felt like someone had crammed him into a sports car—surprisingly way too agile for his liking. Everything moved too quickly. His legs carried him farther than expected, constantly jittering.

The reflection in the mirror was a shock. The mohawk, the sharp lines of Soap’s face, the complete lack of bulk—none of it looked or felt like him. He ran a hand over the hair, feeling its stiff edges, and scowled.

He tried to stand still, to ground himself Soap's frame, but even then, it felt like his own body was mocking him with its lightness. Mocking him with the mohawk. Mocking him with some innocent, childlike look he wasn't used to.

Soap: (no change)

Soap ended up in Ghost’s body, of course. If anyone was going to get stuck in the most inconvenient switch possible, it was him. He realized this about ten seconds after waking up and nearly knocking himself out on the doorframe. Everything was big. His arms? Massive. His legs? Long enough that stairs suddenly felt like a death trap. And don’t even get him started on the shoulders—those things could barely fit through the locker room doorway without scraping the sides.

He wasn’t complaining about the other large part of Simon’s body though.

The mask was its own kind of torture. It clung to his face, hot and suffocating, like it had fused with his skin. He tugged at it a few times before giving up. “How does he even breathe in this thing?” he muttered, his new, gravelly voice startling him every time. Still, he’d respect it and keep it on.

When he caught his reflection in the mirror, he almost jumped out of his skin. Ghost’s mask stared back at him, hollow eyes and that skeletal grin. It wasn’t just eerie—it was downright unsettling. Soap quickly turned away, feeling every inch of the sore, strong body he inhabited.

[twola]

Wanted to say I looovvve how you write Arthur! Since you’re taking requests I was wondering if you’d do something like the nsfw alphabet for him or just general headcanons for him? Thank you:)

I’ve always wanted to do one of these. Thanks for the nudge! For reference, our boah is high-honor for this.

Drop a line and tell me which one is your favorite!

NSFW Alphabet : Arthur Morgan

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He’s usually a panting, groaning mess after orgasm, but as soon as he catches his breath, he’s peppering your face with kisses, heaping praise upon you.

“Such a good girl.” He’ll rumble in those low timbres, his deep voice sex-hoarse as he gently wipes his spend from your skin.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Arthur loves the gentle slope - the long curve of your neck. He loves kissing it, suckling at it, leaving marks and bruises as he not so secretly enjoys you having physical signs that you’re his.

He’s not one to think much of himself, he’s known to degrade himself, but if you were insistent on an answer,  he would say his arms. Broad and strong from years of hard living - heaving hunted animals over his shoulder, roping horses, beating men. His arms draw you into the line of his body, wrapping around your waist and keeping you secure and safe.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He’s not an idiot. Not at this point in his life. Having had gotten a girl pregnant and living in proximity to John’s stupidity with Abigail, he knows that the temporary high of spending into a woman wasn’t worth the risk of conceiving a child.

Doesn’t mean he doesn’t wish, want, so much, to spend within your warmth, not to pull himself from you jerkily.

If he were another man, in another life, not running in an outlaw gang - he would love to stay inside, to create life within you - to watch you grow and birth his child. If only. If only.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Big, bad gunslinger - outlaw - criminal, god, he would never hear the end of it if others knew how he whimpers as you nudge that spot beneath his testicles, your fingers pressing against that skin, and it feels so good he could cry. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

While in his later adult years, he has had fewer partners, in his youth, Arthur was a wild stallion. Rolling into a saloon with a sly smile and a bag full of gold coins from a robbery, working women flocked to him, and he certainly enjoyed their company.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Arthur certainly enjoys any way he can have you - and he certainly has enjoyed an array of positions - holding you up against a brick wall in a back alley in Saint Denis, bending you over the table in an empty cabin, watching you gyrate above him- riding him as he fucks up into you.

But deep down, this grisled outlaw is a romantic at heart, though he will never admit it.

He loves the most when you’re underneath him, when he can see your pretty face when you come, when he can spread himself out over you, when you cross your ankles over his hips to draw you in.

In this cruel, hard world, he loves you safe and secure beneath him, where he can shield you from all of its ugliness, if only for a few moments.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Arthur’s sense of humor is notoriously dry, and frankly, it's not brought to the bed, or whatever surface he’s having you on.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Well, it is 1899. And he’s a man that lives out in the wilds. Baths are hard to come by.

But you do enjoy trailing your fingers along the trail of dark hair that begins at his navel and spreads across his pelvis - straight to the chestnut curls at the base of his cock.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Arthur worships you as the two of you fall into bed with one another. God, he told you he loved you before he slept with you - of course the moment is thick with emotion.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Sure, if a job takes him away from you for several days, he’ll get lonely. Arthur will pull the flaps on his small tent and lay himself on his bedroll, unbuttoning his union suit and taking his length in hand, closing his eyes and picturing you there: the way you whine into his ear. The way you clutch at his shoulders, the way you roll your hips to take him deeper. The way you grit out his name as you’re reaching the edge, the way your cunt pulses around him-

He spills over his hand, moaning as he comes down from his high. As he catches his breath and wipes off his hand before tucking himself away, he knows, he knows, that he will have to have the real thing as soon as he returns to you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

For someone with a mind-numbingly high bounty on his head, he should not like getting tied up so much.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Not that he has many options most of the time, his cot within his tent being the normal spot, but he does love to have you in a big bed, naked and squirming on fresh sheets. He takes you to hotels when he can, enjoying the ability to press you down into a soft mattress.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

There’s nothing that gets his blood pumping like successfully pulling off a heist. Riding back into camp loaded down with riches, swinging down off his horse, after depositing the take, he will seek you out, taking you hand in his and kissing it gently before walking you back to his tent and laying you down on his cot.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He may be a killer, a criminal, a bad person. But he does have a code. He has never and will never force himself on a woman. He would never force you to do anything for him if you said no, even though it would be more than easy enough for him to overpower you.

Fortunately for him, you don’t like saying no.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Christ, you wonder as you throw your head back in the pillow, was there anything this man couldn’t do well? He’s between your thighs suckling at your clit, tongue lapping at your entrance, pressing inside you as his warm breath ghosts over your core. Arthur loves diving between your legs, even drawing up your skirts out in the wild and tasting you. And god, is he good at it.

While he likes to give, give, give, he cannot help but groan as you sink to your knees in front of him, babbling near incoherently as you suck his cock until he spills hot and fast down your throat.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Depends on the setting. If he’s forced to go quickly, it is a brutal, punishing rhythm. But oh, if he’s got you in bed with nothing but time, he savors each slow, long stroke, and the whimpers that drip from your mouth like ambrosia.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Not his favorite. He’d rather take his time to painstakingly take you apart - to feel every inch of you against him, to see and taste and love you. To give you the attention he believes fully you deserve.

But sometimes, the man just needs to be inside you, sheathing his cock in your warm, wet cunt. With your clothes still on and undergarments shoved to the side, Arthur groans as he sinks inside you, wanting never to leave. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He’s willing to try just about anything - unless it has the ability to hurt you. You hear talk in the saloons from working girls of acrobatic positions that you tell him about while blushing. He’ll try, as long as its not something that verges on dangerous.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

“I ain’t a teenager any more.” He’ll grumble, but he always, always, draws you to come multiple times before he actually does.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Again, it's 1899. Besides, he thoroughly enjoys bringing you over that edge with his fingers, his tongue, or his cock.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

You wouldn’t say he likes to tease you, but you find it completely unfair when he refuses to let you touch him, drawing orgasm after orgasm from you before he is ready to come himself.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Growing up in an outlaw camp, in close proximity to everyone, Arthur knows how to be quiet. But the second he gets you away, whether out in the wilds or a hotel room, he grunts and moans into your ear, his gravelly voice fading into primal noises the closer he gets.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He doesn’t know why he allowed it to happen - he should have been the one teaching you to shoot. Not Javier.  

Or maybe it’s a good idea. He’s not sure how much learning would get done. Not after he’s seen you aim a repeater, tensing against the recoil. 

He’d be bending you over the fence that Javier has lined up empty bottles on, pressing inside of you, his little gunslinger.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

As much as he’d deny it, Arthur is not diminished at all when stripped of his clothing. While he’s a bit self-conscious about his stippled and scarred skin, you fully enjoy tracing his life’s story with your fingers or your lips.

Arthur is not a small man. He’s tall and broad shouldered, muscular and solid. The first time you fish his cock from his union suit, a flash of panic shoots through you - how the hell were you supposed to take all of this?

You shouldn’t have worried, considering how much Arthur would work you open with his fingers and tongue before sinking into you - the stretch of him entering you never hurts.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Now, sometimes unfortunately, much like coffee, Arthur awakens and needs to have you to seemingly function. Sleepy, gentle sex as the sun rises lets him get out of bed on the right foot.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Even after bringing both of you to orgasm, panting, breathless, he won’t fall asleep right away. He’ll always have enough energy, at the very least, to clean your skin of his spend and draw you into his embrace, winding your legs around each others’, and holding you close until you both fall asleep, completely satiated.

[magical-reid]

Unknown Past (part 3)

Part 1 / Part 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Barnes!Reader (No use of Y/N, reader is referred as Mrs./Dr. Barnes)

Setting: Modern MCU timeline, Avengers Tower.

Perspective: Third Person Limited (Reader’s perspective).

Word Count: 1.5 K

This is a multi-part story inspired by my fic "Remembering James".

The confrontation on the balcony left you shaken.

You’d gone to bed that night unable to stop replaying the sharp edge in Bucky’s voice, the rawness of his confession: “I can’t. I shouldn’t have even—” What had he meant? What was he so afraid to tell you?

But it wasn’t just the words that haunted you—it was the way his gaze lingered on you, especially when your dog tags caught the light. You could still feel the weight of his stare, the tension in his shoulders as though he were holding himself together by sheer force of will.

And the dog tags themselves… they were a mystery that suddenly felt too important to ignore.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The Weight of the Tags

The dog tags had always been with you.

When you woke up after the bombing, they’d been clutched so tightly in your hand that the edges left imprints on your skin. At first, they meant nothing—a nameless object tied to a life you couldn’t remember. But over the years, they became a constant, a part of you as essential as your breath.

The name engraved on them—Barnes, James B.—had been little more than a puzzle piece for years. You’d convinced yourself they belonged to someone you’d cared for in another life. Maybe a friend. Maybe… something more.

But when you met Bucky, the name had taken on new weight. And now, as memories of another life started to bubble to the surface, the tags felt heavier than ever.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

A Medbay Confrontation

It started late one evening. The medbay was quiet, the soft hum of equipment lulling you into a rhythm as you organized supplies. You didn’t hear him approach, but the familiar sensation of his presence made your chest tighten before you even looked up.

“You always wear those?”

You turned, startled to find Bucky standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable. He nodded toward the faint outline of the dog tags beneath your scrub top.

“Always,” you said, your fingers brushing the chain.

His jaw tightened, his eyes darkening as he stepped into the room. “They mean something.”

It wasn’t a question, but you nodded anyway. “They do.”

“To you,” he pressed, his voice quieter now, “or to him?”

The question made you freeze. “What are you talking about?”

Bucky hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line. Then, slowly, he crossed the room and stopped in front of you.

“May I?” he asked softly, gesturing toward the tags.

You hesitated, but something in his voice—something raw and vulnerable—made you nod.

Carefully, he reached out and lifted the tags from where they rested against your chest, his metal fingers brushing against your skin. His other hand turned the tags over, his thumb tracing the name engraved on the worn surface.

When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. “I gave you these.”

Your breath caught. “You… did?”

His hand trembled as he lowered the tags, his gaze finally meeting yours. “Back then. Before everything.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

A Memory Unearthed

The words triggered something inside you.

The medbay faded away, replaced by the dim glow of a field hospital. You were sitting on a wooden crate, exhaustion tugging at your shoulders as you worked on stitching up a torn uniform. The air smelled of antiseptic and rain, and the distant sound of artillery punctuated the quiet.

Bucky had approached cautiously, his broad frame filling the narrow doorway. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, and he looked almost shy—an odd expression on a man you’d come to associate with confidence and charm.

“What’s that look for, Sergeant?” you teased, setting your stitching aside.

He pulled something from his pocket—a pair of dog tags, their chain looped loosely around his fingers. The metal gleamed faintly in the low light.

“I, uh… I got these for you,” he said, his voice gruff. “Figured it might… I dunno. Keep you safe. If something ever happens, people will know—”

“Bucky,” you interrupted softly, taking the tags from him.

He looked down, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s stupid, I know. You don’t even—”

“I love them,” you said, your voice steady.

His head snapped up, surprise flickering across his face.

“I mean it,” you continued, looping the chain around your neck. The tags settled against your chest, their weight oddly comforting. “I’ll keep them with me. Always.”

His shoulders relaxed, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Good,” he murmured.

The memory shattered, leaving you breathless.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The Photograph

Bucky’s voice brought you back to the present. “Do you remember?” he asked, his gaze searching your face.

You swallowed hard, your fingers brushing the tags. “I remember you giving them to me. And the hospital. I… I remember you.”

His breath hitched, his expression breaking into something equal parts relief and anguish. “They were supposed to keep you safe,” he murmured. “But I couldn’t—” He broke off, his voice cracking.

“You couldn’t have known what would happen,” you said gently, reaching out to touch his hand.

He didn’t seem to hear you. “They told me you’d died,” he said, the words spilling out in a rush. “In ’43. The papers said the field hospital was bombed. I thought—” He shook his head, his hand gripping the edge of the table. “I thought I’d lost you. And then Hydra—”

He stopped again, his shoulders curling inward as though the words were too heavy to carry.

“Bucky,” you said softly, stepping closer. “What happened?”

His hand trembled as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, battered photograph.

He held it out to you, his fingers trembling.

You took it carefully, your breath catching as your gaze fell on the image.

It was black and white, faded with age, but the details were unmistakable: a young man in a military uniform, his arm wrapped around a laughing woman. Her face was slightly turned, but you didn’t need to see the rest to know.

It was you.

Your knees went weak, and you stumbled back a step.

“That’s not possible,” you whispered.

“It is,” Bucky said quietly. “You just don’t remember.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The Truth Comes Out

The weight of the dog tags against your chest was suffocating now, the memories swirling in your mind like a storm. The wedding band you’d woken up with. The tattoo on your wrist. The promise Bucky had made to you, all those years ago.

“You’re saying… we knew each other?”

“Knew each other?” he echoed, his voice breaking. “We were married.”

The words hit you like a freight train, stealing the breath from your lungs.

For a long moment, you couldn’t speak. But when you looked up at Bucky, at the way his hands shook and his eyes pleaded silently for you to believe him, something inside you shifted.

“What happens now?” you asked finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky’s expression softened, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. “Now,” he said quietly, “we figure it out. Together.”

Part 4

[rogueshadow1124]

REMEMBER ME

[Jason Todd x reader]

Summary: on one of his nightly patrols he comes to sit on a rooftop where he flicks through memories of himself and Y/N, his love who was gone. Or was she?

Word count: 2830

Warnings: swearing.

Gotham was a dangerous city. Everybody knew that. It was dull, rundown, and full of rambunctious bandits, rogues, lowlifes—criminals. The worst of the worst lived in Gotham, and not a night went by where there would be peace. Arkham Asylum was where most criminals were sent—the really bad ones, the ones whose evil ran so deep that they put others in danger for their own twisted fun and games.

Above the city, on the ledge of a towering building, sat a broad-built figure, cloaked in the dim glow of Gotham’s failing streetlights. His head hung low, shoulders slumped as if the weight of the world pressed down on them. In his hands, he held a red metallic faceplate, the familiar mask that had become his symbol. Candy apple-colored eyes, once sharp and intense, now appeared sore and rimmed with a ring of red that circled his waterline. A single tear slipped free, landing on the metal mask with a soft, muted thud. He swiped at it absently, his gloved hand dragging beneath his nose as a quiet sniffle broke the silence.

This was Red Hood—the infamous antihero who once ruled Crime Alley and had now begun to roam the streets of Gotham. His armor, designed to withstand the worst Gotham could throw at him, could not protect him from the storm that raged inside. Beneath the mask, the armor, the hardened persona, was Jason Todd—just a young man, broken, in pain, and utterly lost without the comfort he once had.

A comfort that had been torn away from him.

In the stillness, fragments of the past flooded his mind, scenes that he replayed more often than he'd ever admit. The memories came swiftly, cutting through the cold Gotham night like a knife.

“Jason?!” Her voice echoed through his mind first. Soft but clear, like a bell in the fog. He could still picture her walking through the small apartment, her hair tumbling over her shoulders, the way her eyes—those brilliant Y/E/C eyes—would light up whenever she saw him. The creak of the door, the soft thud of her footsteps on the floor, and then her calling out again, more playful this time. “Baby?”

He could see it so vividly—the way he had turned toward her, his lips quirking up into that half-smile she loved. “Y/N/N,” he had replied, his voice warm despite the exhaustion that clung to him.

The duffel bag she carried slipped from her shoulder, landing on the floor with an audible thud, but her attention was entirely on him. He remembered her gaze as it swept over him, lingering on his slouched posture, one arm draped lazily along the back of the couch while the other rested on his thigh, just above his knee. He’d been trying to look casual, like he hadn’t been missing her all day, but she could always see through him.

Without a word, her legs had carried her over to him. She stopped right in front of him, her bright eyes soft with affection. Jason had reached out, patting his thigh in invitation, and she had smiled, the kind of smile that made everything else fade away.

“Oh, Jaybird…” she had whispered as she climbed into his lap, her body draping across him almost horizontally. His arms had wrapped around her immediately, pulling her in as if he could keep her safe just by holding her close. He had kissed her forehead, once, twice, and then again, a smirk dancing on his lips. “I missed you.”

Her laughter had filled the room, light and melodic. “I think I missed you more, babygirl,” he had murmured, his voice low and full of that teasing affection she loved. His hand had cradled the back of her head, pressing her against his chest, and she had giggled, the sound vibrating against him. Times like that were the best, the moments when they didn’t have to hold their guard up, when they didn’t have to be vigilantes or fighters or survivors. They could just be Jason and Y/N.

He could still feel the warmth of her body against his, the way she fit so perfectly in his arms, as if the universe had designed them that way. She had been his solace, his peace in a world that was anything but.

But nothing in Gotham lasted forever, and happiness was the most fleeting thing of all.

Jason’s mind drifted back to the night they met. Y/N had been a rogue back then, laying low, doing her own thing. He’d caught wind of her while on patrol in his Red Hood gear. A newcomer stirring things up, not quite a villain but not exactly a hero either. She had intrigued him, the way she moved through Gotham’s underworld with purpose and precision. He hadn’t expected her to fight back when he finally confronted her.

But she had.

That punch had shattered more than just his mask—it had shattered his assumptions about her. One solid hit had cracked a piece of his faceplate, revealing one of his eyes beneath. For a split second, their gazes had locked—his sharp jade eyes meeting hers. The moment had stunned them both. He had felt it then, that electric pull, the raw attraction that surged through him like nothing he had ever experienced. And from that moment on, she had been in his head, under his skin.

And now, she was gone.

His chest tightened as the weight of reality settled back in. Y/N was gone. He had lost her in the cruelest way imaginable, ripped away before he had a chance to say goodbye, before he could protect her one last time.

The memories, once so vibrant, began to blur, and he was left with only the dull ache that accompanied her absence.

A faint sound behind him stirred him from his thoughts—quick, sharp footsteps slicing through the quiet. Instinctively, Jason tensed, his body reacting before his mind fully caught up. Someone was there.

Jason’s senses flared the moment the figure lunged at him, a blur of black against the dark skyline. Their impact hit like a freight train, the force of it driving the air from his lungs as they tumbled across the rooftop. His back slammed against the gritty surface, pain rippling through his ribs, but his instincts kicked in before his mind had time to process the shock. He raised his arms just in time to block a swift elbow aimed at his jaw.

The figure’s movements were sharp, surgical—no wasted motion, every strike aimed to disable or incapacitate. Jason’s muscles strained as he parried a rapid series of blows, his forearms absorbing the brunt of punches that felt like they were thrown by someone who knew his every move. He countered with a knee strike, but they twisted out of the way, fluid and fast, turning his own momentum against him. His balance faltered for a split second, enough time for his attacker to hook a leg around his and sweep him to the ground again.

“Damn it!” he growled, rolling with the fall, instinctively flipping back to his feet. His breath came in shallow bursts, his heart hammering in his chest. This wasn’t just some thug. This person—whoever they were—was fighting with the same ruthlessness, the same precision he used. Every move they made felt familiar, as if he was battling his own reflection.

Jason charged, closing the distance between them with a flurry of punches and a swift roundhouse kick, but the figure met him blow for blow, deflecting each strike with an eerie familiarity. A vicious jab to his ribs sent pain shooting through his side, but he didn’t slow down. He couldn't afford to.

They clashed again, their movements a deadly dance of speed and skill. The rooftop echoed with the sharp crack of fists and the scrape of boots against concrete. Jason grabbed his attacker's wrist, yanking them off balance, but the figure twisted with practiced ease, using his grip to pull him into a brutal headbutt. Stars exploded in his vision, and he stumbled back, shaking his head to clear the haze.

This was wrong. All of it was wrong. How could they fight like this? Like him?

He circled warily, his breath ragged, eyes scanning for any opening. The figure mirrored his movements, calm, calculated, as if anticipating his next move. And that’s when he saw it—a glint of something small and metallic, just beneath the collar of their shirt, briefly visible as they adjusted their stance.

A heart-shaped necklace, swaying slightly as they moved.

Jason’s focus sharpened, his eyes narrowing on the piece of jewelry. His next strike was deliberate, forcing the figure back just enough for him to see the necklace more clearly—a silver heart with an engraving, the letter J catching the dim light. His breath hitched, the world slowing around him as the truth slammed into him with a force more powerful than any punch.

His heart stopped.

No. It couldn’t be. But that necklace—he knew that necklace.

Time seemed to freeze as the figure stepped back, tilting their head ever so slightly, as if sensing his hesitation. Jason’s fists trembled, uncertainty flooding his veins. His mind raced back to years ago, back to a girl who wore that very necklace—a girl he thought he’d never see again.

“Y/N?” he whispered, the name escaping his lips before he could stop it.

The figure paused, their body still as stone. For a brief second, the chaos of the fight ebbed, and Jason saw it. In the way they held themselves, the way they moved—it wasn’t just the fighting style that was familiar. It was her.

“Y/N!” he called out, louder now, his voice cracking with equal parts disbelief and hope.

The figure straightened, and with a slow, deliberate motion, reached up to the edge of their mask. Jason’s breath caught in his throat as gloved fingers peeled away the black mask, revealing a face he thought had been lost to time.

Her eyes met his, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Her expression was cold, hardened by the years, but the necklace, swinging gently against her chest, told the story neither of them needed to say.

It was her. Y/N.

Jason’s world tilted on its axis, the rooftop suddenly feeling too small, the night too quiet. The woman he once knew—the woman he once loved—was standing in front of him, and now, she was a weapon pointed right at him.

He could see the hesitation in her posture now. The rigid tension in her shoulders had loosened, her fists no longer clenched for another round. Her breathing was heavy, but not from exertion—no, this was something else. Confusion, maybe. Doubt.

“Who the fuck is Y/N?” she snapped, her voice colder than he’d ever heard it, a sharp edge to her tone. Her gaze pierced through him like she was demanding answers to questions she didn’t even know how to ask. But behind that, something flickered—a hesitation, a crack in her hardened exterior. It was subtle, but Jason caught it, and it twisted the knife in his chest even deeper.

“You are,” Jason said, his voice raw, barely keeping steady. He took a cautious step toward her, his hands lowered, palms facing her as if he were trying to calm a wild animal. “Y/N, it’s me. Jason.”

Her eyes narrowed, and for a second, something sparked behind them—something familiar. But just as quickly, it vanished, replaced by a cold, distant stare. She shook her head, taking a step back as if his words were dangerous.

“I don’t know who the hell you think I am,” she muttered, her tone biting, “but I’m not her.”

The words were like a punch to his gut. Jason’s heart pounded in his chest as a mix of anger and desperation flared within him. How could she not remember? How could she forget everything they went through? He clenched his fists, trying to steady his breath, his mind racing for a way to break through to her.

“You don’t remember me?” Jason asked, his voice softer now, almost pleading. He stepped closer again, his eyes searching her face for any sign, any flicker of recognition. “You don’t remember us?”

She stared at him, her jaw clenched, her eyes flicking over him like she was trying to figure him out. For a moment, her gaze lingered on the way he stood, the subtle shift in his weight, the way he held himself. There was something there, buried deep within her, something that made her hesitate.

“No,” she finally said, but her voice wavered ever so slightly. “I don’t... I don’t know you.”

Jason’s heart broke a little more with each word, but he couldn’t stop now. He had to make her remember, had to find a way to bring her back. He took a deep breath, letting the emotions flood through him as he spoke.

“You’re Y/N.” His voice was steady now, filled with quiet determination. “We fought together. We survived together. You’re the one who kept me going when I thought everything was lost. We—” He swallowed hard, his throat tightening. “We loved each other, Y/N.”

Her eyes flickered again, this time more noticeably. She looked away for a split second, as if trying to push something away, something clawing at the edges of her mind.

Jason’s heart pounded harder. There was a crack, a small one, but it was there. He could feel it. She wasn’t fighting him anymore—not like she was before. She couldn’t hurt him.

“Why... Why can’t I...” Her voice trailed off, her hand going to her temple, fingers pressing against her head like she was trying to force herself to remember, or maybe trying not to.

Jason moved in closer, his voice soft but filled with urgency. “It’s in there, Y/N. You can feel it, can’t you? There’s a part of you that knows I’m telling the truth. You don’t want to hurt me. I can see it. I can feel it.”

She looked at him again, her lips parting slightly, confusion swirling in her expression. Her hands trembled for a brief second before she clenched them into fists, shaking her head like she was trying to shake off the weight of his words.

“I... I don’t know you!” she insisted, but her voice was weaker now, cracking under the pressure of something she couldn’t explain. “I don’t know anything!”

Jason’s chest tightened at the sound of her breaking down, and for a brief moment, he saw the girl he once knew—the girl beneath the armor and confusion. He couldn’t let her slip away. Not again.

In a bold move, he stepped even closer, closing the distance between them until he was right in front of her. His hand hovered near her cheek, hesitating for only a second before he gently placed it against her skin. She flinched but didn’t pull away. Her eyes snapped to his, wide and searching.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his thumb brushing against her cheek in a touch so familiar it almost hurt him. “You used to hate it when I’d call you that when you were mad. You’d roll your eyes and make that face like you were too good for me. But you’d laugh. You always laughed.”

Her breath hitched, her lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out. Her eyes softened for just a heartbeat, her gaze trapped in his.

“Jason...” she whispered, barely audible, her voice shaking.

He froze, his heart thudding in his chest. She said his name. He saw it, felt it—a spark. But then, just as quickly as it came, her eyes darkened again, a shadow falling over her face. She jerked away from him, stepping back as if she’d been burned.

“No,” she muttered, her voice panicked now. “No. I can’t... I can’t be her.”

Jason’s hand dropped to his side, the moment slipping away, but he didn’t give up. He couldn’t. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm, to keep reaching out to her. “You are her, Y/N. You can fight it, but you know deep down, you’re her. You just have to remember.”

She shook her head violently, turning away from him, her hands trembling as she clutched her head. “I don’t know who I am! I don’t know who you are! Leave me alone!”

But Jason wouldn’t let her run. He stepped forward, his voice firm but gentle. “I won’t. I won’t leave you. Not again. Not like this.”

For a long moment, she didn’t move, her back still to him, her breathing ragged. Jason stayed there, waiting, hoping. He knew this fight wasn’t over—not with her.

[valeriianz]

Smutty fic idea prompts - 36 is just perfect for Dreamling please?

36: A rolls sleeves up/takes shirt off, revealing body hair to B. B has no idea how to act normal around A anymore.

Hob dresses up as Sexy Santa for a staff party and Dream absolutely loses his cool <3

-----------

These days, Dream finds himself as the newest addition to Johanna Constantine’s friend group. It’s quite nice of her, if not a little presumptuous, to drag him along to nearly every social outing and local music show in order to introduce him to as many people in her network as possible. The only reason they are still friends, Dream and Jo, is the small mercy of her not putting up a fuss when his social battery has been drained and he awkwardly dips out.

The best thing to come out of these adventures, at least, is meeting Hob Gadling.

Hob and Jo go way back, or so she’d announced the first time he and Dream had met. At a bar where the lights were low but Hob’s natural charisma and warm smile had radiated through anyway. They got along immediately, exchanging intellectual conversations where Hob had surprising takes and kept Dream’s interest; kept the dialogue fresh and spontaneous. Dream didn’t even need to contribute much while sharing a space with Hob, he could simply sip on his gin something-or-other and listen as Hob went on passionate rants about revolutions or human invention over the past centuries– each time they met up he’d go down a 100 years. Or complaining about how washed up Shakespeare was (an argument Dream allowed himself to fall into and they’d talked about all night, much to Johanna’s chagrin and massive eye roll, muttering a very clear “nerds” under her breath).

Chemistry aside, Dream also couldn’t deny how… effortlessly attractive Hob was.

Deep brown eyes that seemed to sparkle with barely contained mischief, chocolate dark hair with brush strokes of greys that unfairly complimented his face, and a seemingly permanent five O’clock shadow that Dream never imagined would leave him staring and daydreaming… alas, he’d discovered quite a few new things about himself around Hob.

Like how he’d imagined on more than one occasion, how easily he’d be able to lift Dream, how those broad shoulders and chest, thick biceps that even a cable knit sweater couldn’t hide– might manhandle his own body, lifting and bending him into submission. Dream ached with it; the possibilities. Was dying to kiss Hob’s plush mouth, his gaze fell to it enough, or feel the stubble of Hob’s jaw under his own palm, under his lips, along the inside of Dream’s thighs.

Hob was everything Dream was not; roguish, masculine, and unbearably kind. It was no wonder Dream had developed a crush from their very first meeting.

And maybe Hob was interested too, if you squinted. He always offered Dream a ride home, set his hand on the small of his back, his shoulder, and never seemed to stop smiling in his presence. Dream was never very good at picking up cues though– his prior relationships had been him making the first move, striking immediately at what he wanted, courting in the most by-the-book manner, before he was ultimately either rejected or caught up in a love affair that burned out before the year was up.

He didn’t want to do that with Hob. Dream held back, kept his desires at bay… because he truly enjoyed Hob’s company. It would be devastating if Hob rejected him, or worse, fell into a relationship and then realised Dream was… too much, too fast, too methodical. Dream wasn’t sure he could handle not having Hob in his life now that he’d met him. He was determined to keep him around, even if it meant remaining friends. Dream could work with that, could suffer quietly and go home after a long night of drinking or dancing and being subjected to Hob’s ever-present smile, his unwavering gaze, the warmth his body radiated, even feet apart. Could hold onto those images and sensations and close his eyes, take himself in hand, and work himself to climax in the safe darkness of his own bedroom, clenching his teeth and imagining how it might feel if it were Hob’s hands on him instead.

All of Dream’s self restraint comes crashing down about a week before Christmas, at the staff holiday party Johanna had invited him along to.

Because Hob is sitting on a large red velvet chair at the back of the venue, surrounded by cotton snow and boxed presents, wearing absolutely nothing but a Santa hat, explicitly short red and white trousers, and black boots.

It’s a mockery of what you’d see at perhaps a mall: Santa waiting to greet children and ask what they want for Christmas while his elves putter around and keep order. This is…

Obscene, is what Dream’s brain provides before it completely resets and replaces the word with animal noises.

He’d overheard Hob and Johanna talking about this, how they had a “sexy Santa” every year (because Jo’s office was mostly comprised of women who voted on it every year, vastly sweeping the competition to the point of tradition). And to save on money this year, decided to find a Santa who would do it for free, hence Jo asking Hob to do her a solid.

Dream felt heat rush through his entire body, unable to look away as Jo, Matthew, and him walked out of the foyer and into the thick of the party. Dream heard Johanna speaking, but couldn't decipher her words, his brain wiped clean by the reveal of Hob’s body, something Dream had only imagined in the safety of his own head, and kicked himself over the exclusion of hair.

So much body hair. Thick, dark hairs covered Hob’s chest like a pelt, rolling down his abs and scattered out around his soft belly. It was enough to make Dream’s mouth water, a ringing sound began in his ears, making him dizzy as he forced one foot in front of the other.

Dream had only met Hob a couple months ago, while the weather had just turned cold and they’d both only seen one another buttoned and bundled up in high necklines and long sleeves. To see Hob nearly completely nude was a shock to Dream’s system. And holy shit, Dream wanted. He had to know how those thick hairs felt between his fingers, digging them in while he sat on Hob’s lap, grinding his hips down while his own naked chest slid along Hob’s. What sounds Hob would make while Dream petted and pulled and rubbed his cock along the swell of Hob’s furred stomach.

And then Hob spotted them coming in, his smile dazzling as he stood up and waved.

Giving Dream a fantastic view of his legs, which were just as thick and strong as Dream had fantasised, and just as hairy as his top half. As well as a view of how those pants rode up enough to make Dream question if the man was wearing underwear.

Dream stumbled to the nearest restroom, locking himself in a stall and attempting to breathe and calm his erratic heart beat.

Friend, friend. Hob is your friend. Dream chanted to himself, keeping his hand out of his pants and taking deep breaths as his blood circulation regulated itself. Don’t make it weird.

Dream didn’t know how to socialise on a good day, and how with a half naked Hob in the building– shamelessly on display and humouring drunk female staff as they boldly sat on his knee– Dream felt himself shutting down entirely, spluttering and stumbling over his speech with enough velocity that he feared he'd glitch and spark out, setting the place on fire. Or at the very least, melt into a puddle of goo, the remains of his dignity soaked into the hardwood floor.

Dream tossed back drink after drink, matching Jo’s pace if only to distract his wandering thoughts, losing his jacket somewhere in the scuffle and rolling up the sleeves of his black button down.

Johanna’s laughter snapped Dream back to the present, looking down at the red solo cup in his hand and Jo standing across from him, visibly swaying on that spot. Dream doesn’t remember what he’d said to elicit such a reaction, but felt his lips curl anyway. 

“What’s so funny?”

“You, dreamboat!” Jo’s laughter simmered down to a pleasant chuckle, if not a little devious. “I thought– nah, can’t be. But holy shit, you like Hob, don’t you?”

It took several long, embarrassing seconds to figure out what Jo just asked him. Dream felt warmth spreading up his ears.

“Of course. He’s my friend–”

“Nonono–” Jo stepped into Dream’s space, landing a heavy hand on his bony shoulder. “You like him. I can tell, because you haven’t spoken to him all night.”

Dream swallowed. The alcohol was affecting his brain, sloshing it around and rendering him speechless.

Johanna smirked. “Am I wrong?”

“You’re a menace, Constantine.” Dream said, pushing her hand off him and sliding his gaze sideways to find Hob rubbing the tops of his thighs. It’d been well over an hour since they’d arrived, Dream wondered how long Hob had been sitting there, playing a role he clearly wasn’t enjoying anymore.

Jo inclined her head.

“He likes you too.”

Dream’s head snapped back to meet Jo’s eyes, searching for that tell of humour or sarcasm, and finding none.

She leaned in conspiratorially. “He told me not to tell you. Thinks your eyes are ‘dazzling’ and your hands are pretty–” she makes a face at that one. “And that your hair looks– and I quote– ‘like raven’s feathers’.”

Dream swallows, his throat suddenly dry.

“When did he tell you this?”

Jo huffs a sigh, taking a sip from her beer, her lips making a smacking sound off the bottle’s mouth.

“The night after I introduced you two.”

Dream’s heart flips over at the revelation. 

Johanna winks and shoves at Dream’s shoulder. “Now go say hi before you break his heart.”

Taking Johanna’s advice seems like a death sentence, but Dream is just drunk enough to summon courage, finishing off his drink and setting the empty cup on a random surface, before forcing his shoulders back and finally making his way towards Hob.

The smile that breaks across Hob’s face once he spots Dream is staggering, and it strikes Dream down more so than before, informed with the knowledge that Hob might like him as much as Dream does.

Dream slips his hands into the pockets of his slacks, affecting nonchalance as he finally stands before Hob.

“Hello, Hob.”

“Hey, Dream.” Hob tugs on his ear, looking up at Dream. His entire body seems to relax, even slouching a bit in the chair. “Was surprised to see you here.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I know parties aren’t really your thing.”

Dream hums, his eyes selfishly taking in their fill. This close to Hob, he can catalogue every hair, curve and freckle in greater detail, storing the information away for later.

And with Hob looking up at him, giving the illusion of superior height, an unmistakable flicker of arousal begins low in Dream’s belly. 

“I can be persuaded, from time to time.” Dream smiles, coy. The alcohol gives him a confidence boost and relaxes him further. “I apologise for not visiting you sooner.”

Hob waves it off. “I honestly didn’t expect you to. I know this is… a lot.” He gestures to himself and laughs self-deprecatingly. “I only agreed to be Sexy Santa because I owe Jo a favour.”

“It’s a fetching look on you,” Dream says, flinging himself into the deep end. He bites his bottom lip as Hob actually looks twice up at Dream, his smile falling into something like disbelief.

“O-oh. Really?” Hob laughs, but it’s small, doubtful. Dream will have to remedy that.

Dream takes a long breath, grounding himself, licking his lips before speaking what he’d wanted to say to Hob all night.

“I believe it’s my turn to ask Santa what I want for Christmas?”

The prettiest pink flush rises up Hob’s cheeks. His lips part as his eyes rove across Dream, down and up.

Despite what Johanna said, Dream feels himself shake with nerves as he tips forward, touching the top of Hob’s thigh before slowly lowering himself onto it. His eyes never leave Hob’s as he goes, silently asking for permission and receiving a nod once he’s fully seated.

Hob’s hand instantly curls around Dream’s narrow hips, holding him steady, locking him into place both upon his lap and in his gaze; wide and dark and focused.

Dream crossed one leg over the other, settling his hands on his knees, which inadvertently causes him to sway that much closer to Hob. He can feel the heat of his body, this close. Can smell something sweet and earthy, like sandalwood and pine, mixed in with something tangy that makes Dream’s mouth water. He has to hold back the urge to close the gap between them and shove his face in Hob’s chest, into the crook of his neck, under his armpit and lose his sanity. Abandon all pretence and inhale Hob like a wild animal, scent and mark him with his teeth and tongue and–

Hob swallows. Dream watches the way his Adam’s apple bobs, fascinated.

“Are you messing with me?”

Dream cocks an eyebrow. “You think me capable of jokes?”

Hob laughs, soft, wonderful. “You are. You’re the funniest person I’ve ever met.”

His thumb is pressing into Dream’s side, caressing back and forth, sending spikes of electricity through his veins and heating him up from the inside.

“No one thinks I’m funny,” Dream says matter-of-factly. 

“Well, you make me laugh,” Hob says simply, his other hand coming across Dream’s front to lace his fingers together, forming a snare around Dream that ignites something within him. “You challenge me, keep me on my toes… keep me guessing.”

Dream’s heart beats so hard against his ribs it nearly hurts. He wonders if Hob can hear it, how he makes his blood race a mile a minute. 

“I’m being very serious,” Dream takes a breath. “But if you deny me, I’ll just say I’m drunk.”

Hob laughs again, his hold around Dream tightening and nearly causing Dream’s knee to bump into Hob’s crotch.

“Are you drunk?”

Dream is very aware that they are in the middle of a party, and although the people around them seem to be paying them little attention, it would probably be inappropriate to follow the path enticing him to resituate himself on Hob’s lap to instead straddle him. To grind his barely contained semi against Hob’s flimsy excuse for shorts, while winding his arms around his shoulders and kiss him stupid.

Dream leans forward, brushing his lips along the shell of Hob’s ear and lowers his voice.

“Not enough to not know what I want.”

Hob groans, Dream can feel the vibration in his own chest as he pulls back just enough to see how his eyes have fluttered shut, swallowing again before opening his eyes and focusing on him.

“And what do you want, Dream?”

“Whatever you’ll give me,” Dream wets his lips. His hands venture up, tentatively brushing his knuckles against Hob’s bronze skin, fascinated at how snow-white his own appears against it. His fingers uncurl as he dares himself to properly touch; pushing into the soft flesh at Hob’s sides and drinking in the unmistakable sound of a choked off whine from his friend.

“I’ll take anything, Hob.”

“Holy shit–” Hob whispers, his head lolling back, exposing his throat which Dream violently refuses to latch his mouth on to.

“Okay…” Hob clears his throat, his eyes swinging over to gauge Dream again. His pupils are blown wide, hunger clear in its depths. “Okay.”

He’s looking at Dream’s mouth as he speaks again. “Meet me out back in 10 minutes?”

Dream bites back a smile and nods, his heart soaring as he climbs off Hob.

Johanna gives him a knowing look as Dream stumbles back into the crowd to find his jacket and coat, managing a wave (great, now he owed her a favour as well) before all but running out of the building to make good on his promise to Hob.

Hob makes good on his offer as well; indeed giving Dream everything he’d wanted. All night.

[keyotos]

11:42 ⎯ alhaitham

summary ⎯ you wake up from your nap to find alhaitham in the kitchen. eating a certain... delicacy.

tags ⎯ fluff. established relationship. reader is famous. alhaitham is teasing. can b taken as canon or modern!au. a little suggestive ig.

tana's words ⎯ this man makes me so sick. also i'm reading my reason to die rn on webtoon and this is inspired by that.

your eyes slowly open as you wake up in alhaitham's bed. it's late: you can tell by how dark it is outside and how it's completely silent in the house. kaveh and alhaitham weren't bickering anymore, so that's another indication of the time.

much to your dismay, you did not wake up to find alhaitham next to you. the bed was empty and cold, signifying that he did not fall asleep next to you at all. you huff a little at that, wondering where your adorable boyfriend was when you needed him.

you realize that you're only wearing his shirt with only underwear underneath. the temperature is perfect right now: not too hot or too cold, and you wonder if it's because of your attire or if alhaitham turned the temperature down just for you.

whatever the reason may be, you feel wide awake. wide awake and ready to find your boyfriend. it had been ages (a few weeks) since you last saw him. you were in inazuma for an advertisement; seeing that most of the restrictions have been lifted, and a certain commissioner proposed an idea for you to come to inazuma to repair it's relations with other countries.

it was a fun trip, but you felt a little homesick. specifically, you really just missed your boyfriend and felt the need to come back to him immediately. there had been so many things going on before you had gone to inazuma, and that means much less time spent with your lover.

but now, you're here. he, however, is nowhere to be found.

you step out of alhaitham's room, stretching a little bit before you continue your journey to the kitchen, before you find the bastard in front of you. alhaitham is in the kitchen, helping himself out to some yogurt as he stands in the dim kitchen's light.

he doesn't seem to notice when you sneak up behind him. you wrap your arms around his waist as you lean into his back, sighing into him. you sound so happy, so blissful when you're near him. you nuzzle your face into his shoulder blade, making alhaitham tilt his head back to look at yours.

"so now you decide to wake up?" alhaitham turns around and quietly laughs, suppressing a smile of his own when he sees you pout.

your lips form a line, "i was tired, okay? isn't it your job as a boyfriend to take care of me and take naps with me? where were you during all of this?" you nag and poke at his broad chest. you really missed that.

alhaitham takes another bite out of his yogurt, "i did take care of you," he flicked your forehead, "who do you think put you in those clothes?" he coyly raised an eyebrow.

you, who was starting to get a little too flustered to speak, pressed your forehead into his chest, "i think you just wanted to see me naked."

alhaitham rolls his eyes, placing his yogurt next to him on the counter and then proceeds to lean on it, his arms propping him up. the sight wanted to make you drool, but you hold back on that urge for now.

"i see. so, now i can't care for you," alhaitham taunts you, a smile nearly appearing on his face.

you prop yourself onto the kitchen island, legs dangling freely, "well, that can only be true if you ever cared about me in the first place," you refute, a smirk appearing on your lips, "which, you didn't, since you left me in bed alone."

alhaitham shrugs, "i was bored and i wanted to finish my book," he then held up the yogurt cup, "i was also hungry."

you hmph, "left me for book and food," you scornfully shake your head. that's when you notice that something doesn't make sense here. alhaitham isn't usually a yogurt eater. there were also not many dishes in sumeru that used yogurt in their dishes either.

"hey," you start, pointing to alhaitham's yogurt cup, "since when did you start eating yogurt? i thought you didn't like soupy dishes."

alhaitham grabs the yogurt cup, looks at it for a second, and then stirs the contents around. he doesn't seem to oppose the dish, but he doesn't look quite enamoured with it either. though, that could just be his face.

"yogurt is not a soupy dish," he responds, looking at you while still stirring the yogurt. he walks closer to you, coming in between your legs now. he's close, though, you wish he was closer.

but right now, you focus on his response, "what do you mean? it's semi-liquidy. kind of thick, though it really depends on the one you get. and it's like the same thing as soup but slightly thicker and more fruity," you look at alhaitham in a confused way, as if he just asked if sunsettias and zaytun peaches were the same thing.

alhaitham merely shrugs in return, taking another spoonful of yogurt into his mouth, "it's not that bad."

now that alhaitham has moved directly in between your legs, you can make out the brand of the yogurt he was eating. he was never the type of person to eat cuisine like that, so the brand piqued your interest. maybe it was so good that it swayed alhaitham's (out of all people) mind.

it's the same brand you advertised in inazuma. the logo and design were present on the cup alhaitham held right now. you can see what flavor alhaitham chose: lavender melon. you wanted to shudder. it was by far one of the most strangest flavors out of the pack. you liked the dango milk one far more, and wondered if alhaitham had some in the fridge.

while you stare at the cup, another thing catches your gaze. alhaitham's spoon takes the remaining yogurt and slowly lifts it up to his lips. he's so close to you that you can watch the movements so intensely, so attuned to the way his mouth slightly parts as he spoons the food into his mouth. he licks the spoon clean of its contents, staring at you the entire time. alhaitham chuckles, making your eyes jump up into his.

"you must... really like that yogurt," your eyes dash away from his, now looking at the yogurt cup he's placed next to you. alhaitham only smiles.

"well," somehow, he moves closer to you, now almost brushing the tip of your nose, "only because a certain someone advertised it," he whispers to your lips. he says it in such a low tone; it's seductive; it's addicting and you swear that he drives you insane.

a wave of flusterment and frazzledness washes throughout your body. you don't know if you want to curl into a ball and hide out of bewilderment or if you want to cling onto your lovely boyfriend and never let go.

you tilt your head away from him, a whirlwind of pleasurable emotions coursing through your body, "you have to stop doing that," you say in an equally low tone as his. you feel your face heating up as well, and it seems like alhaitham may need to turn the thermostat down more, because it suddenly seems very hot in this room.

"stop doing what?" he asks cheekily and leans in closer, as if he's unaware of what he's doing. his index and thumb find their way on your jaw, angling your face back towards his. he has you in his grasp now, which compels you to only look at his face. his strong gaze holds you in place, even though his touch against your jaw is so gentle and tender.

you have to bite your lip to fight off the grin, "stop being so cute." in the end, you fail, because you end up beaming anyways.

alhaitham thinks you're one to talk. it's ironic that he's the one who should stop being so cute. how could anyone not melt to the ground when they see you? it's something alhaitham tries to fight off every day, but succumbs to it anyway. you're too endearing, too easy to adore, crave, and cherish. the sight of you brings light and warmth and security. you bring smiles and soft touches and good-night kisses before bed. you can illuminate countless lives with one smile. you shine your sun on alhaitham's life, and he could not be more grateful.

he smiles, fully smiles, and lets himself indulge in this quiet moment between the two of you. it's late, so there are no distractions (kaveh). just this once, you two have a peaceful night. alhaitham's other hand comes up and brushes some hair out of your face, caressing you gently as his fingers move throughout your head.

you don't know how leaned in first, but you're pretty certain it was alhaitham. his hands are both placed on your jaw as he pulls you in to finally put his lips on yours. he's waited hours for this; alhaitham didn't want to kiss you right away, especially when you were exhausted from all your traveling. but now, you're here. you're home, and you're right in front of him. and well, he simply couldn't help himself.

one of his hands removes themself from your jaw and moves down to your hips, slightly lifting up the shirt that covers them. your hand moves up to alhaitham's neck, pulling him even closer into your body than before. you two were chest to chest now, alhaitham still in between your legs.

alhaitham slips a hand underneath your underwear, wanting to feel the bare skin underneath. in result, you wrap one of your legs around him, trying to get him as close as possible. you deepen the kiss: he tastes like lavender melon, and though you usually hate the flavor, you move past it this one time to keep yourself attached to his lips.

alhaitham only gets a few seconds to breath as he departs his lips from yours. your eyes were drooping and you were practically lunging at him to come back to you. alhaitham removes his hands from your hips and unbuttons the first two buttons of your shirt, leaving the top of your chest revealed.

he immediately dives back into your kiss, this time his hands moved sporadically up and down your shirt (which was actually his), rubbing your torso. your hands that were once wrapped around the nape of his neck moved to his shoulders, holding on as he feverishly kissed your lips.

he kissed down your neck as he moved to remove the rest of the buttons of your shirt. once your shirt was completely unbuttoned, he chose to let it simply fall over your chest, still revealing most of what he wanted to see.

"guess you missed me a lot, huh?" you winked, running your hands through alhaitham's hair, "you watch my advertisements, buy a whole pack of yogurt in my name⎯even if it's the worse one⎯and now this?" you list off, an easy smile settling onto your face.

alhaitham only laughs softly, "yeah, i really did miss you," he gives you one of his small smiles. you feel yourself heating up again, and this time, it was not because of your previous make-out session.

you bury your face into his shoulder, "you know, it's no fun when you agree."

alhaitham lifted your face away from his shoulder, holding your head in his hands, "i thought you hated it when i disagreed with you?"

curse him and his stupid memory. "you're exhausting me. i'm feeling sleepy," you try and deflect the conversation before he could bring up any other things you said. at first, you thought having a thoughtful and observant boyfriend was a blessing. now, it may be a curse.

"after you just napped?" alhaitham gave you a skeptical look, "what, did i wear you out too much?" he then followed his previous skeptical look with a cockier one. it only made you huff in response.

you rolled your eyes, "no," maybe, "tired, remember? but if you want, we could always continue this tomorrow," you suggest with a lift in your tone. alhaitham will gladly partake in what you're suggesting.

"we'll see," he grabs the discarded yogurt cup and throws it into the trash. then, alhaitham grabs you by your thighs, hoisting you up to wrap your legs around his waist. you quickly do so, just in case you fell (as much as alhaitham threatens this, he would never let that happen to you, but you aren't aware of this fact). "unless you sleep until one in the afternoon again," alhaitham adds.

you narrow your eyes, even though alhaitham couldn't see you, "i will not."

he places you down onto the bed so delicately, as if you were going to break if he set you down too harshly. you don't know why, considering your many nights beforehand, but you still appreciate the gesture.

the room is dark compared to the kitchen's light. it's so dark that you couldn't even see your boyfriend's face. but you do recognize when the bed dips. alhaitham lays right next to you, placing his hand on the small of your back as he holds you.

your hand searches his body as you try to find his cheek. once your hand cups it, you try your best to aim a small peck on there. you miss, ending up kissing somewhere near his jawline, but alhaitham doesn't let you know that.

"goodnight," you nestle yourself into his chest and let out a relaxed sigh, "i love you. even though you choose shitty yogurt flavors."

alhaitham lets out a small laugh in response, and your chest fills a little bit at the noise, "not my fault you don't know how to eat," he kisses the top of your head, "goodnight. i love you more."

another two am fic

[berryhobii]

Namjoon as your werewolf boyfriend….

* Follows you around EVERYWHERE

* To the bedroom, to the kitchen, to check the mail

* Even to the bathroom (he’ll just wait outside for you)

* Hovers around you while you cook

* Always eager to taste anything and everything

* He’ll sometimes try dipping a spoon into something when you’re not looking

* “Hey! No!”

* Then here comes the pout and the teary eyes

* And because you are oh so very weak to him, you’d relent and let him taste

* Then he’s happy again and you fall a little more in love with him

* He’s practically a big lap dog in both his human and wolf forms

* When you’re relaxing on the couch or in bed, he’ll come and plop himself right on your lap

* When he’s in his human form, you don’t mind it as much

* But his wolf form is 10 times larger and furry

* You always insisted on getting a bigger couch but he’d just say

* “But this is our first couch together. It has sentimental value.”

* Him and his big heart

* Ugh you loved and hated it

* The ash colored wolf would stalk from somewhere, following your scent to the living room

* You’d be watching television or playing a game on your phone when suddenly your vision would be blocked by a mass of fur

* He’d be careful of his nails to not hurt you, climbing onto the too small couch for some cuddles

* “Oof. Namjoooooon. You’re heavy.”

* He’d just huff as if saying “don’t fat shame me”

* Knowing there was no moving him once he was comfortable, you just had to accept your fate

* Sighing, you’d lean your head on his back, focusing back on your phone or the television

* Eventually you’d mindlessly start petting him, running your fingers through his soft fur

* Something new you learned about his fur was that he doesn’t need to wash it since he gets a new coat everytime he shifts

* Crazy right?

* (Do y’all ever think about that type of stuff with werewolf au’s?)

* Anyway

* He’d relax under your ministrations, a deep and content rumble vibrating in his chest

* If you were feeling down in the dumps, he’d play fetch with you

* He sort of hated acting like a dog but seeing your happy face everytime you threw the ball made it all worthwhile

* One time you tried to convince him to dye his fur red and be Clifford for Halloween

* That was a big no

* “We could be little red riding hood and the big bad wolf.”

* “I’m not a stereotype, y/n.”

* “You’re literally watching birds right now.”

* “Bird watching is a very popular hobby!”

* “Yeah…..for dogs…”

* You did convince him to dress up but he decided to be little red riding hood

* That means you were the big bad wolf and the opportunity was too good to pass up

* “My my, little red. You look good enough to eat.”

* He froze up at the feeling of your claw like nails running up his broad shoulders

* “B-baby…”

* He turned to face you, already finding you on your knees before him

* Your golden colored contacts stared mischievously at him

* Hands gripped the edges of his loose fitting pants, pulling them down his legs

* He grunted when your warm palm enclosed around his growing shaft

* “We should really get to the party…ah.”

* Your tongue darted out to lick at his head, the saltiness of his precum sparking your taste buds

* “What’s the rush, little red?”

* When you were in public, he went from a sweet baby to an overprotective boyfriend

* Your scary dog privilege let you walk around without worry

* Sometimes if you wanted to go somewhere at night, he’d shift into his werewolf form and trail along side you

* Even other dogs would scamper out of his way and creepy men didn’t even look in your direction

* No one really knew werewolves existed so to regular people, he just looked like a huge dog

* A dog that was almost the size of the car but you digress

* In his human form, he was always holding your hand

* Moving you out of the way before someone could bump into you

* Staring down every person that got a little too close to you

* And those few times people have been rude to you, he’d let out a low warning growl

* You’d sometimes have to keep him in check with a gentle hand on his chest or a brief look that told him not to overdo it

* Werewolves were unbelievably strong in both forms, scarily so

* You’ve never seen Namjoon get truly feral but you watch a lot of nature documentaries

* So you could only imagine him if he was really angry

* Your boyfriend was also beefy as hell, compliments of his genes so you knew he could protect you

* But that didn’t mean you wanted him breaking someone’s bones and possibly going to jail

* Still, seeing him get all worked up did get you all hot and bothered

* MATING PRESS

* Your flexibility sucked when you started dating

* So in order to keep up with him, you started doing flexibility training at home

* Where at first your hamstrings would burn, now you could throw your feet behind your ears like nothing

* Sweat would drip down his body as he pounded into your puffy cunt

* Making sure you felt every single inch he had

* You wouldn’t be able to tear your eyes away from how your pussy stretched around his girthy cock

* Every thrust would make your tummy bulge, showing you just how deep he was

* He could definitely go multiple rounds

* Stamina 10/10

* He’s a definite Switch and a Pleasure Dom

* He loves taking control like his alpha instincts tell him

* But he also doesn’t mind letting you dote on him

* PRAISE KINK

* Call him a good boy and let him know how good he’s making you feel and he’s doing his best to make you feel even better

* He also loves when you ride his cock, saying sweet praises to him that made his toes curl

* “That cock’s s-so good, Joonie.”

* “I love that fat cock in my cunt.”

* “You’re gonna make me cum again.”

* “Such a good boy.”

* He’s definitely a whiny baby

* He’s most sensitive behind his ears

* Duh

* He’s a biter too

* Seeing the indents of his teeth all over your skin just did something to him

* He couldn’t mate you all the way so biting you was as close as he could get

* He plunges his entire cock into you when he’s about to cum

* He wants you to feel his cum deep in your stomach

* Yeah he had a bit of a breeding kink

* Could you blame him?

* Your cunt was always so wet and ready for him

* How could he not want to put a baby in you?

* Especially when you’d wrap your legs around his waist to keep him from pulling out

* “Fill me up. Wan’ all your cum.”

* He hated when his cum would leak out, quick to plug you back up with his fingers

* His protective nature wouldn’t even let you leave the bed

* Wrapping his arms around you and rubbing his scent all over your skin

* You’d indulge him for a moment but that sticky feeling would get uncomfortable for you very quickly

* He’d whine when you tried to get up, giving you those puppy dog eyes

* “Just a few more minutes.”

* “I want to clean your cum out of me.”

* It’s like a dagger through his heart

* “I’ll clean you.”

* “Your tongue doesn’t count, Namjoon.”

* After promises to make him his favorite meal, he’d release you

* But alas, your knees would give up on you

* Good thing your ever attentive boyfriend was there to carry you like the princess you were

* “You’re such a damsel in distress. You can’t even walk by yourself.”

* You’d huff and bite his collarbone in retaliation which would pull a moan from him

* “Hey, no biting. Bad girl.”

* “Woof.”

[sobbingscripter]

Hiromi Higuruma x Fem!Reader (mdni)

Tags: [adult content][fingering][i need him to put his mouth, over my mouth and nose][no knowledge of lawyering, in the slightest]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~✧⁠*°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~✧⁠*⁠。

Hiromi knows it's wrong to tamper with a case, but he can't help it.

Not when you walked into the courtroom to discuss your trial date for a wrongfully accused assault. Although, the crazy in your eyes may suggest that you may have bitchslapped the guy who's suing you, but then again, he probably deserved it.

He seemed like a douchebag.

Hiromi had seen the way you looked at him, your hands clasped in front of you as you listened to him explain, his voice low and exhausted, but that was just how it always was. Low, husky, filled with a tired lull that could make you drowsy in the best way possible.

He liked the way you complimented his nose, opting to run your fingers along the bridge of his nose, your fingertips lingering on the ball of his nose before pulling away, seemingly reminding yourself that there's a time and a place for such things.

And that's exactly what Hiromi didn't bother reminding himself about.

Seating himself in the witness stand, thick thighs spread in his dark slacks, one arm holding your knees to your chest, your back pressed against the hard planes of his torso through his tailored suit.

Thick fingers pump into your weeping cunt, the ball of his nose brushing against your temple as he inhales the scent of your hair. That sweet shampoo that had filled his nose the first time he stepped into the interrogation room where he first met you.

Dark brown eyes stare down at you, his low voice gently crooning to you.

"Shhhh, I know, I know." Hiromi coos softly, his fingers twisting and prodding at your soft, gummy walls, feeling the way you clench around him, your panties tugged off until your knees, supple thighs clenched and soft moans slipping past your lips.

"You're so tight around my fingers."Hiromi coos. "You've never been fucked like you deserve, have you, baby?"

He presses a chaste kiss to your temple, eyes staring down at you. Half-lidded and adoring.

Hiromi doesn't know if its a silly little crush, or if it's something that could mean more than one of the rare one night stands, but the thought of having your pliable, soft body split open on his fat cock, has his eyes rolling back in his head.

You merely whimper, face pressed into his shoulder as you try to focus on your breathing, desperate to keep quiet. The occasional sound of heavy footsteps on the wooden floors of the surrounding hallways that are so stupidly confusing but somehow, less stupid than how you feel right now.

Getting fingerfucked by the broad shouldered, tired eyed man who was supposed to be defending your case. Who was supposed to be discussing everything that happened.

But instead of discussing things in that monotone, exhausted timbre, Hiromi's fingers bully themselves into your sopping cunt, the squealching sound ringing through your ears and accompanied by the pounding of your heart and the sound of blood rushing in your ears.

"Oh... shit..."

Your stomach tightens, and your brows knit in a pinched expression that has Hiromi's zipper fighting for it's life, strained downright to the threads with the force and sheer magnitude of how hard his cock is, throbbing in the confines of his boxers.

"You gonna come on my fingers? That's it, sweetheart." Hiromi whispers, peppering soft, earnest kisses to the side of your face and when he feels you nod, that high pitched sound leaving your lips.

He pulls those thick fingers out of you, leaving your needy hole clenching around nothing and an almost frustrated groan leaves you.

"Are you shitting—... me?"

You glare up at Hiromi through bleary eyes, but you can't really say anything, before you're bent over the stand, pencil skirt hiked up around your waist and your panties around your ankles.

"Look at that..."

Hiromi's thumbs spread your folds, watching the way your sticky arousal strings between the soft, puffy flesh, your inner thighs damp with your fluids.

"So pretty..."

Rough palms rest on the fluffy mounds of your ass, jiggling the flesh in a lewd yet oddly gentlemanly manner.

Hiromi's dark eyes focus on you and only you, the soft flesh exposed to him from your compromising position, the way your back arches as you struggle to push back against him.

"You're so gorgeous." He breathes out, almost a whine as he parts the soft, squishy globes of your ass, dragging his tongue from your sopping cunt, all the way to that puckered ring of muscle.

You nearly shriek, muffling your sound of surprise at the foreign, yet not unwelcome sensation, before glancing over your shoulder. Hazy eyes watching the way his brows knit, as he tongues and traces over the tight, unstretched ring of muscle.

Hiromi tongues your ass earnestly, before pulling away, licking his saliva-coated lips and his chin glistens with your wetness before he groans.

And flips you onto your back, you're pressed against the mahogany surface of the witness stand-desk thingy. Shit, you don't even bother to think of what it's called because Hiromi's got the tip of his obscenely long tongue in your ass, and that perfect nose is brushing against your slippery clit.

Flicking the wet muscle against your perineum, the sensation makes your eyes roll and your thighs clench, muscles tensing at the feel of an oncoming orgasm.

That flutter in your walls, hands moving to card through his dark, soft strands, and when that wire of pleasure, that feel of finally tumbling off the edge of the peak of pleasure hits....

Hiromi pulls away, ruining yet another orgasm.

And you let out a petulant and frustrated whine.

"Are you fucking with me?" You perch yourself on your elbows, brows knitted into a scowl as Hiromi rises, his hips slotting between your thighs. And you can feel the tent in his dark slacks, pressed against you and undoubtedly, you're soaking through the expensive fabric.

"I'm starting to think you *did* assault, Mr Gojo." Hiromi's upper lip quirks in amusement. Your attitude is amusing.

Dark eyes glitter with amusement and laughter as he pictures you. It's like a chihuahua.

"About that..." You purse your lips, your ears tingling with embarassment. "You can like, still defend me, if I did it, right?"

There's absolutely no way you can tell Hiromi that your insignia ring left an imprint in that dickwad's cheek when you backhanded him.

"I'll get you off," Hiromi drags his fingers through your slippery folds, the sensation making your knees dig into his sides, "if you get me off, after your trial."

And Hiromi brings his fingers to his mouth, his tongue swirling around the digits, his dark eyes never wavering from yours.

"Sweetheart, lawyers are big on 'a tit for a tat'." Hiromi purrs. "And I'm starting to see why."

Hiromi is hell-bent on getting his tat.