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inkykeiji · 3 months

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⋆₊˚⊹♡ touya-nii + his nasty habit of sneaking into your bedroom

character: todoroki touya | dabi warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, pseudocest, noncon, a slight bit of degradation, implied size difference words: 1.2k

he’s always careful when he starts. careful when he creeps into your room in the middle of the night, sock clad feet quiet against the hardwood; careful to keep the doorhandles latch from catching on the strike plate as he closes it behind him; careful not to wake you as he slinks into your frilly little bed, knocking stuffed animals and extra pillows onto the floor, as he worms his way beneath your pink-piped comforter and slithers his hand between your silky thighs—ah, good girl, you’re not wearing those pesky sleep shorts, just like he told you not to (good little sisters only wear panties to bed; and sometimes, they don’t even wear those, he had informed you)—and then wiggles his fingers under your lacy undies.

that’s when he stops being careful.

because he loves that sharp gasp of surprise, that sheer unadulterated bolt that courses through your body—shock in the purest, prettiest form—that jolts you from your blissful slumber almost violently; skin shuddering, eyes snapping open, when he shoves two dirty fingers into your ill-prepped cunt.

it’s his favourite sound in the world, he swears it is, swears he would bottle it up and keep it close to his heart if he could, swears he would wear it around his neck like the cutest, daintiest little noose, tethering him to you.

but this is the next best thing, he supposes.

your eyes slip shut again, so tightly they crinkle the corners and furrow your brow, and a whine of his name spills from your lips; first in frustration, then again all wispy and dumb when he curls his knuckles against that plush spot buried deep inside of you—that spot he knows so well, that spot he discovered, then claimed as his own.

yeah, not so irritated now, are ya, y’little brat.

no, you’re not. you’re sighing out his name in time with the pumps of his fingers, all melty and stupid and oh-so-cute, knotted with his honorific and seeping into your lace-trimmed pillows in little threads of drool. you’re grinding your ass back against his hard cock as you pathetically hump his palm, indulging him as his hips rut into your plush flesh, pre-cum steadily leaking through his thin pyjama pants, staining plaid in dark wet patches.

“touya-nii,” you whimper, back arching a little, nipples peaked through the thin cotton of your camisole. “stop, stop.”

this is the routine almost every time, practiced and perfected through night after night of rehearsals, and you play your part flawlessly; effortless and enticing and full of emphasis, because you know he gets off on it—the no!s and wait!s and don’t!s, sometimes spit from your lips, sometimes dribbling out the corner of your mouth, only heightening the whole sordid affair.

because you’re just as fucking sick as your big brother is.

he can’t stop, don’t you know?

it’s all your fault, he’s telling you, voice caught somewhere between accusatory and mocking. if you weren’t such a slutty little tease, nii-chan wouldn’t have to do this.

but it’s all just a game; he knows you love it just as much as he does, knows you’re just as depraved as he is, because your actions don’t match your words, you bad girl, the rolling of your hips encouraging the rocking of his own, one of your free hands threading itself over his and guiding it to your breast, bony knuckles pressing into a soft palm as his fingers flex around supple flesh.

if you didn’t love it, if you didn’t want it, then why would you prance around the house in those short, short little dresses? the ones that fan out when you twirl to your music in the living room or ride up when you bend over while cooking in the kitchen, gifting anyone within the immediate vicinity (your vile siblings and their prying eyes) a coveted glimpse of the silk and lace clinging delicately to your cheeks; the ones that are an inch or two too short to be considered wholly decent, and the ones Daddy has repeatedly told you to stop wearing around your big brothers—especially the eldest.

“m’sorry, touya-nii, m’sorry, m’sorry.”

no, you’re not, but that’s okay. he isn’t, either.

at least you have each other.

your other hand snakes between your tensing thighs, cupping his own, little fingers layering larger ones as they try to speed up his motions, push his digits deeper, fuck you harder, give you more.

these trysts never last long enough, though; no matter how hard he tries to lengthen them, to savour them, you’re both too eager, too hungry for one another, cumming too quickly in the dead of night as your bodies tremble together, as names shatter on tongues in sharp whispers and limbs seize and tangle and fuse into one.

it’s always so fucking messy, your cunt clenching around your conjoined fingers, slick dribbling down his knuckles in thick dollops to pool in his hand, to settle in the lines of his palm and streak his inner wrist in pretty shimmering streams.

it’s always so fucking messy, his grunts hot and humid against the nape of your neck, forehead pressed to the crown of your head as his cock throbs, filling flannel with copious amounts of burning, sticky cum—so much it seeps through the material to soak your scrunched panties, so much it dries in a hard glaze, welding lace to your ass.

you don’t ever dare to wash it off, clean it away, eradicate the evidence, instead allowing each other’s pleasure to stain your skins, wearing it like a mark of honour, a claim of ownership, barely visible when it dries into something firm and translucent, but there nonetheless.

his fingertips continue to flutter against that swollen spot until ripples of overstimulation are shuddering through your flesh, until your little hand is wreathing around his syrupy wrist and nails are biting into his flesh and tugging, tears beginning to bead your lashes.

only then does he chuckle and pull his hand free, knuckles hooking in an attempt to scrape your walls, a heavy coat of your arousal glistening on his fingers.

“you cum so fucking much for your big brother,” he growls in your ear, lips wet against the cartilage, voice tapering off into a whine. “look at how wet you get for me.”

two of his fingers flatten against your cheek and then swipe, slow and hard and thorough, smearing a thick film of your slick across your face, from the tip of your temple to the corner of your mouth, back and forth and back and forth until it’s been rubbed into your skin.

callused fingertips push past your parted lips, weighing down on your tongue and cramming themselves into your throat, forcing you to taste yourself—to taste him, painted in you; spicy nicotine and heady salt.

“you’re fucking disgusting,” he pants out, but his pupils are gaping, watching as your gorge yourself on your big brother’s flesh, lips puckering and cheeks hollowing as your tongue curls around his knuckles and tries to siphon him further down your throat.

a whine splinters in his chest as he pulls his extremities free from your voracious grip, slathered in spit, viscous cords strung between his knuckles as he spreads them apart.

“yeah, you’re real fucking sick, y’know that?”

“you made me like this, nii-chan,” you breathe out dreamily, already drifting back into sleep’s welcoming embrace, body going lax in his arms and snuggling back against his chest.

yeah, he fucking did.

and neither of you would have it any other way.

#dabi smut #dabi x reader #dabi x you #todoroki touya smut #todoroki touya x reader #todoroki touya x you #wrote this real quick before bed last night #after my boyfriend had slathered my own slick all over my face hehehe #so thank u for inspiring this lil piece sir #inky.touya #inky.dabi #tw:noncon #tw:pseudocest

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proxima-writes · 10 months

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the right wrong number

pairing: pre/no outbreak!joel miller x soccer coach!female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 6k

summary:

When Joel receives a dirty text from an unknown number, he gives into his curiosity and messages back.

He doesn’t expect the number to belong to his daughter’s summer camp soccer coach.

dear reader:

this work is a request and a birthday gift for my sweet baby @mydailyhyperfixations , who’s been one of my biggest supporters since i started posting my work on tumblr. ily, and i hope you love the fic! special thanks to @cutesyscreenname for helping me with some lil details to finish this surprise. support and mdni banners by @saradika

content warnings:

explicit sexual content (18+ MDNI), age difference (undefined, but references are made), pre/no outbreak!joel miller, identity porn, wrong number au, sexting, dom/sub dynamics, use of ‘sir’, pet names, praise, thigh riding, semi-public sexual activity, spanking, safe word discussion, dirty talk, p in v. let me know if i’ve missed any!

Unknown Number: I had a really good time at dinner tonight!

Joel stares at his phone in confusion. It’s past midnight and he’s been sitting on the couch nursing a beer and watching Indiana Jones. He’s been in the same spot since Sarah went to bed a couple hours ago. His phone beeps again.

Unknown Number: It’s too bad we didn’t have time to visit Noir.

Joel raises his eyebrows. Noir is a bar in downtown Austin known for its calendar of speciality kink events. He’s seen it come up in his Google searches of local bars and had considered going to an event or two but never worked up the courage. His kinks remain between him and his porn search history.

Unknown Number: Wanna see what you missed out on?

[Photo 01.jpg]

Curiosity gets the better of him and he clicks on the image attachment. He nearly drops his phone when a photo of a woman fills his screen, sweet curves hugged by black lace on white sheets. He should absolutely tell her that she has the wrong number. His fingers type across the screen.

Damn, seems a shame something that gorgeous is going to waste.

Unknown Number: Who says it has to go to waste?

Joel swallows nervously. He’s already hard in his jeans, cock pressing urgently against his pants. He palms himself, trying to collect his thoughts.

Unknown Number: I’m feeling a little needy over here.

[Photo 02.jpg]

Against his better judgment, Joel opens the second photo and has to bite back a groan at the image of the woman’s hand slipped beneath the waistband of the panties, fingers hidden from sight behind lace and silk.

You want me to tell you how to play with that pretty pussy?

Joel squeezes his eyes shut as he presses send. This is a colossally stupid idea. This is a stranger, and he’s not the intended recipient of these messages.

Unknown Number: I’d really like that, sir.

Fuck it, Joel thinks. In for a penny, in for a pound.

Start by circling those fingers over your clit. Nice and slow.

And when you feel like you could cum, I want you to go even slower.

Unknown Number: It’s too slow. I want more.

Be patient, baby. And aren’t you forgetting something?

Unknown Number: Sorry. I want more, SIR.

Joel presses a hand to the bulge in his jeans, the pressure offering little relief.

Now don’t start being a brat, sweetheart. You won’t like the result.

Unknown Number: Oh yeah? What would you even do?

I’d love nothing more than to bend you over the edge of the bed, ass ready to be spanked red.

Unknown Number: Fuck, that would feel so good. Bet your hands would feel amazing marking me up.

You still being a good girl and following my instructions?

Unknown Number: I think I forgot. Could you remind me, sir?

You’ll have to ask more nicely than that.

Unknown Number: Could you *please* remind me, sir?

Joel runs a hand over his beard before reaching for the forgotten beer on the coffee table and taking a swig.

You’re supposed to be teasing yourself for me. Nice and slow.

I want you to pinch your nipples until they’re nice and tight, too.

Unknown Number: Like this?

[Photo 03.jpg]

Joel bites his lip as he opens the third photo. You’ve got your bra pulled down to expose your nipples, hard and perfect and begging for his mouth. He unbuttons his jeans, tossing his phone on the couch only long enough to shimmy the denim down his thighs and free his leaking cock.

Just like that, baby. Such a good girl for me.

Unknown Number: Are you touching yourself, too, sir?

Of course I am, baby.

Unknown Number: Can I see, sir? Please?

Joel’s hand falters as alarm bells blare in his head. He should absolutely not open his camera. And he should definitely not find the perfect angle that doesn’t show his face. And he certainly should not grip his cock around the base, holding it steady as the shutter sounds and a new photo is saved to his camera roll.

No. He shouldn’t do any of that.

[Photo 04.jpg]

Unknown Number: God, your cock would feel so good in me right now.

Joel’s right hand moves at a steady pace up and down his length, left hand fumbling to type a reply.

Why don’t you fuck your little fingers and pretend it’s me, then?

Unknown Number: Won’t fill me up nearly as much, sir.

Be a good girl and follow my directions, baby.

Unknown Number: [Photo 05.jpg]

He opens the photo and his cock pulses in his fist. She has her underwear shoved to the side, two fingers plunged into her glistening pussy. His mind reels with an image of this faceless woman writhing on the bed reading his words, thinking about his cock stretching her open and he has to bite his lip to just keep the responding moan trapped in his throat.

Unknown Number: Can I cum, sir? Please?

Since you asked so nicely, yes. Make yourself cum for me, sweetheart.

Joel sets the phone aside on the couch, closing his eyes as he pumps himself with a tight fist while he imagines your desperate pussy clenching around your fingers. He cups his palm over the head of his cock as his release hits him like a freight train, hips flexing from the couch to chase the lingering sensations of ecstasy from his hand.

He stands, pulling his pants up without bothering to fasten them so that he can wash his hands in the kitchen sink. Guilt settles on his shoulders as he dries his hands with the dish towel while he stares at the couch where his phone is lit up with another message from a stranger he had no business seeing that much of.

He approaches the couch and sits with a sigh, running a hand over his face before picking his phone up to read her message:

Unknown Number: Easily my best orgasm. Hope it was for you, too. Don’t be a stranger xx

Feeling like an asshole, Joel deletes the thread and the wrong number for good, but it’s fine.

It’s not like he’ll ever meet her, anyways.

——————

You’re on the phone with your best friend, telling her about how the last guy you went out with about a week ago, a guy named Jeremy you met on a dating app, still hasn’t reached out to you again despite what you’d thought was a successful date.

“So he just never reached out to you after you sexted him all night?” She asks. “Men are so weird.”

You cradle the phone between your ear and shoulder as you zip up your duffel bag of equipment. It’s the beginning of June and the summer soccer intensive camp for junior league starts today. You’ve got a full registration for the girl’s 13-15 division and you’re excited to get back on the field and help these girls do their best in a sport you love.

“Nope. Maybe I came on too strong? I don’t know,” you reply.

“You did come strongly. At least, that’s what you told me,” she says with a laugh. “Well, that’s too bad. Maybe you’ll meet a hot dad coaching this year.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m not fucking someone’s dad.”

“Never say never, babe.”

“I gotta go find my damn cleats. I’ll talk to you later,” you tell her.

“Fine, I expect a full run down of every DILF you meet today.”

You hang up as she laughs, tossing your phone into your personal bag that you keep separate from the gear before you go in search of your cleats from your room.

——————

Joel and an over-excited Sarah sit in the parking lot of the soccer field that her summer camp is being conducted at, ridiculously early at Sarah’s insistence because she didn’t want to be late on the first day. They’re the only car in the parking lot so far, having apparently beat even the coach, and Joel sips at his travel mug of coffee in the hopes that it grants him energy.

Another car pulls up and parks beside his truck, loud music blaring from the open window. Sarah waves excitedly.

“That’s the coach,” she explains.

Joel watches you get out of your car and pop the trunk. You start pulling out bags of soccer balls and stacks of orange cones, bags of agility equipment and strength training aids. He opens the door to his truck and jogs over.

“Hey, you need any help with that?” He asks. You look over at him in surprise, eyes wide.

“Oh, uh, sure. That would be great,” you reply.

“I’m Joel Miller, and this is my daughter, Sarah,” he says, gesturing to the young girl. She gives a little wave and he extends a hand out to you.

You give him your name, shaking his outstretched hand. “Y’all are a little early,” you reply, hefting a bag over your shoulder.

“My dad’s always late but I didn’t want to be late for camp,” Sarah says. Joel narrows his eyes at her.

“Not a problem. You can help me set up the cones,” you tell her. His daughter gives you a bright smile and he almost forgives her for throwing him under the bus. “I’ll grab these two bags, you grab the cones, and Mr. Miller, could you grab the balls, please?”

Joel fights back his childish laughter at your request, grabbing the bags as instructed. “Just Joel, please.”

You smile at him and he feels a bit blindsided by how it makes his heart beat faster, his palms a little sweatier. You’re very pretty, fresh faced and ready for a day of work, wearing one of those quick dry workout shirts that clings to your curves and a pair of shorts that show off your strong legs. Some traitorous part of his brain wonders what it would feel like to have those legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer.

“Alright then, Just Joel. Let’s go.”

——————

“Thank you for the help,” you tell Sarah’s dad. You’re trying very hard not to let your eyes linger on the bulge of his biceps or the broad expanse of his back as he sets down the two bags of soccer balls and places his hands on his hips.

He’s a handsome man, older than you by at least a few years, with tan skin and dark hair and kind brown eyes that crinkle at the corners when he smiles at something Sarah says. His daughter has the same brown eyes and olive skin, her dark curly hair pulled into a bun.

Of course the first parent you meet this summer is a hot dad. It’s like you’ve spoken it into the universe.

“Not a problem. Glad I can be useful if I’m goin’ to be here this early,” he replies with a narrowed glance at Sarah, who is suddenly very interested in the stack of cones she carried to the field. “Anythin’ else you need me for?”

“Let me get you the game schedule and contact sheet.” You open your bag and pull out your folder of materials you like to give to parents, assembling a stack of papers for him. “On top you’ve got the emergency contacts sheet. Fill that out with your contact information and an alternate’s information, too, just in case I can’t reach you or someone else needs to pick Sarah up. You’ll want to have Sarah bring that back tomorrow.”

You flip the page. “The second page is just a welcome letter. It’s got my phone number on it, feel free to text or call if you have any questions or if Sarah can’t make it one day.”

“And then last we’ve got the camp schedule. The girls will have two tournament days where they’ll play against some nearby summer camp leagues. You can sign up to bring a snack by filling out the piece at the bottom. Do you have any questions?”

“I don’t suppose I do. You’re very organized,” he says, taking the packet from you. You can feel your cheeks heating.

“Thanks,” you murmur. “Well, I gotta finish setting up.”

“I won’t get in your way.” He calls out to Sarah and the young girl runs up to give him a hug goodbye. “Be good. I’ll see you later.”

——————

Joel Miller is the first at the field in the mornings helping you set up for the day and last parent to leave at pick-up, after he’s loaded your trunk up with the equipment, wiping the sweat from his brow as he grins at you.

His daughter is a great player, quick on her feet and smart as a whip, picking up the footwork skills you teach like they’re second nature. You’re telling Joel as much Friday afternoon in the second week of camp when Sarah bounds up and asks if you want to get ice cream with them.

“That’s a great idea, baby girl,” Joel says before you can decline. You blink at him and he gives you that lopsided grin that’s been giving you butterflies since the first day on the field. “But if you order mint chocolate chip, you’re buyin’ it yourself.”

“Good news, I’m a plain ol’ chocolate kinda gal,” you tell him with a laugh.

“Me, too!” Sarah says.

“I’ll follow you guys,” you suggest. Joel gives you a quick nod, herding Sarah into his truck and taking off toward town.

You follow them to a little ice cream parlor, the kind that sells old fashioned sundaes and thick milkshakes with red and white striped straws. You park beside them, watching as Sarah hops from the truck with a wide grin on her face and her dad comes around, slinging a strong arm over her shoulder and pulling her close. Your heart feels warm looking at them.

Once inside, Joel and Sarah end up ordering a sundae to split while you get a small cone of chocolate ice cream. You try to tell Joel not to pay for you, but he hits you with a look that has your mouth going dry, any argument disappearing as all your blood rushes south and makes you ache between your legs.

“I’ll go get us a table outside,” you offer, licking at your treat. You don’t miss the way Joel’s eyes track the path of your tongue.

You watch the busy foot traffic while you wait for the Millers to join you, the warm Texas air wrapped around you while you enjoy the slight breeze and your cold dessert.

A deep voice calls your name and you look around, finding a familiar face on the crowded sidewalk.

“Jeremy, hey. How are you?” You ask as the man approaches. It feels like forever ago that you went to dinner together and looking at him now you think he’s handsome but he doesn’t hold a candle to Joel.

“I’m good. Been busy. I gotta say, I was a little bummed I didn’t hear from you after our date. Thought we had a good time,” he says, running a hand through his hair.

“Didn’t…hear from me?” You ask nervously.

He tilts his head. “Yeah. Thought you said you would text me when you got home.”

“Uh…yeah. Sorry. I guess I just forgot.”

The bell dings above the door to the ice cream parlor, Joel and Sarah emerging with a sundae piled with whipped cream. Jeremy looks toward them, then back at you.

“I’m guessing another date is off the table?” He asks, slipping his hands into his pants pockets.

Joel looks between the two of you, brow furrowed as he sets the sundae on the metal table and Sarah takes a seat, digging in immediately.

“Jeremy, this is Joel and his daughter, Sarah. She’s in my soccer camp this summer. Joel, this is my friend Jeremy,” you introduce. Jeremy holds a hand out to Joel, who shakes it briefly, brows still pinched.

“I better get going. Nice seeing you, let me know if you want to get together again,” Jeremy says before turning to leave. When you glance at Joel, his shoulders are drawn up and jaw clenched tight as he stabs his spoon into his ice cream.

“What do you guys have planned this weekend?” You ask to break the silence. Sarah perks up and begins to tell you about how her Uncle Tommy, Joel’s brother, is taking her to a local carnival. You listen and nod along despite the fact that your thoughts are stuck on Jeremy’s words.

If it wasn’t Jeremy on the other end of your conversation that night…who was it?

——————

As the three of you walk back to your vehicles, Joel’s still thinking about that man who’d been talking to you at the ice cream shop and how it made his blood burn hot to hear him mention going on a date with you. His pulse pounded in his ears as he shook the guy’s hand, any information about the guy going right over his head. He didn’t even taste the ice cream or hear the conversation you and Sarah had about the weekend, lost in his thoughts about how between early mornings helping you prep for camp and late afternoons at pick up have all somehow allowed you to burrow into his heart.

A hand wraps around his bicep, halting him in his steps. He glances at your concerned face and suddenly all that tension leaves him in a rush. Sarah says her goodbye, hugging you around your waist before hopping into the truck, leaving the two of you alone.

“You okay?” You ask, taking a step closer.

“I’m great, sweetheart. Get home safe,” he says, eyes dipping briefly to your mouth. Your tongue pokes out, tracing your lower lip. He takes a step back before he’s tempted to lean in and chase the taste of chocolate and you.

“I’ll see you Monday?”

“Bright and early.”

——————

Sarah spikes a fever Sunday night and spends the night curled around the toilet while Joel coaxes some water into her and keeps her hair out of harm's way. When it seems that the worst of her nausea has passed, Joel leaves her to rest in her bed while he goes downstairs and grabs the contact list you’d given him at the beginning of camp.

He starts a text, letting you know that Sarah’s sick and won’t make it to camp, at least for today. When it’s sent, he heads back upstairs, armed with a sleeve of crackers to deliver to his daughter.

Maybe he can squeeze in a little bit of sleep for himself.

——————

Hey, it’s Joel. Sarah’s sick and won’t make it to camp today.

You stare at the text, mind reeling. Not because a parent is texting you, that’s pretty common and you hope Sarah is doing okay, but because you already have a thread with Joel.

One where you’d called him sir and told him his cock would feel so good inside of you because you’d thought you’d been texting Jeremy. Your cheeks feel so hot you worry spontaneous human combustion could actually be a thing.

What are you even supposed to do in this situation? Do you tell him about it?

Hey, Joel. No worries. Thanks for letting me know, hope she feels better soon. Oh, also, you’ve sent me a picture of your dick.

You delete the last line immediately, hitting your phone against your forehead like doing so might make your thoughts make sense.

Hey, Joel. No worries. Thanks for letting me know, hope she feels better soon. Any chance you can make good on that promise and bend me over the bed?

You delete the last line again with a groan.

Hey, Joel. No worries. Thanks for letting me know, hope she feels better soon. There’s something I want to talk to you about. Would you be able to meet with me after practice this week? Or sometime this weekend?

You hit send before you can back out, tossing your phone in your bag as you get ready to head out the door.

——————

Joel wakes later in the morning and reads your text message. His mind races with what you could want to talk to him about. Maybe you noticed how he reacted to your friend and wanted to tell him you’re uncomfortable? Or maybe something to do with Sarah?

Fuck, he thinks, scrubbing a hand over his face. He reads the message a few more times but it doesn’t reveal any additional clues. He types out a message, pressing send before he can overthink the contents.

She seems to be doing better. Should be back to camp tomorrow. I can meet you somewhere for dinner on Friday after camp? My treat.

——————

Joel’s text plays on a loop in your brain for the rest of the week. Unlike the previous weeks of camp, he and Sarah don’t show up early. In fact, he’s been dropping her off almost at the last minute and picking her up promptly when camp ends, always managing to show up when you’re already pulled into conversation with another parent and driving off before you have a chance to talk with him.

On Friday, Joel is at the field early, leaning against his truck as he talks to Sarah. You park beside them, and he helps you unload your car and set up for the day, just as he had the weeks prior, making small talk like he hadn’t just spent the week dodging you after suggesting dinner. When everything is unpacked and Sarah is kicking a ball around, you follow Joel to his truck under the guise of needing one more thing from your car.

“Hey, are we still on for dinner?” You ask him. He runs a hand through his hair and you try not to let yourself zero in on the way his bicep flexes with the motion.

“‘Course. How ‘bout I meet you at that diner downtown? The one with the—“

“All day breakfast?” You finish. Joel grins.

“Yeah, that’s the one. Is six good?”

“Six is great.” You smile back at him, lost in the way his eyes crinkle in the corners and his mouth lifts slightly higher on the right.

“Coach!” Sarah yells, making you jump.

“Guess I better get out there,” you say, shifting nervously.

“Yeah, I’ll uh…I’ll see you later?” He asks.

“Looking forward to it.”

——————

To your surprise, it’s not Joel that picks up Sarah that afternoon, but another man with familiar brown eyes and dark curly hair. You grab your folder from your bag as Sarah greets the man, flipping through the pages until you’ve found her emergency contact form.

“Hey there,” the man says, a grin lighting up his face. “I’m Sarah’s Uncle Tommy.”

You shake the hand he’s held out towards you and introduce yourself. “Nice to meet you. Mind if I check your ID for alternate pick up?”

“Go right ahead,” he replies, pulling a worn brown leather wallet from his jeans and handing you his ID from its contents. “Don’t judge the photo, alright? It’s old.”

A younger version of the man in front of you is pictured on the card, his curly dark hair buzzed short and a grim expression on his face. You note the name THOMAS MILLER beside the picture and check it against Sarah’s emergency contact form.

“Thanks, Tommy,” you tell him, handing back the ID. There’s a brief silence where Tommy seems to be assessing you.

“So…,” he says, rocking on his heels, “you’re the girl that’s got Joel all tangled up, huh?”

You blink. “Uh—“

“Uncle Tommy! Let’s go!” Sarah shouts from the parking lot.

“Hold your horses!” Tommy yells. He gives you one last knowing smirk. “Have fun with Joel tonight!”

You watch him jog over to the truck and get behind the wheel, Sarah waving at you as he pulls out of the parking spot. You wave back, but your mind is stuck on Tommy’s words, the implication of them having your stomach doing backflips.

——————

Joel’s fingers fidget with the straw wrapper, ripping it into small pieces that build in a pile on the laminate table while he waits for you to arrive for dinner. He’s still not sure what this is all about and that uncertainty has had him stuck in his head to the point where Tommy was giving him a hard time at work about it.

“Let me know if you need me to stay with Sarah overnight,” Tommy had said as Joel checked himself in the hall mirror one last time before leaving the house.

“It ain’t like that,” he grumbled back, but there was no changing his brother’s mind.

“Sure, you keep tellin’ yourself that.”

The bell above the diner door rings with a new customer, pulling Joel from his thoughts. You’ve just walked in wearing a dress, a far cry from the soccer shorts and t-shirt he’s seen you in every day this summer. His gaze is pulled to the tantalizing glimpse of your chest he gets from the deep neckline and the way the fabric swishes against your thighs as you approach.

“Hi,” you say, sliding into the booth across from him. “Thanks for meeting me.”

“Sure,” Joel says, giving you what he hopes is a confident smile but he’s almost certain it’s more of a grimace.

A silence settles over the table as you both look at the laminated menus like they hold the secret to the universe. The waitress swings by and takes your orders - chocolate chip waffles for you and a medium rare burger for Joel.

“How’s Sarah doing with the camp?” Joel asks.

“She’s doing great. Easily one of the best players I’ve got this year,” you reply.

“Good that’s…good. You used to play for UT, right?”

“Yep, starting forward until I tore my ACL,” you tell him. “Now I coach because you can take the girl out of soccer but you can’t take the soccer from the girl.”

“That’s impressive,” Joel comments. “Is coaching your full time job?”

“No, I work in marketing for an instrument production company.”

“Really? You play anything?”

“Some guitar, a little piano. Nothing crazy. Do you?”

Joel laughs. “Been a while, but I got a guitar stashed away in a closet somewhere.”

The waitress returns with your food, setting the plates in front of you and asking if either of you need anything else before leaving the two of you to your meals.

Joel is a few bites into his burger when you set your fork down and say, “Look, I’m just gonna come right out and say it. You’ve sent me a picture of your dick.”

Joel nearly chokes, sputtering for air around his burger and grabbing his Coke, desperate for relief. He chugs the beverage, tears in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” You ask, wide eyes full of concern.

“No, I’m not okay, what do you mean I’ve sent you a picture of my dick?” He hisses, looking around the mostly empty diner.

“About a month ago I went on a date with that guy I ran into at the ice cream place, Jeremy? We met on a dating app so we were messaging through there and he gave me his number at the end of the night,” you say quickly. “And I texted the number with some…racy photos. And messages.”

Joel feels the rising panic in his chest. No, there’s absolutely no way that random number could have been you. There’s no way he sexted his daughter’s soccer coach.

“I didn’t find out it was you until you texted me about Sarah being sick. I still had the chat with your number,” you finish, reaching into your bag and pulling out your phone. Joel watches with building dread as you tap on the screen and set the phone on the table, sliding it toward him.

You’ve opened the chat with him, the innocuous messages at the bottom about Sarah missing camp giving way to photo attachments he doesn’t dare click on but remembers vividly. He looks up at you.

“I…I’m so sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have replied, the messages weren’t meant for me.”

“I’m not mad,” you assure him. “A little embarrassed, maybe. But also…can I be completely honest?”

“Of course.”

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about your messages.”

Joel’s mouth drops open in surprise. “You…really?”

“Yeah. And knowing it’s you…,” you say, voice trailing off. Your eyes are dark, a little smirk playing on your lips that has Joel’s cock twitching with interest. “Well, that makes it better.”

“It does?” Joel asks. You nod, picking up a bite of waffle with your fork, a moan of appreciation leaving your lips.

“It does,” you confirm.

Joel turns around in the booth and flags down the waitress.

“Check, please!”

——————

After paying for dinner, Joel walks you to the parking lot, his broad palm on your low back directing you to where his truck is parked.

He’s got you pressed against the passenger door, his chest grazing yours with each breath he takes. He lifts a hand to your cheek, his thumb rubbing across your bottom lip. His gaze grows dark as you dart your tongue out, flicking it against the digit.

“Such a fuckin’ tease,” he says. Gone is the man who was mortified to find out he’d been sexting you and in his place is the man behind the screen. “You wore this little dress because you knew exactly what you wanted, isn’t that right?”

“Maybe,” you murmur. “You don’t like it?”

“Mm,” he hums, “Ain’t a matter of not likin’ it, trust me.”

His hands grip your hips, the fabric bunching in his fists as he moves a thigh between your legs. The sudden friction of his jeans, even through the barrier of your underwear, has you gasping.

“Joel,” you whimper, grinding over the muscle of his thigh. He kisses along the length of your neck, lips right over your racing pulse. “Come on, take me home.”

“You can ask more nicely than that,” he says, hands guiding the movement of your hips, forward and back, across his thigh. You moan, louder than you intended, too loud for the parking lot of a busy diner at dinner rush.

“Please, sir,” you whisper. “Please, take me home.”

“Cum on my thigh and we can leave,” he replies. “Leave a nice little wet spot on my jeans and then I’ll take you home and make you scream my name as loud as you need to.”

Joel’s lips capture your own, swallowing the curse that was ready to spill from them at his demand. His kiss is rough, demanding, his stubble scratching your skin and his tongue tangling with yours as your hips continue to rock over his leg. You dig your fingers into his hair, holding tightly to him while the knot of need in your belly tightens.

“Come on, baby,” he says when he lifts his head, lips still pressed to your neck. “Make a mess, come on.”

You go still in his hands as your orgasm washes over you, your muscles stiff as your pussy pulses desperately over his thigh. Joel pulls you in for another kiss, this one slow and sweet to bring you back to reality.

When you’ve caught your breath, he steps back, adjusting the skirt of your dress back over your thighs. He looks down at his pants and then back at you, a smirk on his handsome face. You look down, face heating with embarrassment as you notice the dark patch of denim.

“Get in the truck, baby.”

——————

You give Joel directions to your apartment, his warm hand on your thigh the whole way there. Your nerves are buzzing beneath your skin again, the effect of your first orgasm wearing off and your desire building rapidly with each mile closer to your apartment.

He parks in the visitor parking and you move to open the door, but a tan arm reaches across and tugs it shut. Confused, you watch Joel jump from the truck and jog around to the passenger side to pull open your door and hold a hand out to you.

You’re laughing as he helps you from the truck and shuts the door behind you, your giggles persisting as you lead him upstairs and his arms circle your waist while you try to unlock your door. He hustles you across the threshold, kicking the door shut behind him and flipping the deadbolt.

“Bedroom?” He asks.

“End of the hall,” you reply.

Joel pulls you along behind him, a man on a mission. Once inside your room, you flip on your bedside lamp and Joel steps in close, framing your face in his hands and giving you another kiss that has the butterflies in your tummy going wild.

His fingers are curling into the hem of your dress, dragging it up your body and breaking the kiss long enough to pull it over your head and toss it to the floor. His lips are back on yours while his hands map your curves, calloused fingers catching on soft skin and making goosebumps erupt in their wake.

“Get on the bed,” he commands. You turn, crawling onto the mattress slowly, a wiggle in your hips. You look over your shoulder at the older man and find his gaze fixed on your ass. He grins. “You remember what I said last time you teased me?”

“No. I think I need a reminder,” you tell him. He huffs, shaking his head.

“Teasin’ me and gettin’ mouthy? Think that might earn you a punishment.”

Joel palms the cheeks of your ass, pulling them apart in a rough grip that has you gasping his name. His fingers dig into the flesh, the ache of them already making your head spin.

“Five ain’t enough, but it’s all I’ve got the patience for right now,” he says. His tone changes as he asks, “You got a safe word? If I need to stop?”

“Apricots,” you say easily. He tilts his head. “It’s from a TV show. New Girl?”

“Never heard of it,” he says. “Alright, apricots it is.”

He pulls your panties down, leaving them around your thighs. His thumbs spread you apart and the vulnerability of this position, your ass in the air and everything spread for him, by him, has you feeling like you’re on fire.

“Pretty little pussy,” he murmurs. “But I already knew that. Because you’re a dirty fuckin’ girl who sent me pictures just because I told you how to cum. Ain’t that right?”

“Mhm.”

An open palm lands on your right ass cheek, hear blossoming on the spot as you gasp, lurching forward. His hands pull you towards him and he presses down between your shoulder blades, your back arching.

“Don’t move,” he commands. “That was one. You count the next one.”

Another smack across your other cheek, more sharp pain that shifts into dull ache as you mumble, “Two.”

He doles out two more in quick succession, each other making your pussy clench with need. You’re drooling into sheets, a whimpering mess as he runs his fingers through your soaked folds and lets out a deep groan.

“Baby, you’re soaked,” he says. “Fuck, one more, okay? One more and then I’ll have you wrapped around my cock.”

You nod your head, bracing for the final blow across your sensitive skin. The sting of his palm as it lands makes your eyes roll back, the line between pleasure and pain so blurry you don’t know which side you stand on.

His hands leave your hips and without the support, you slide flat to your belly. Distantly, you register the opening of your nightstand drawer and the sound of Joel rummaging through the contents, followed by the muted thump of clothes being discarded to the floor.

Joel maneuvers you to your back in the center of the bed, pulling your panties off. “You did so good, sweetheart,” he praises. You smile at him.

“Do I get a reward now, sir?” You ask.

“‘Course, baby. Good girls get what they deserve.”

His hips press between yours, his cock sliding through your wetness and catching on your clit. He positions the thick head at your slick entrance, pressing in the slightest bit. You take in the sight of him, his broad chest held over you by strong arms, the muscles of his neck tense.

Joel slides in slowly, your body accepting him gratefully. The stretch borders on painful but the fullness has you digging your nails into his back, a moan falling from your lips. It feels like ages before his hips as flush to yours and all you can feel is Joel Joel Joel.

“Fuck,” he groans, forehead dropping to yours. “Christ, you feel so fuckin’ good.”

He pulls back slightly, thrusting forward with a sharp snap of his hips. As he starts to set a rhythm, he sits up on his knees, lifting one of your legs up with a hand on the back of your thigh and pressing it to the side. The position opens you up further, letting him get impossibly deeper, and all you can do is allow him to use your body to his liking.

It’s not long before you’re screaming his name, as promised, the knot of pleasure in your core pulling tight and getting ready to snap.

“You gonna cum again for me?” Joel asks, breathing labored as his pace doesn’t falter. “Come on, baby, cum on my cock. You’re such a good fuckin’ girl, I know you can do it.”

“Joel!” You shout, that last thread snapping as your orgasm rushing through you, stars bursting behind your eyelids as they snap shut with the force of it all. Your pussy clenches around him, his hips stuttering and growing sloppy until he’s pressing in deep with a groan of your name.

He collapses on top of you, a heavy weight but not an unwelcome one as you both try to catch your breath, sweat cooling between you. After a moment, his softening cock slips from your body and he rolls to the side, gathering you to his chest.

“Holy shit,” you whisper.

“Yeah,” Joel whispers back. He sits up, leaning over the edge of the bed and grabbing his jeans, pulling his phone free.

He taps on the screen and brings it to his ear, a distant ringing audible through the speaker.

“Tommy? Yeah, everythin’s fine,” Joel says when his call connects. He takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Could you stay with Sarah tonight? Shut up,” he grumbles. He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “I’ll be back in the mornin’. Thanks, brother.”

Joel hangs up and you raise your eyebrows at him.

“You’re staying?” You ask.

“Yeah, baby. I ain’t finished with you yet,” he replies, pressing a flurry of kisses to your face, neck, and shoulders, sending you into a fit of giggles.

——————

1 Year Later

“Alright, great job, girls! Let’s get your snacks,” you shout as your summer league girls jog towards you from the field following their third tournament game.

The girls crowd around the cooler that Joel’s prepared, grabbing small bottles of Gatorade or water and a bag of orange slices. They lounge around the sidelines and you step up beside Joel, bumping him with your hip.

“Thanks for the snacks,” you say. He grins at you.

“‘Course. Gotta take care of my girls,” he replies. He pulls one last bag of oranges from the cooler. “And one for coach.”

“How’d I get so lucky?” You ask, looping an arm around his waist.

“What can I say? You texted the right wrong number.”

Joel Miller Masterlist

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel tlou #no use of y/n #joel x reader #pre outbreak!joel #no outbreak!joel miller

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poppy-metal · 28 days

Note

BOY BEST FRIEND PATRICK TAKING YOUR VIRGINITY BECAUSE YOU ASKED??? OH I HAVE THOUGHTS

Can imagine him getting all annoyed about all the boys you’ve been hanging out with lately…all these random dates with assholes he KNOWS don’t deserve you…unsure why you even bother with them (you never did before).

It doesn’t help that Art’s supportive of it too, saying you just want to spread your wings. He doesn’t get why it bothers him anyway…

Finally he snaps and asks why, and well you try to brush it off

“it’s nothing patrick”

“just tell me what it is”

“well…”

suddenly it comes out how you just want to get your first time over with and patrick juat goes “ok”

“ok?”

“i’ll do it?”

“what?”

“you said you want to lose your virginity..let me do it”

“patrick…”

“well none of those assholes deserve you in any way”

he actually doesn’t even think he deserves you but its amazing sex. romantic and passionate and overall…you’re left wondering where your relationship with patrick stands

- 🍓

no because you expect it to be quick and easy but he actually takes his time with you - like hes gentle. he even books a hotel room at like, a fancy hotel instead of his shitty dorm because you deserve to be fucked on some real nice sheets on a real nice bed and not his creaky old mattress.

actually takes his time with kissing every inch of you - pressing his lips and tongue in spots you didn't even know could be engorgous zones. like the shell of your ear, the outline of your belly button, he dips his tongue inside, and your stomach shudders. by the time he gets to main event you're already shaking and trembly with pleasure. hes kissed the backs of your knees, your thighs, your pelvis, when his tongue delves between the wet slit of your sex you feel euphoric. his eyes never leave yours as his tongue slowly laps between your parted lips - splayed lewdly by two of his fingers so he can get to the heart of you. runs his tongue in circles around your little clit until you're coming in his mouth, and you didn't think it would feel this good, that he'd take it this seriously, that he'd make it this good for you. tears prick your eyes because hes still kissing you between your thighs.

and you want him so bad. you tell him so and he smiles, but its not his usual cocky side smirk its a genuine smile. "i know. i got you, baby, dont worry."

and you dont. worry, that is. you thought you would. you honestly thought it was be an uncomfortable affair from how stiff and nervous you'd be - you were always the stiff one, next to patrick, the moody girl, the one that had to be coaxed and dragged into having a good time - but you feel like liquid silk. the bed is soft and patricks body is warm and solid over yours and it feels so right to feel his body press against yours. when he licks between your lips you're lax for him, when he nudges your legs apart you spread for him, when you feel the hard pressure against your entrance, you dont resist it. your flesh gives way to his, soft blooms under hard thickness. an empty spot inside of you is slowly filled to the brim.

"god, fuck - you're so perfect. you feel so good - warm little pussy just let me right in, good fucking girl."

the praise lights you up. your fingers slide across his shoulders, feeling the muscles there bunch under his warm freckled skin as he starts to move.

"is this okay?"

legs tighten around his gently swaying hips. heels dig into the indents just above his ass, "yes," you hiss, "yes, dont stop - dont stop -"

"m'not." his mouth is back at your neck, nose skimming just under your sweat slick jaw - every part of you and him is sweaty, but you like it, the heat of your skin sliding, the moisture on his skin, the coarseness of his hair rubbing into your soft belly - "god, its so good. fuck, this is -" he burries his face in your shoulder as his hips lose control.

this is bad, he didn't finish. its bad because hes already addicted to your body wrapped around him. hes fucked loads of girls, but none have hugged his cock quite so sweetly as you. the warm bath of your cunt, milking and squeezing him - your soft body - the give of your cunt - you take him so fucking well.

maybe it's because he already adores you. his anxious little buddy. you dont feel like a buddy though, nothing buddy about the way your hole is gripping his cock. he just means, he already knows you so well, and he likes you, hes protective of you, you know him. the only part of eachother you didn't know was this - the intimate part. and now hes literally inside you, hes your first. and that means something, it means you trust him. it means you want him, on some level.

fuck.

#ask #🍓 anon #this is a problem i fear #patrick zweig smut #patrick zweig x reader

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xodite · 3 months

Text

MDNI

Female yandere oc x fem reader x fem! Yan! Oc!

Light smut incoming

This fantasy post includes forced Pussy eating, soft cnc, bondage, kidnapping, chase kink, fem characters, fem genitalia, cult leader, worship kink, blood, bondage and praise.

The cult leaders pet

~ - ~

After finding pictures in the forest while camping of dead bodies drained of their blood with a deadly cults logo as-well as a gorgeous woman with long brown hair and hazel eyes standing on top of the bodies you dash to find help, will you escape in time?

You ran through the harsh secluded forest with the cold winds rushing through your hair as you raced away from your camp where you found those cursed images only two things ran through your mind, were you next? And what the fuck was that?

Through your jumbled thoughts and ragged breaths you looked down to see the pictures in your hands again. These images looked hauntingly like the witness described pictures of the deadly cult that lived in these woods, although those were just rumours right? Paranoia raced through your body as you breathed harder until you heard a haunting branch crack behind you. There was someone behind you. And they didn’t have the best intentions with you. Especially with those images you held in your hands.

You continued to race through the forest as you heard ragged breaths and angry desperate cries. The cries rang around your thumping panicked mind. They were loud and horrid. The cries pinged your mind and plagued the deepest crevice of your mind.

In a panic you spotted a thick couple of bushes and hid in there, accidentally dropping the evidence aka the photos. As you watched them fall you heard two people arguing angrily then complete silence. Utter silence. Before a soft woman’s voice rang out from the bush after her perfect manicured fingers picked up the now muddied photos.

“Sweet thing! come on out~! Poor thing your probably so petrified~ trust me our goddesses will be so welcoming! There’s nothing to fear!”

The voice chirped condescendingly as you heard them rustle in the bushes around you, increasingly getting more and more aggressive. They wanted to find you and they wanted to find you now. Then it all came crashing down upon your poor brain as you realized, they wanted you. They wanted to offer you like they did to those to their leaders. The cult was real.

As the wandering hands came closer you felt your muscles tense and you dashed out of the bushes, desperate to escape. At the sudden movement you caught the eye of the near by follower and they attempted to grab onto you, pushing you both into mud as your knees bled from the sharp stick and rock slivers in the wet mud. You desperately crawled away while screaming for help as loud as you could. Suddenly you no longer felt the crushing grip on your leg and looked behind you. The followers were bowing?

Your eyes looked infront of you to see two taller beautiful woman. Cold horror rushed through your veins as you realized one of the woman were in the photos. They were both dressed in riches and soft silk fabrics as they looked down upon you. One had beautiful black silk dressings while the other had white dressings. You easily recognized the one in the black dress as the woman who stood upon the dead bodies.

Cold Horror struck through your bones as your ragged breaths rang audibly through the tense atmosphere. You had no where to run.

Before you could react you felt a sharp pinch in the back of your neck as everything went dark, one of the followers must’ve used a sedative dart. The only thing you felt after that was cold silence as you heard your body thump in the mud and felt yourself fall out of consciousness and the harsh ear ringing sound that permanently altered your hearing.

- smut warning -

You awoke chained to the hard cold ground on your knees infront of the two woman who sat on simple yet elegant wooden chairs. Once you got a clearer look at them you realized they were both hauntingly gorgeous yet something about them ran shivers down your spine. Wordlessly the one with lighter silks stood and laid a gentle hand against your face and slowly guided your disoriented mouth to her smooth delicate pussy. You shook your head no softly yet she tugged harder on your hair, causing tears to run down your face.

“Behave.”

The powerful woman above you demanded as she continued to push your face into her pussy to your dismay. At the rough action you felt the other cult leaders arms wrap around your waist and heard her smooth voice speak to the woman above you,

“Iradita my love, be gentle.”

The woman spoke while slowly slipping her two fingers onto your underwear, slowly massaging your clit. You moaned softly as her skilled fingers continued to attack the little bundle of nerves, ignoring your little whimpers of disapproval.

“Irademia. I shall do as I please, and this sweet girl is going to eat my pussy.”

Iradita hissed while shoving your face into her pussy demandingly. Horror washed through your body as you remembered the news about the horrors they put their victims through, it was better to stay on their good sides. You slowly stuck your tongue on her clit and licked gently. The woman above you groaned and moved her pussy around on your tongue, obviously enjoying it. Her grip on your hair loosened as she whispered,

“Oh sweet girl I’m going to enjoy you, keep going for I am your goddess”

Terrified of Iradita’s anger you kept going, on the edge of cumming from Irademia fingering, you started to suck desperately on Iraditas clit for some form of comfort from the sensitivity in your clit from the merciless massaging. Finally you came on Irademia’s fingers, coming undone and collapsing in her arms. At your movement Irademia caught you and allowed you to rest on her as she continued playing with you.

Iradita groaned and placed one leg over your shoulder, placing her pussy on your face, forcing you to keep eating her out. This was going to be a long night, and you were theirs now, their pet. Their offering.

#lgbt nsft #wlw concepts #hard nsft #sapphic nsft #minors dni #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere x reader #lesbian ns/fw #lesbian smut #yandere lesbian #poly yandere x reader #hard k!nks #tw kidnapping #txt smut #yandere smut #wlw smut #xodite.writes

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thatgirlsza · 4 months

Text

Motivation

Satoru Gojo

The fact you own two silk robes and stratte around in them all the time, especially out of the shower is motivation enough for him to drag you to your room and make love till the morning. Also particularly romantic events like Valentines Day, date nights, birthdays and so on.

Kento Nanami

Scratch his scalp while you are both cuddling and he'll fuck into the next day. He loves your fingers in his hair while his face is between your breast. It makes him shiver especially when you find the spot just under his ear.

Suguru Getou

Suguru absolutely cant take it when you are doing something and matain eye contact. Weather it will be cleaning, cooking eating or talking. Do it for 15 seconds and his ready to watch those pretty eyes lid up in pleasure.

Toji Fushiguro

Give him a massage, he'll take you instantly. He doesn't understand why but the feeling of you sift delicate fingers moving into his skin over every crevices makes me nearly feral. Especially when you use oil on him and he can feel you slip your fingers around his back. It gets him hard and fast.

Ryoumen Sukuna

Ryoumen thinks anything you do is sexy and loves drag you away to do something but he absolutely loves it when he sees you doing anything remotely domestic. Cooking, cleaning and being with kids. Not only do you look adorable, it just turns all the wheels in his mind.

Ino Takuma

Ino is a sucker for you straddling him. When you are both chilling and you swing your legs over him get ready for a real good night. He'll start caressing and kissing until his head is between your legs

Chousou

Chousou loves it when you tell him what to do, even if your not being particularly dominant. In fact when you gentle ask, "Chou please can you make me a snack?" With your lips in a pout and eyes peering at him, he would rather just make you the snack.

#gojo satoru #gojo x reader #geto x reader #geto suguru #toji x reader #toji fushiguro #sukuna #sukuna x reader #ino x reader #ino takuma #nanami kento #choso x reader #jjk #jjk x reader #fem reader #Jujutsu Kaisen

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deadsetobsessions · 6 months

Text

A click. The closing and opening of a camera shutter. The whirr of film as it slides across the inner workings of his camera.

Timothy Drake heaved himself off of the concrete roof as soon as the vigilantes left his eyesight. He swaps the film roll, placing the used one inside of the tin with a barely restrained grin. He’d gotten good shots tonight- a confrontation with Harvey Dent, batarangs swooping to cut the new Robin free- and Tim was excited to race back to his dark room in order to develop those candids.

He climbs down the side of the building, the spelunking gear he’d splurged his parents’ money on working wonderfully on Gotham’s stone and concrete buildings.

“Mom, I want to be just like you guys!” He’d said, and his mom agreed to spare no expense for his new hobby. Well, their secretary did, with his parent’s disinterested permission. After all, spelunking is sometimes needed for artifact digs… probably.

Besides, the moment he had brought up Bruce Wayne’s propensity for “spelunking,” his father had immediately sent him more cave scaling stuff in order to “network with the other successful businessmen, Timmy!”

Tim slides away from the alley with full awareness. Even in Bristol, one had to be careful to avoid the multitudes of goons out and about. The Narrows are definitely worse than Bristol and Tim wasn’t about to let his hard work be taken away just like that. As he trudged home- taking a taxi once he was in a slightly more “trustworthy area”- Tim became slightly lost in his thoughts about the identities of Gotham’s vigilantes. Technically there’s only two.

Tim knows there’s three.

Batman.

Robin.

Nightwing.

Bruce Wayne.

Jason Todd.

Dick Grayson.

His sharp mind, now assuaged from the mystery of their identities, worked hard to match the fights he witnessed to the injuries the prolific Wayne family hid the next day.

Timothy Drake thinks he’ll never get bored following his vigilantes.

——

He’s bored. He’s so irrevocably, irredeemably bored.

Tim had been so excited to go, too! Perhaps for different reasons than everyone else because he was here to observe his heroes out of their masks, not for the Annual Wayne Gala that’s the end-all of high society life. As in, if you weren’t invited, that’s the end of your social life. Bruce Wayne held high society in his palms and Tim is only fifty percent sure he knew and/or cared. Regardless, he was prepared to be a pod-son to his parents’ fake good-parents act, and accordingly suffered thirty minutes of cheek-pinching and fake laughs just for the opportunity to see the three Bats in one place.

They’re not here. They won’t be here for another twenty minutes.

Anyways, he’s bored and irritated. Definitely annoyed enough for some bad ideas.

And Tim might not be aware of this fact about himself until much later when he’s more self-aware, but a bored and irritated Tim Drake is bad news for everyone.

He takes after Janet Drake, after all, and Janet Drake is only after Bruce Wayne in influence and cunning.

And his heroes, his beloved heroes, are the targets of his ire tonight. Tim smiles wider, pod-person smile widening to a baring of ravenous teeth incredibly off putting on a nine year old, and immediately changes course towards the delicate jello squares sitting at the buffet table.

The Waynes will be learning the importance of punctuality at their own galas by the time Tim’s done. He swears it. He even has a get out of jail free card!

Just. A small bit of petty revenge.

Tim nabs a bowl full of the jellos, snacking on one as he makes his way to the Wayne family’s most favorite balcony. Everyone knows it’s the one the family members go to when the Gala gets overwhelming. It’s an unspoken rule that no one else may enter it. Tim slips around the blind spots in the cameras.

High society might call someone a bitch in forty different ways, all hidden behind silk smiles and false eyes, but they’d respect the oddest things.

Tim… doesn’t care. He’s been breaking rules since he was seven.

He sets to his task, setting the jello cubes in the places he’d calculated that Jason or Bruce or Dick might step on. Mild revenge, yes, but Tim doesn’t want to bother Alfred too much. The butler had looked a bit tired earlier. Task done, Tim squeezes back into the party and smiles like his life depended on it.

“Brucie!” His dad boomed, and Tim felt his smile widen once more.

“Jack!” Batman’s Brucie personality bounced into the ballroom as the party kicked back up with the host’s presence. “How’ve you been, old chap?”

“The digs have been very fruitful!”

“I see you’ve brought someone with you today! Well, other than your strikingly beautiful wife, of course!”

“This is my son, Timothy!”

“Hello, Timothy. It’s very nice to meet you.”

Oh. My. God. He’s shaking hands with Batman!

“Hi. I’m Timothy Drake.”

“Oh my gosh, Tim!” His mom laughs, fake nails and laugh digging into his shoulders. Oops. Too informal.

“It’s alright.”

“BRUCE!”

Oh my god, it’s ROBIN. Tim’s smile twitches, barely containing his squeals.

“Jaylad? What’s wrong?”

“Someone left jello cubes all over the balcony!”

“What?” Bruce (Brucie, Tim decides is the name of the mask) turns to his parents and excuses himself.

“Mom? I’m going to go network with Bruce Wayne’s son.”

No, he’s not. He’s gonna go watch them lose their minds.

“That’s my boy!” His dad claps him on the shoulder and shoos him off. His mom narrowing her eyes at him but ultimately dismissing him.

Perfect. By the time he gets there, he hears Nightwing- Dick Grayson, oh my god!- asking “O” to figure out who left all those cubes on the floor.

“Drake?” Ah, shit.

“Weren’t we just talking to him earlier, B?”

“Yes, but I haven’t got the slightest idea why he’d leave jello cubes all over the place.”

“Assassination attempt?” Jason asks.

“Whatever it is, it ruined my running shoes!”

“Dick, please, just wash it off or give it to Alfred.”

“Ugh, we can just go ask him.”

“And make a scene?” Jason sounds eager.

“No. Alfred ordered us specifically not to.”

Silence. Tim grins and slips away, making his way through and voiding the cameras as usual.

—-

“Timmy!”

Tim smiles politely at Brucie Wayne while inwardly cheering. His dad looks at him with stars in his eyes and leaves him to work his magic.

“Yes, Mr. Wayne?” Pod-person smile!

“This is my son, Jason. And this is Dick.”

“Hi. I’m Jason!” He holds out a hand for Tim to shake. Dick smiles at him and Tim thinks he might expire on the Wayne’s ballroom floor.

“Hello,” Tim suppresses his urge to scream excitedly. “I’m Timothy Drake. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Woah, you sound so stiff.”

“Jason!” Brucie Wayne chides. “Anyways, Timmy, you looked like you had something to tell me earlier. Something wrong, kiddo?”

No, no he didn’t. But… they don’t know that he knows their secret. And they don’t know he knows that they don’t know.

Tim acts confused, but then clears up with his expression like he just thought of something.

“Oh! I was wondering why you were late, Mr. Wayne. Did Batman stop you on the way back?”

“Huh?”

“Oh, I know you don’t really like Batman, Mr. Wayne,” Tim cackles inwardly. “But he saves you a lot. Were you stopping crime?”

“I… I’m not Batman.”

“Well, I know that,” Tim huffs. “It’s just weird no one’s seen you and Batman in the same room.” Tim cheerfully ignores the alarm making its way onto the trio’s faces and his dad’s frantic, further away, cut it out motion. “But obviously that’s because Batman’s busy putting on his gear, right?”

“And how do you figure that…?” Dick asks, tense.

“Uh, he always knows when you’re in trouble? He always comes in minutes of you guys getting held hostage. Is his base on the manor grounds? Oh, is it a secret that you’re funding him? Don’t worry! I know how to keep a secret! Can you tell the new Robin that I think he’s the best?” Tim grins cutely up at Batman. Ah, he means Brucie Wayne.

“Sure can, kiddo! Don’t tell anyone else, okay?” Jason swoops in, grinning back Tim.

Eeee!

As he nods, Tim can’t help mentioning the cubes. “Oh, sorry about the cubes! I thought I’d be able to track them with their shoe print if Batman and Robin came to save you guys but I guess that wasn’t going to happen. I’m really sorry!” He uses the “cute duckling” face and Dick visibly melts.

“No problem, Timmy! You should come over to play Clue with us sometime! I think you’d be good at it.”

“Oh! Really?” His words becomes a bit more genuine. “I’ve never played it. My mom and dad aren’t around much so. Um. Would it be okay if we do?”

“This weekend.” Brucie Wayne’s voice suddenly became more firm. “I’ll talk to your parents about it.

—-

As Tim waves the Wayne’s goodbye, he hears from Dick, “You only like him because he said you’re the best.”

And Jason’s reply, “Because he’s got good taste,” made the rest of his night. Not week, because tomorrow, he gets to poke around Wayne manor again!

#tim drake is a menace #tim drake #bruce wayne is tired dad with unhinged kids #bruce Wayne’s adoption senses are tingling #bruce wayne #batman #nightwing #Tim literally dngaf and is waiting for the bats to play catch up #dick grayson #jason todd #robin #jello cubes as a weird shoe print identifier #technically he did catch Batman and robin

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chaosisalwayscrying · 6 months

Text

HEELS

⇥ synopsis : you and matt go on a nice date, but after your feet start to hurt

⇥ warnings : none! pure fluff

⇥ extra : lim not the biggest fan of this, i think i did too much plot building but i hope you guys like it !! please send in requests also, theyll be worked on after my scheduled fics come out! 🫶🏻

⇥ masterlist !

⇥ taglist !

it was just past three pm when matt sauntered into the living room and told you to get ready for a date. at first you were skeptical, normally matt was spontaneous and just took you out in every day clothes, so telling you to get ready was new.

"get ready?" you questioned, raising an eyebrow at him from your spot on the couch.

"yeah, we're going to a fancy dinner, i wanted to surprise you with it." he said, starting to mess with the rings on his fingers, an obvious anxiety tell.

"how fancy? like slightly more put together fancy or nice dress and heels fancy?" you ask, already beginning to mull over what outfit you'll wear.

"nice dress and heels fancy, the reservation is at seven so you have plenty of time to get ready” he said, a bright smile now on his face.

you stood from the couch, immediately going to matt and pressing a kiss on his lips. “thanks for this matty, im gonna go shower. i love you” you said, pressing another kiss to his cheek as you practically ran to the bathroom.

matt stood there, a deep blush on face. he never really got embarrassed, but your excitement and words towards him made him want to giggle like a little girl.

—————

matt was banned from his and your shared room while you got ready, since you wanted to surprise him. you even went as far as to make chris come get matts clothes you picked out and lock him in chris’ room.

after you buckled the straps on your heels, you stood and went out of matts room to the floor length mirror in the living room, scanning over your outfit and hair to make sure everything was perfect before letting chris know to bring matt up.

you turned once you heard a door open and quick footsteps coming up the stairs. as matt turned the corner, his eyes immediately locked on you. you made your way over to him, his awestruck expression making you smile.

“hi” you said, wrapping your arms around his neck and his hands immediately landing on your waist. “hi” he said back, eyes trailing over your face and outfit, a slight blush creeping up his neck.

you placed a kiss on his lips before stepping back and doing a small spin, letting matt take in your whole outfit. a silk dress that hugged your waist and hips just right but the skirt flowed just a little, and nice stiletto heels.

“you look beautiful, baby” matt mumbled, still staring at you wide-eyed. “are you sure those heels will be comfortable?” he asked, eyebrows furrowing. he knew you hated wearing high heels because they hurt your feet, and he didnt want you to be in pain just because of his date idea.

“thank you, and yes im sure, i’ll be fine for just dinner” you reassured, stepping forward again to place another kiss on his lips. “now come on, we have a date to go on” you smiled, grabbing his hand to lead back down the stairs to chris’ room to go to the garage.

—————

in your opinion, the date was beyond amazing, but you hadn’t expected to be walking around a little park after. now that you’d been walking for so long, your feet were beginning to ache, making it hard to keep pace with matt.

“ow.. fuck” you mumbled, wincing as you stepped forward, trying to catch up to matt. matt, ever the attentive boyfriend, heard you and immediately stopped and turned around to you. he caught the wince on your face before you could hide it, causing his concern to grow.

“whats wrong? are you hurt?” he asked, taking a step to where you were standing and ushering you towards a bench a couple feet away. you immediately sat down and took off your heels, sighing in relief as the ache faded slightly. matt also began taking off his shoes, refusing to let you walk around in heels that hurt you or barefoot.

you werent paying matt any attention until he slipped his shoes on your feet, tightening the laces so they didn’t slide too much.

“matt-” you began, getting cut off before you could even finish saying his name.

“no, it’s ok. i dont want you to walk around in heels that hurt you, or barefoot, you could step on something sharp.” he said, finishing tying the laces and pressing a kiss to your parted lips.

“now c’mon, we can go back to the car” he said, taking your heels from your hands and helping you stand.

your smile stayed on the rest of the night, even as matt helped you into the car, even as he carried you upstairs after you (dramatically) claimed you were too tired to walk, even as he helped you out of your dress and into comfy clothes, even as he took off your makeup and jewelry, and especially as he held you as you drifted off to sleep.

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #sturniolos #matt sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x reader #christopher owen sturniolo #chris sturniolo fluff #matthew sturniolo

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babyvixen27 · 6 months

Text

Did you miss me? 18+ Minors DNI

Tommy Shelby/Younger Sister Reader!

Tommy goes away and comes back to find his baby sister has become a woman. Why is it hitting him so damn hard.

Warnings: Incest! DARK CONTENT! Tommy is low-key abusive and kinda crazy, If this is something that triggers, please don't read! Coercion, unsafe sex, name calling, possessiveness, misogyny, slapping, hair-pulling, manipulation.

The patter of your bare feet echoes faintly down the corridor as you make your way to Tommy’s office. He had come home from a 3-month-long business trip, and no one had cared to inform you, letting you nap all evening to the gentle sound of rain. You knew he’d arrived when your eyes opened and not a sound was heard in Arrow House, as though all the life that’d been booming these past weeks had shriveled and died when his car pulled in.

He seemed to be in a worse mood than usual nowadays, you thought, hesitating at the handle. Smoothing your hair down, you push in and find him exactly as you imagined: a cigarette in one hand, whiskey in the other.

“You didn’t wake me,” you murmur, stepping further in, waiting for a sign of approval. You wouldn’t necessarily say you were a docile young woman; usually, it was quite the opposite. But there was something in your older brother's gaze that always made you feel small, and you twiddled your toes into the carpet, squirming under it now.

“Didn’t want to bother ya’,” he grunts, finishing his drink in one swig, motioning you in with his fingers. “You been walking around like that while I’m gone?” He says, running his eyes down your scantily clad body, making your cheeks burn.

“It's my house too,” you giggle, giving him a twirl, silk red slip shining in the firelight. “You busy?” you hum, padding around his desk and standing just before him, looking down into those pretty cold eyes.

Tommy watches your every move closely. It had been a while since he’d seen his baby sister, and oh how much can change in so little time. Your smooth skin shines under the dim lights, womanly figure peeking through the translucent fabric of your dress, and he ignores the sudden pull in his belly.

“Just tired,” he grumbles, letting his eyes fall shut as you step between his legs, soft hands resting on his shoulders, letting out a low groan as you begin to rub circles into the muscles. “I missed you,” you whisper. You really did, despite his ill temper and lack of conversation skills. You always found comfort in him; he had taken on the role of your protector, and despite his tough exterior, you knew he had a soft spot for you.

Tommy leans back in his chair, exhaling a cloud of smoke as he looks up at you. "Missed you too, love," he admits, his voice a bit softer than before. The tension in the room seems to ease a little as you continue to massage his shoulders.

“You barely called,” you pout, plump pink lip glimmering, and the brief image of biting down on it flashes through his head.

“M’here now,” he cuts you off, running his large hands up your hips, settling on your waist as he pulls you towards him. “Off to bed with ya’. I’ve got work to do, and you’re coming in with me tomorrow.” Tommy’s dominance always seemed to take up all the air, leaving no room for arguments. You couldn’t help but feel out of place in his presence. Such a delicate little thing, with your bows and lace, like a flower growing in the dead of winter.

You offer a soft smile, leaning down to peck him on the cheek before straightening up. "Fine, fine. But only because you missed me," you tease, giving him a quick wink.

Tommy smirks, rough fingers tracing patterns on your waist. You pull away, sighing as his hands leave your body, and make your way to the door. “Goodnight, Thomas. It’s good to have you back,” you hum, disappearing down the corridor, leaving him with the familiar dizziness he gets whenever you two interact.

Pouring himself another drink, he thinks back to your sweet scent, the feel of your soft lips on his cheeks, the slope of your perky tits in your dress. Slamming the glass down with a grunt, he clears the images from his head and begins to tackle his work, drowning any more thoughts of his baby sister with another bottle.

The next morning, you stood at the door, bouncing on your heels while you wait for him to come down. All these days wandering around the house have left you with little need for dressing up. So, you pulled out a pretty pink dress you’d been saving, curls held up in a loose tie, and a little more makeup than usual. Heavy footsteps pulled you from your thoughts as your brother made his way past you, grumbling a faint "morning," barely sparing you a glance. Running to catch up to him, you clamber into the passenger seat, crossing your arms with a huff, and stare him down. "Well?"

Tommy looks you over, pulling a long drag from his cigarette as he takes in your kohl eyes and pink lips. His gaze drifts lower to the low-cut neckline and further to the bunched-up fabric on your plush thighs. A million words rush through his brain, and he settles on, "You look nice," keeping it curt as he begins the drive. He smirks as you scoff and turn your body towards the window.

The office was buzzing as usual, men running around like worker ants past you while Tommy stepped out to speak with someone. A light tap on your shoulder makes you whip around, meeting the bright faces of your older brothers: Arthur and John, as they sweep you up into a grapple. Giggling, you try to break free as they tickle and tease you before you’re all interrupted by the sound of Tommy clearing his throat at the door.

“It’s not proper for a lady to be acting this way in front of strangers,” he says slowly, a frown pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Ah, come on, Tommy, we was just teasing our baby sister,” Arthur laughs as John tugs a free strand of your hair. “Get off me, you big idiots!” You laugh, smacking them both as you all come down from the high. Arthur and John release you, straightening up with amused smirks on their faces. Tommy's expression remained serious, a mix of annoyance and something else bubbling beneath the surface. "Teasing or not, this is a place of business," he growls, his voice low. "We have a reputation to uphold.” He finishes, moving between you and your brothers, placing a firm hand on your lower back to guide you towards his office. You roll your eyes playfully but allow him to lead you away.

As you walked, Arthur and John exchanged amused glances behind Tommy's back; they weren’t immune to your womanly traits. Despite you all having a strong bond, Tommy had always placed an unspoken claim over you. You were just happy to be with your loving brothers. The rest of the day went by in the same fashion, them finding ways to tease and touch you, showering you with compliments as Thomas looked on with a scowl.

He was fed up as he packed up for the day, practically dragging you to the car and speeding home in silence. The tension in the car was palpable as Tommy drove back to Arrow House. The sound of the engine roared in the silence, and you couldn't help but fidget in your seat, glancing at your brother from time to time. His jaw was clenched, and his grip on the steering wheel was tight. As the car pulled into the driveway, he parked it with a screech, the sudden halt causing you to stumble forward. The air was heavy, and you hesitated for a moment before breaking the silence.

“Have I done something wrong?” You ask, voice soft and laced with confusion. Tommy took a deep breath before he spoke, trying to keep his emotions under control “Yer a fucking woman now, y/n.” He snaps, “giggling and bouncing around like a whore isn’t a good image for the Shelbys.” Eyes widening, your lips open and close as you try to find the right words, stomach-churning in shame. “I didn’t think-” “Of course you don’t,” he interrupts. He knows he's being harsh, but as he glances back at you and sees the strap of your dress slip down your shoulder, the remainders of his resolve break away, grabbing a handful of your hair he pulls you in for a searing kiss.

You freeze, feeling him groan against your lips as he holds you in place with one hand, the other moving its way up your thigh. With a jolt, you push on his chest and scramble as far away as you can in the tight space. “Why- I don't understand” You whimper, watching his eyes darken as they take in your trembling body. “You’re a woman now y/n” He repeats, “I know that you see the way men look at ya’” He murmurs, moving closer, “like yer a fuckin’ peace of meat. Like they’d pay anything for a chance between those pretty legs,” he says, grabbing your ankle and pulling you down the seat, settling between your thighs. “You’re mine. Always have been. Since you were a little girl playing in the mud” Whispering into your neck, he punctuates each word with a thrust, you can feel his hardness bumping against your panties and the reality of it all kicks, tears finally beginning to pour.

“Please Tommy” your voice barely over a whisper, “You’re scaring me”. He shushes you gently, placing soft kisses down your neck, pulling down the straps to your dress slowly, as he hungrily takes in the exposed flesh, breath catching as the fabric moves past your breasts. They bounce out, nipples hardening in the cool air and he curses under his breath reaching up to cup one on each hand. “But you’re my brother” You squeal, as his thumb brushes over the peaks, sending jolts of pleasure down your spine. “All the more reason” He chuckles darkly, “who better to own you than your flesh and blood”.

Pulling you in for another kiss, you relax slightly as his words ring in your head. You had noticed the looks you’d get, the special treatment, the passing comments. You also knew that you would eventually have to find a man who wasn’t as scary as the rest, trusting him to build a home, a family. Maybe Tommy was right. He had always been there, keeping you safe and comfortable. He was in no way unattractive, strong jaw and plump lips with a strong physique that you knew the women that were bold enough to mess with the Peaky Blinders swoon over. You feel dizzy and confused as the thoughts run through your head.

“Focus on me mouse” He laughs, noticing you drifting away. Deepening the kiss, his tongue slips past your lips and you moan softly as it dances with yours. Pulling away, you’re both flushed, panting harshly into each other's mouths, lips swollen and wet, connected by a string of spit that you coyly lick off his lip.

Raising his brow, his hand wraps around your throat, giving a warning squeeze. “Tell me you’re untouched” He whispers, “Tell me no man has gotten to my baby sister while I was gone”

You feel a cold rush over you, you think of lying but you’ve never been a very good liar and you know it's only going to make it worse. Instead, you look away from him, wanting to curl up in a ball of shame and disappear as you feel his fingers tighten slowly. “Tell. Me.” He spits, and all you can do is whimper, hoping he takes pity on your shaking frame. Suddenly, your airflow is cut off, hands flying up to grip his wrist while he tries to take deep calming breaths. “Who was it?” He whispers, giving you a quick slap when you don’t respond immediately. “who the fuck was it” he seethes, loosening his grip so you could speak. “Please don’t hurt him, Tommy! it was only once and I was the one who asked” You ramble, it was the truth, as ridiculous as it sounded and you prayed your brother would listen to you and spare the poor boy you’d jeopardized so foolishly.

“You…asked?” he repeated slowly and it was like a new wave of anger washed over him as he stormed out of the car, moving around to your door, yanking out by your arm. He led you to his bedroom, past the maids, past Frances who could do nothing but look away to give you some shred of dignity. and threw you onto the floor.

You scramble towards the bed but he stops you with a hand on your ankle tugging you towards him and raising you by your hair to your knees in front of him. “All this time, my sweet baby sister, our littlest Shelby” He laughs mockingly, “all this time… nothing but a whore who begs men for cock.” Your heart burns at his words and your tears cloud your vision as you babble out an apology “I promise Tommy, I was only curious, it was just once, please I'm so sorry” you cry, grabbing onto his leg as he looks down at you. With a firm grip on your chin, he raises your face to look up at him and swipes his thumb over your lips. “what did you do?” He asks softly. “We just kissed and then he-, he put it in and he pulled out so I wouldn’t get pregnant. I’m so sorry” You whimper, hoping your honesty would appease him. You hated to disappoint him, even as a little girl, you’d do everything you could so that he’d be proud of you. Crying for days on end when you’d done something wrong in his eyes and he’d give you the silent treatment.

“Did you cum?” He asks, to which you shake your head and confess you don’t know what that feels like. You’ve never even touched yourself. His anger is boiling below the surface but your confessions have cooled him a bit and seeing you on your knees, gives him an idea.

“Open your mouth and stick out your tongue.” He commands, unbuttoning his trousers and pulling his cock out, giving it a few tugs. Your eyes widen, watching his fist stroke up and down his huge length. It was probably twice as big as your lover, a thick vein running up the side to his fat pink tip leaking a sticky white fluid. You obey his command and he slaps it on your tongue, groaning as he gives a couple of shallow thrusts.

“This is a real cock y/n '' He chuckles, noticing the fear in your eyes. “Be a good little girl for me and stay still while I fuck yer slutty mouth.” You had heard about this from the maids, thinking back on their gossiping you remember to keep your teeth out of the way, closing your lips over the head and giving it a hard suck. Tommy stumbles slightly, breath hitching as his hands fly to either side of your head, pushing you into the side of the bed, you know you’ve done the right thing.

“Don’t forget to breathe” is all the warning you get before he plunges forward, your nose hitting the dark curls at the base making you gag and your eyes water. He doesn’t let you adjust, setting a brutal pace as he fucks your face, balls slapping your chin with each thrust and all you can do is focus on not throwing up, placing your palms on his thighs to try to hold him back.

“Fuck” He grunts, looking down at his dick disappearing down your throat and he smiles as he watches you struggle. Pulling out, he watches the spit spill down your chin, using his tip to spread it over your pretty face. “Put my balls in your mouth” he hums, continuing to stroke as you look up at him dumbly. “Don’t make me fucking repeat myself.” You quickly try to do as he says, cheeks burning bright red at the dirtiness of it but the sound that he lets out you give them a gentle suck makes a little pride bloom in your chest. You continue like that for a while, alternating between the two, you don’t know how much time has passed but his thrust begins to stutter, and with a loud groan your mouth fills with liquid. “Don’t swallow” He breathes and you try your best to hold it all in your mouth but there is so much that it spills past your lips. He pulls out panting and slaps your cheek, “Let me see”. You open wide, showing the creamy white mess on your tongue and he leans to spit on top of it before ordering you to swallow. “Good fuckin’ girl” He chuckles.

Before you have a chance to catch your breath, he's tugging you up to stand, pulling you into his chest by your waist and smothering you in a wet kiss. You fall back together on the bed, sweaty skin sticking to the sheets and you each shred the rest of your clothing. The feeling of your bodies pressed against one another is electric, fitting into each other perfectly like you were made for the other. Tommy’s hand slips between your bodies, smirking when he feels the pool of slickness between your folds. “So good for me baby, look how wet you are” He breathes in your ear and you whimper as his fingers rub slow agonizing circles on your clit. “Please Tommy” You whine, raising your hips to try to get more friction. “Please what? You beggin’ me the way you did that fuck?” He growled, feeling his anger flare up again but you quickly shake your head with a cry. “No! No, I’m not, I didn’t, please I'm sorry, it was nothing like this” You babble as his fingers pick up speed and you feel an almost painful tightening in your belly. “It-It hurts Tommy” you whine out and he laughs at you, “Just relax baby, take what I give you”

Panting, you nod your head, desperate to please him, and feel your thighs begin to shake from the intensity. “Fuck oh my god, Tommy” You breathe and he gives your clit a slap, murmuring for you to watch your language before continuing his quick pace. Finally, you feel the coil in your belly burst and you scream as your cunt gushes. “My perfect girl, all mine.” he moans into your neck, moving suddenly between your legs, hands behind your knees raising your legs to your shoulders as he settles over you, angling his now-hard cock down into your entrance.

“Wa-wait Tommy '' you mumble, still coming too from the intense orgasm but Tommy has already begun to push in, spearing you slowly. The burn is a lot, you’d only done this once, months ago, and with someone much smaller, and you couldn't help but try to push his hips away as each inch made it harder to breathe. “Fuck, such a tight little cunt, feels like I could cum just from putting it in” He pants, losing himself in the wet warmth of his little sister. He’d dreamed of this moment for years, fantasies that he tried to push to the darkest, furthest part of his mind. On the days that they would roar for attention, he would indulge in a pretty prostitute that reminded him of you. Whether it was your hair or your eyes, he would fuck them like a starved animal.

Now here you were, so small under him, so vulnerable. His hips set a cruel pace from the start, giving you little time to adjust. You could barely breathe, he had you folded up, resting his weight on your chest as you let out little “Ah’s” with each thrust. “Please slow down” You try to say but he swallows it down in an open-mouthed kiss, groaning as you clamp down on him when he goes a little too deep. “Nasty little cockslut” He spits, straightening up, placing your thighs over his hips to reach a new angle. He can watch your tits bounce this way, spitting on them before giving them a firm slap. You can’t stop watching the bulge on your stomach that appears every time he thrusts in. “You’re so deep” you breathe, squealing when he presses down on it.

Without pulling out (or warning), Tommy flips you on top of him. Giving your ass a smack, you take the hint and begin to bounce. Having to do the work while he watches you flusters you, making you lose your pace but another sharp spank puts you back on track. “Do I feel good Tommy?” You purr, feeling a newfound power as you watch his face contort every time you squeeze him. “Like fucking heaven baby” he growls, leaning up to suck on your bouncing tits. You keep up a steady pace, feeling the coil building again, but suddenly Tommy shoves you forward, pulling you into his chest as he pistons his hips up at an animalistic pace, hitting the perfect spot inside you that makes you see stars.

You scream, all shame leaving your body as you barrel over the edge, sticky cunt gushing over his dick, making a mess over his thighs. “Gonna pump you full mouse, make you mine forever. Say it.” He grunts. “I’m yours, Tommy, I’ve always been. I belong to you” You purr, smiling at the choked sound he makes when he digs in as far as he can, warmth filling your walls as you both breathe heavily. He holds you there, stroking gently up and down your spine while you play with curls on his chest. “I will find his name” he murmurs into your hair.

“I love you Tommy” You whisper, eyes falling shut.

“I love you too”

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

First fic on here ! Im a little nervous hehe. Also not proof read! I just wanted to pump out my dream last night. Please let me know what you think!! It means a lot :)🤍

#18+ only #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #smut #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders smut #tw noncon

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strawbeelemonade · 1 year

Note

We need more of spider punk❤️❤️❤️

ROMANTIC HEADCANNONS (Part 2!): Hobart brown

GIF by fizzytoo

SO many requests for this guy,,, i hope you like!

🕷 - hobbie likes watching you stand up for yourself.

🕷 - he knows you have spunk, no matter how deep down, it’s there.

🕷 - it thrills him to see you fight back, fills him with satisfaction. He will back you up in a heartbeat, no matter what it is he will fight with you and for you.

🕷 - he’ll fall back to back with you, you won’t have to worry when fighting along side him, let yourself go and spread CHAOS. He’s got your back

🕷 - he’s very deep thinking. He values your morals, your conviction and who you are in the face of hardships.

🕷 - He thinks real hard about what he chooses to put his faith in. And that includes you.

🕷 - he trusts you with his life.

🕷 - he’s a bit of a wanderer. There isn’t really a reliable routine he follows, so you might go a little while without seeing him.

🕷 - but don’t worry, he’ll always come back to you. He won’t leave you lonely for too long, gorgeous.

🕷 - he’ll pay you random visits just because!

🕷 - and by that I mean he’ll let himself in.

🕷 - its not uncommon for him to show up in the middle of the night, and if your not asleep, he offers to sneak you out for a few hours of fun.

🕷 - It’s alright, beautiful/handsome, there’s no safer place then by his side.

🕷 - If you live here, you’ll know that the UK can get pretty cold, especially at night. he’ll lend you his jacket if he catches you shivering

🕷 - Hobie will take you to concerts. You’re his first choice.

🕷 - he’s got a lot of connections and he can get you in easily.

🕷 - if you think he is anywhere other than right in the front then you are CRAZY. and he wants you right there with him.

🕷 - the music is so loud it’ll shoot through your chests, filling both your senses. sharing that exhilaration with you means a lot to him.

🕷 - he keeps you close to him the whole time, and makes sure you don’t get too roughed up by the other people around you.

🕷 - If it all gets too much don’t worry, he knows a cushy spot in the rafters away from all the people, and its a great view.

🕷 - when Hobie’s the one on stage he’ll be looking for you in the crowd

🕷 - he plays better when your there

🕷 - knowing your eyes are on him makes him more bold.

🕷 - don’t take your eyes off of him. Don’t you dare look away. He wants to see your face.

🕷 - he’s on the run a lot, so he’ll need to crash at your place often to lay low.

🕷 - “thanks, doll. I knew you wouldn’t mind.”

🕷 - if you play guitar he will play solo’s with you

🕷 - if you don’t know how to play he’ll sit behind you and rest his hands over your own, pressing your fingers into the right chords.

🕷 - his chest pressing in to your back are the least of your worries, though. His breathe is hot and his lips are soft. And, oh! your cheek and jaw, which are his favourite places to kiss, are completely exposed.

🕷 - good luck.

🕷 - he’ll give you piggy back rides.

🕷 - wrap your arms around him as tightly as you want. He doesn’t mind. his hair might tickle your face as he turns his head to give you a peck on the cheek, though.

🕷 - when you both sleep next to each other you won’t have to worry about his hair getting in your face. He’ll wear a wrap.

🕷 - his hair is NICE in the movie. those wicks were P R I S T I N E

🕷 - if you play with the little baby hairs poking out from the bundle then he’ll be all over you I bet he’d love that.

🕷 - if he loses his wrap then he might use his mask in a pinch. It’d be really fun if the inside was lined with silk just to keep his hair nice.

🕷 - If he sleeps in that then your gonna have to put something on the spikes to stop them from poking you 😭

🕷 - "nah fam i am not sticking marhsmellows on my head."

🕷 - Honk shoo

🕷 - he will pierce you ears for you.

🕷 - he knows how to sew. mending clothes are more cost effective, and punks have been DIYing outfits since the very beginning.

🕷 - if you don't know how, he can hem or mend your clothes. like i don't he he knows just surface level knowledge either. Hobbie is IN the sewing community

🕷 - he'd get zesty with it too!

🕷 - yeah, he could sew your clothes to look good as new, but have you seen visible decorative mending? there are so many ways to get creative with mending- his personality would really shine through in his work.

🕷 - your favourite pair of jeans that used to have a hole in the knee are now fixed, but with am embroidered spider web spriraling outwards.

🕷 - this is an example of how incredibly thoughtful he is. he spends lots of time and love to turn something broken into something new. and thats one of the ways he'll show you he loves you.

🕷 - you won't really ever be questioning if he loves you though.

🕷 - he's blunt. he'll let you know.

🕷 - tee hee

🕷 - Hobart doesn’t really get Jealous.

🕷 - But he LOVES rubbing your relationship in any clueless suitor’s face when he gets the chance.

🕷 - after watching the movie I am 100% certain that he is willing to clock someone over the head for you.

🕷 - intimidation tactics work great to ward off most creeps. But some people need a demonstration.

🕷 - his hand will snake around your lower tummy or waist, and he pulls you flush against himself

🕷 - he’d lean down to whisper “is this one bothering you?”. Real quietly so no one else can hear.

🕷 - if your friends with Hobart, your friends with Pavitr.

🕷 - and if your dating Hobart, then your basically gonna date him too LMAO

🕷 - Pav thinks you're both so cute! You have his full support. He is INVESTED. The moment he sees you after rough housing with Hobie he gasps! Hello you!

🕷 - he’s all over you.

🕷 - Pav thinks you’re a sweetheart. If Hobie isn’t there you can count on him to have your back.

🕷 - I’ve said this before but he’s canonically got a good read on people, and that’s probably especially so for his best friend.

🕷 - and so he sees how happy you make him. Pav absolutely treasures you.

🕷 - Chances are you'll end up getting close with Gwen too! she stays over in other universes since her situation back in her own isn't great. you guys end up hanging out because of it and ya'll grow close.

#spider man #across the spiderverse #spiderverse x reader #into the spiderverse #into the spider verse #spiderman x reader #hobie brown x reader #hobart brown x reader #spiderpunk x reader #spiderpunk #hobie brown #into the spiderverse x reader #across the spiderverse x reader #itsv #itsv x reader #atsv #atsv hobie #atsv x reader

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captainfern · 1 year

Note

hi gorgeous! you literally started my price obsession like your writing is so gooood! I was wondering if you could write a smut in which price comes back home from a long mission and walks in on the reader touching herself? and he ends up overstimulating the hell out of her as like a punishment? this sounds so weird lmfao but I know if you wrote this is would be so amazing <333

Lounge Act

Captain John Price x fem!reader

[“Lounge Act” by Nirvana]

[18+]

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• summary - price walks in on you touching yourself, and isn’t particularly happy at your impatience lol. • rating - 18+ • wordcount - 2.5k • warnings - fem!reader, mutual masturbation, fingering, orgasm denial, forced orgasms, degradation, praise, unprotected piv, riding, dirty talk of course, strong language

✿ oh my god stop i’m blushing 🫶 thank you so much anon ! i hope you enjoy <3 and lol it’s not weird, i enjoyed writing this 😈

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Three weeks of no Price.

Three fucking weeks.

It was torturous, being away from the man you loved, for so long. You missed him so much, and he missed you too. You couldn’t wait for him to come back home and kiss you, hug you, love you. And touch you.

Those late night phone calls barely twice a week weren’t enough. His voice, scratchy through the phone, telling you how to touch yourself, how to make yourself feel good, what setting to put your vibrator at.

You’d moan to him through the phone, splayed out on your shared bed, bullet vibrator stuffed inside your leaking cunt as you rubbed gently at your clit— just how he told you too.

You’d hear the gentle fap of Price fucking his fist. He’d listen to your sweet sounds, so breathy and desperate as you called to him. His cock was hard in his hand, burning red at the tip, leaking and twitching each time you made yourself cum, whining his rank and name.

But the last time you did that was almost a week ago.

And, maybe you were ovulating, but you were so fucking horny.

Price was due home any day now. He hadn’t given you an exact time, merely a timeframe of a few days. So, you were lounging on the couch in your living room, silk pyjamas on, body heating up as you turned off your TV.

You couldn’t concentrate on anything with how your body was acting up.

“Oh, fuck.” You whispered, leaning back on the couch as you slipped a hand into the silk bottoms of your pyjama shorts.

Two of your fingers came into contact with your cunt— already wet, aching, as you ran the tips of your fingers through your folds. You bit your lip, somehow already so sensitive, as you circled two fingers around your clit, smearing your arousal.

Your mind automatically imagined Price stroking your cunt with his thick fingers. Fingers so much bigger than yours, so much rougher. They reached so deep and made you feel so good that you began to flush hot, sweat like shimmering scales across your exposed skin.

“Nngh— fuck.” You whispered as you shoved two fingers into your dripping core.

You imagined Price thrusting his digits into you, another finger on your clit, rubbing it in smooth circles. You moaned at the image, pressing a spare finger to your clit and beginning to circle it.

Price would get his fingers deep inside you, hitting that gummy spot and make you sob out. You’d beg him, plead him, just keep going. He would hum low in his chest, praising you gently, slamming his fingers into you, your arousal drooling down the curve of your arse.

On your couch, you pumped your fingers in and out of you, the sound of squelching barely audible over the roar of blood in your ears. You screwed your eyes shut, tossing your head back against the couch, stroking that small bundle of nerves until your entire lower body was tingling.

“Ah, fuck, Price, baby, please—” You whined, imaging those soft brown eyes looking up at you, waiting for you to cum all over his fingers.

As you chased your release, you didn’t hear the door open, nor the footsteps down the hall.

Price followed the noises. He heard them as soon as he opened the door. At first, he half-expected you to run up and greet him as soon as you heard the door unlock, but you were clearly preoccupied.

Carefully, he dumped his bag— and the bouquet of flowers he got you— in the hall before entering the living room, where you sat blissed-out with your hand down the front of your pants.

His cock immediately grew hard at the sight, and the way you were whimpering his name almost killed him. Quietly, he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his cargos before he crossed the room.

You were about to let go when you heard his belt buckle, and your movements stopped out of instinct, eyes popping open before finding Price walking over to you, hand dipping into his pants.

“Price!” You beamed, eyes hazy, body thrumming with pleasure.

Price grunted, pulling his cock out of his cargos and grasping the base. You blinked at him, licking your lips as he began to lazily stroke himself.

“Touching yourself?” Price asked rhetorically. “Just couldn’t wait, eh?”

You didn’t say anything, just watched as he pumped his cock a few feet from your face.

“Don’t stop on my accord, my love. Keep playing with that pretty cunt,” he whispered, and you complied. You wiggled out of your shorts, spreading your legs before pushing your fingers back into your dripping hole, moaning his rank loudly. He cursed, picking up the speed of his hand. “Jesus…”

You were already so close, eyes shut and head tilted in pleasure. You panted hard, rubbing your clit simultaneously as pleasure built up within you.

“Price, I’m gonna—”

With a grunt, he moved closer to you and forcefully removed your hand from your cunt. Your eyes snapped open and you stared at him confusedly, lower body shaking.

Price moved your wet hand to his hard cock, forcing your fingers around it, smearing your arousal along the length. You let out a low noise of content as he covered your hand with his and stroked his cock, still standing in front of you as you sat on the couch.

He was grunting above you, not saying anything, just making you jerk him off. But it only lasted a few seconds, before he pried your fingers off of his length and guided them back towards your soaking core.

“Go on.” He urged, and you knew.

You were so fucking sensitive. Thrusting your fingers back into yourself, you wanted to cry with how immediate the feeling was— orgasm nearing, so close, spiral coiling tight in your stomach after just a few strokes.

“That’s it, that’s it…” Price whispered above you, fucking his fist, now glossy with your arousal, tip dripping precum onto one of your exposed thighs.

You were whimpering, trying to keep your eyes open. You rubbed your enflamed clit, bucking your hips to meet the movements of your fingers, orgasm looming.

You were panting. “Price, baby—”

With his free hand, he grabbed your arm again, pulling it away from your core and holding it suspended in front of him. You whined, cunt throbbing, dripping onto the couch. Price, once again, wrapped your fingers around his cock, making you jerk him off, cock directly in your line of sight.

If you weren’t so uncomfortably tight right now, your take it in your mouth. Gladly.

“Fuck, you wanna cum so bad, don’t you, darling?” Price grit his teeth, moving your hand in tandem with his own.

You nodded desperately, trying not to grind your bare core into the rough material of the couch. You licked your lips as you pumped him, listening to his heavy breathing. You missed him so much it was unfathomable.

“Just couldn’t wait for me to get home and fuck you?” Price groaned, hips bucking slightly. “Too impatient… just too impatient.”

“Price,” you whined. “Missed you so much, just couldn’t wait. Missed you so much, baby”

He grunted again, fucking into your fist harder. Meanwhile, he bent his leg, leaning his knee atop the front of the couch, parallel to your core.

“Go on. Show me how much you missed me.” He pressed his knee forward, and you took the hint, shuffling to the end of the couch and leaning back ever so slightly.

When his clothed knee came into contact with your core, you jolted.

“Mm, fuck, captain.” You moaned his rank as you ground yourself onto his knee, the fabric soaking with your arousal.

You dragged your sensitive core over it, bucking your hips in time with the soft fapping of his hand above you. He watched your hips buck against the couch, puffy and soaked core rubbed raw against the material of his cargos, knee damp. He groaned, grunting like a man starved as he jerked off to your blissed-out expression, and the way you desperately rutted onto his knee.

“Price, can I cum? Please?” If he said no, you’d probably explode anyway.

He nodded hurriedly, pumping faster, voice tight. “Yeah, fuck, go on then. Slutty little whore, getting off on my fucking knee, eh?”

You moaned as you, as he said, got off on his fucking knee— pent up orgasm racking through you, forcing a high-pitched moan from your throat as you continued to grind yourself against his cargos. You soaked the material of his pants, riding out the last sparks of your release, before attempting to pull away.

He didn’t let you.

He’d stopped fucking his fist, cock painfully hard as he stooped over you, hands on the back of the couch, caging you beneath him, knee pressing into your sensitive core.

You whined, but he shushed you, watching the way his knee rubbed up and down your dripping slit. He continued the movements, and you gripped at his thigh, half-trying to slow him down, half-trying to keep him there.

“Want another one,” Price growled. “Give me another one, darling.”

You were so sensitive, burning hot beneath him as he ground his knee into your core. Legs twitching, covered in sweat, another orgasm built up within you and, before you could warn him, you came again. He grinned as you spasmed beneath him, slick flooding across his knee. He could feel your wetness sticky on the skin beneath his pant leg.

He pressed his knee to your core a couple more times, leaving you whining, before he retracted it. He pushed his cargos further down his thighs, sitting next to you on the couch then pulling you onto his lap.

You tried to kiss him, to give him a proper hello after weeks away. But you were cut short just inches from his lips— he shoved his fingers into your wet hole, making you sob out his name.

Price thrusted three thick fingers in and out of your cunt, noises wet and lewd. He used another finger to circle your bundle of nerves, which were on fire. You keened, shifting your hips, sensitive and overstimulated. Your cunt rubbed raw already, legs aching, stomach tightening in another impending orgasm.

You were going to die.

“S’need another,” Price whispered darkly. “Jus’need another, darling, come on. Fucking give it to me.”

His words were slurring, drunk off the way you reacted to his touch. His cock was hard against your inner thighs, and you so wanted it inside you. Instead, three fingers— the fingers you had been fantasising about for the past three weeks— stretched you out, causing arousal to drip out of you and onto his lap.

You screwed your eyes shut, mouth agape, head dropped slightly. “Baby—”

You came around his fingers with a flutter of your overworked muscles, squeezing the digits tight. You whined, body wracking against his, burning hot like a candle. Price hummed, pleased, continuing the movements of his fingers as you rolled out of your third orgasm.

He wasn’t fucking stopping. Jesus Christ.

“Uh, uh, P-Price,” you breathed, clawing gently at his shirt. “What… what are… fuck, oh my god, please…”

“You wanted to cum so bad, didn’t you, love?” Price cooed. “Wanted to cum so bad that you just couldn’t wait f’me? Thought you’d be happy by now? This desperate cunt gets to cum so many times.”

Your legs were shaking. You whined, “Price, please, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” Price grunted, fucking his fingers into that spot inside you, making your eyes roll. “Yes you fucking can, and you will. Take it like the needy fucking whore you are.”

Your moans became silent when you came for a forth time, holding his shirt in an iron grip as you released around his fingers. You gushed for him, soaking his pants even more from your position on his lap.

His fingers continued, and you sobbed, tears burning at your eyes.

“Can’t…” You sobbed, cunt raw and aching.

“O’course you fucking can,” Price said, pulling his fingers out of you. “You were so desperate for it a moment ago, weren’t you, darling? Come on, then. You can take more. Desperate little sluts can always take more.”

You choked when he thrust his hard cock into your overstimulated cunt without warning, filling you to the brim. He knocked against your womb, you could feel him in your stomach, his hands moving to your hips while you gripped his shoulders.

“Fucking hell…” He whispered, before beginning a gruelling pace— thrusting up into you, fucking you down onto his cock.

Your cunt stretched to accommodate him, drooling down his length as his pelvis slapped into your arse, muffled by his pants half-way down his thighs. The zipper and button was cold against your under-thigh.

You felt like you were buzzing, about to short-circuit as he pushed you towards another orgasm. Your body felt so empty, yet so full at the same time. The way his cock bullied into you over and over made you struggle to catch your breath.

“Next time,” Price began, puffing as he bucked his hips, slamming himself into your wet heat. “You’re gonna wait for me. You’re gonna wait ‘til I get home and fuck you proper, understood? M’not gonna let you play with this fucking cunt ‘til I say. S’my wet cunt to fuck, yeah? S’my tight… mm-tight fucking cunt to stuff full.”

You moaned, nodding desperately at him.

He grunted, grip tightening as he hit that spot inside you repeatedly, making you shiver and gasp and gush around him.

“When I come home next time, I want you waiting on our bed, patiently, like a good girl,” Price breathed. “I don’t want a fucking lounge act, love. Wanna fuck you on our bed, and I’ll fuck you nice and full. Reward you for being such a good girl. But f’now, you’re not being a good girl—”

You whined, tears streaking your face. “No, no, no, please, baby, please. I’ll be good, I promise. I’m sorry, I just couldn’t wait, missed you so much, baby, I’m sorry—”

Finally, Price pressed his mouth to yours, tongue smoothing against yours. You moaned happily into his mouth, letting him lead. When you both pulled back, a string of saliva followed. It snapped when he licked his lips, eyes scanning your face.

“I know, darling. Missed you too, so much,” he said, then: “One more time. Cum for me one more time, my love.”

With a loud moan, you came around his cock, body completely spent. You jolted and tingled and slumped against his chest, breathing hard as he quickly fucked into your severely overused cunt.

“Good girl, good girl. Hold on baby, almost there.” Price whispered as he used you.

Then, with a short groan and a furrow of his brow, he came inside you, filling your burning cunt, his spend like a salve, cooling the burn. He let his cock soften inside you, holding you to his chest, rubbing his hand down your back.

“Missed you so much.” He whispered.

“Missed you too,” you breathed against his shoulder. “Sorry I couldn’t wait.”

Price chuckled. “It’s alright, love. Three weeks without your fiancés cock must have been so difficult, huh?”

You groaned, slapping him lightly on the chest. “Shut up.”

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#captainfern #captainfernsalutes #call of duty #call of duty mw2 #captain john price #captain price #captain price smut #fem reader #price x reader #captain john price x female reader #captain’snirvana #captain john price x you #captain price x reader #cod smut #captain john price smut

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chrollosbm · 7 months

Text

Satoru Gojo is into Some Weird Roleplay (Christmas Smut)

art cr: glowx_21 on x

hey idk what this is LMAOO. i thought of this randomly bc gojo reminds me of a certain christmas character so i just ran with it! he's one of my three husbands who i love so much so i wanted to write about him. i'm so feral for him it's not even funny. anyways, i hope you enjoy and don't take it too seriously, unless you want to idc! mdni.

domestic gojo, husband gojo, dad gojo

female reader, no description of her features but i’m black so

warnings: piv sex, unprotected sex, breeding kink, satoru won't shut up, dom gojo

i'm on ao3, pls support me there too!

wc: 1500+

“Satoru,” You surprised yourself in the way you were able to let out a single word with his unrelenting thrusts. “Baby. P-please slow down.”

The man who was currently plummeting into you from behind let out a click of his tongue, ignoring your request and instead opted with a loud and hard smack to your ass, his pace somehow getting faster and harder. His hips were ruthless against the fat of your ass, creating clapping noises throughout the large bedroom.

“What was that? Couldn’t hear you.” He let out breathlessly, his tone as playful as ever, waiting for you to address him the right way.

You wanted to reach back and knock some sense into him, tell him to slow his thrusts before he knocked the wind out of you and woke up the children. His deep and powerful thrusts prohibited you from saying much though, with his fat cock reaching your g-spot so effortlessly that you were seeing stars.

If you could roll your eyes right now you would, but your body seemed to forget how to function, only capable of following the orders of your ridiculous but gorgeous husband behind you. “Saint Nick…please.” It would’ve sounded ridiculous to you if you weren’t being plummeted to Neptune with each touch of your gummy spot deep within you, but you were being fucked so stupid that you would call him God if he asked. “You don’t wanna wake up the little elves do you?” You played along as you continued panting, fingers grasping the silk sheets tightly, tears in your eyes from the intense pleasure.

You thought he was ignoring you again, with his long fingers digging deeper into your hips before he slowed his pace, deciding on an unhurried, rough one, sliding in and out of those warm, wet walls of yours with a long and drawn out “fuuuuuck,” leaving his mouth. “The elves are fast asleep, baby. Don’t worry about them, just take Santa’s dick, mmkay’?” His voice was jolly as ever, just like Santa Claus himself, and you would’ve laughed if his cock wasn’t basically touching your brain at this point. You could only let out small whimpers as he arched your back further, reaching only a place he could.

Why you agreed on letting your dear husband roleplay as Santa was beyond you, but Satoru had a way with words. All he had to do was promise to make you feel good, make you cum all night long, pretty please baby, in that convincing, deep voice of his, a pout on his features, those bright blue eyes begging, so how could you say no?

You should have made some more conditions, one being to say no to the bells he had attached to the bed frame, with them ringing with each jerk of his hips, creating an impossibly loud jingle. He said it would get the two of you in the “Christmas spirit,” with the bed decorated in lights and ringing balls, sounding like a real sleigh everytime the bed hit the wall in full force.

Your thoughts were interrupted by Satoru pulling himself out of you, leaving you empty and missing him already, causing a whine to leave your lips as he flipped you over as if you weighed nothing, before settling in between your legs again. You were faced with the beautiful man you were so grateful to call yours, his cerulean orbs were darkened somehow as they stared into yours, looking dazed and drunk off your pussy, his pupils slightly dilated. His pretty white follicles were tucked into a red santa hat, the puffy ball tossed on the side, sweat trickling from his temples from wrecking your insides. He had that adorable, innocent smile on his face, as if he wasn’t guilty of talking you into this comical predicament in the first place.

“Will Mrs. Claus let me put the beard on again?” He let out, a pout forming on his pink lips, glossy from sweat and saliva.

“No, don’t ask again!” You almost yelled, your face scrunched in annoyance and he let out a booming laugh at your immediate response.

Satoru did have a cheap, plastic beard that matched his white hair perfectly, but you made him take it off for a couple reasons. One being it looked terrible. As beautiful as the man above you was as he was staring down at you, shallow breaths coming from his perfectly shaped, rock hard abdomen, and his rosy cheeks, the beard made him look…creepy. Two being it was damn itchy. He had been going down on you when he had it on, but it was impossible for you to focus on his holy tongue work and perfect movements of his fingers, curving into you, hitting that spot that had you crying out his name for the night (fucking Saint Nick.) Once it began scratching your legs painfully, you’d forced him to take it off, which he did with a whine, throwing the damp, shitty excuse for a beard across the bedroom floor, before making you cum from his tongue alone, more than once.

Your husband’s wide grin was replaced with something immodest as he gripped your thighs, pulling you forward, and slipped inside torturously slow, earning a gasp from the both of you. His head was thrown back and his lip was caught in his teeth, causing your pussy to throb from both the feeling of warmth and fullness again, and Satoru’s effortless way of making you feel hot inside just by simple facial expressions, subsequently making a groan escape his lips before sinking into you completely, touching your gummy spot immediately with the angle he entered.

He kept your legs apart as he thrust into you forcefully and fast-paced again, with you giving no complaints this time about the commotion the jingling bed frame was causing. You didn’t care, for he was taking you to heaven in this position, goosebumps erupting from your skin and seeing black dots in your vision with each time he reached a new depth inside you. Your cunt was competing with the loud noises of those stupid fucking bells as it made sloshing noises throughout the room, and when you looked down, you could see your juices dripping onto his pretty, pale, absolutely perfect cock.

As if he could read your mind, he spoke for you. “You’re so fucking wet, baby. My god.” His head was no longer tilted back, but also looking down as your tight, slippery cunt sucked in his dick, a feral look on his features, absolutely enamored by the sight. His pace never let up, his hips moving at the speed of light almost as he used one hand to press on your lower stomach, making it feel better than you thought possible. “You feel me in there? You feel Santa’s cock abusing this perfect little cunt?” His goofy grin returned and you couldn’t do anything but let out a loud moan of approval, face twisted up, still entertaining his mess because this just felt too fucking good.

His hand moved from your tummy to focus on your clit, fingers rubbing small, soft circles, completely catching you off guard. Your legs began to tremble from the insane pleasure you were feeling, hands clenching the sheets so hard again you were surprised they didn’t come off the corners of the bed.

“Can I make you a mommy again? Put another little helper in this belly?” That feral look was in his eyes again, tone as light as ever, as he slowed down, choosing a rough ram motion, causing your tits to jiggle at the change of pace, making Satoru groan at the sight, mouth halfway open. You didn’t know if it was the mind fog you felt from him fucking you brainless, but you nodded vigorously as tears fell down your cheeks, that white hot feeling in your veins approaching, mind so numb you would probably agree to having ten more of his white-haired, blue-eyed children. The two of your already had four, three you’d birthed and one you adopted, but you didn’t care right now, you felt like he had seriously taken you to the North Pole with the way his cock was basically fucking your guts.

His infamous smile returned before leaning down to place his lips on yours, barely kissing you, just sticking his minty tongue in your mouth and panting, speaking incoherent sentences along the lines of you being a “good girl,” and “taking his load so well.” You couldn’t comprehend a thing anyway, as your body began convulsing, washing over with relief as your orgasm was drawn out of you, long and bone shattering, with your back arching off the bed with a squeal that was hard to keep inside your body.

Satoru wasn’t too far behind you, with his eyes closed tightly, as his hips began twitching, the first time all night they didn’t have a consistent rhythm and he groaned out loudly, spurting long, hot ropes of his cum inside you.

His eyes opened soon after, those beautiful blue orbs staring at you adoringly with his signature wide grin on his face, in which you returned, panting heavily, so thankful for this beautiful, insane, goofy husband of yours. He grabbed the comforter and placed it over the two of you, kissing your lips softly, his breath heavy as the two of you exchanged small “i love you’s” back and forth.

“Mommy?” A small voice came from the corner of the room and your heart dropped, recognizing it as your three year old daughter’s, afraid of what she might’ve seen. Satoru hid under the covers, his hat coming off in the process and you had a full view of her now, with her candy cane nightgown and teddy bear in her arms, her lip quivering with tears in her eyes.

“What’s wrong, baby?” You asked, ready to get up and comfort your youngest, afraid something happened as it was past midnight on Christmas Eve. God, did the bells wake her up?

She stomped out the room before you could get up, wailing and yelling for her older brother. “Megumi! Mommy was kissing Santa!” Her cries could be heard throughout the entire house and you knew everyone would be awake by now.

Satoru’s loud laugh could also be heard throughout the entire house, its jollyness rivaling Saint Nick himself.

my masterlist!

#gojo satoru #gojo smut #gojo x you #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x reader #gojo x female reader #gojo x black reader #gojo x black y/n #jjk x black reader #jjk x female reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk #satoru x you #satoru x y/n #satoru x reader

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bradshawsbaby · 8 months

Text

Senses

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Wife!Reader

Summary: Being loved by Robert Floyd is a feast for the senses.

Word Count: 2.7k

Author's Note: This is my attempt to capture in words the vibes that I have not been able to get out of my head for days. The writing style is a little different than my usual work, but I thought it was fun trying something new!

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Strong sexual content, allusions to oral sex (female and male), unprotected sex between a married couple, romance, fluff.

One thing you’ve come to learn in your years of knowing and being known by Robert Floyd—more intimately than you have been known by anyone else in all your life, you might add—is that to be loved by him is a feast for the senses.

Touch.

Calloused fingertips dancing across the bare expanse of your back, so slowly that they seem to make time stand still, if only for a moment. The roughened pads of his thick fingers twirling over each and every freckle, birthmark, scar. Goosebumps rise in the wake of his warm skin ghosting over yours, trailing down your spine and tracing the curves of your shoulder blades.

The knuckles gliding down your arm wordlessly seek to know, Are you awake?

Yes, you silently reply, your own fingers reaching back to tangle with his, the coolness of his wedding band a shock to your flushed skin. His hand, so much larger than your own, closes around yours for a moment and squeezes softly, tenderly, lovingly.

Then his fingers are gone, replaced by the featherlight touch of his lips against the curve of your neck, his button nose nudging your hair out of the way as he peppers your skin with barely-there kisses that leave your body aching for more. His lips are soft, breathtakingly so, in a way that makes you want to both laugh and weep as his mouth trails from the crook of your shoulder up to that delicate spot just beneath your ear and then down again across the nape of your neck. You’re reminded of the peppermint chapstick that he insists on applying all year long, and your heart suddenly feels near to bursting with love for the man whose arm is now snaking tightly around your middle, drawing you back more securely against his strong chest.

Your hand slides down and traces the curve of his, each of his veins like a sentinel standing at attention as he fists your midnight blue nightgown in his grasp, his kisses growing more insistent as he nips at your ear, his tongue soothing the sting left in the wake of his affectionate attack.

His fingers, his lips, his hands, his tongue—they all meld together, the sensation of his touch overwhelming in the very best way as he rolls you onto your back, his weight shifting as he presses himself down upon you, bare skin brushing against the silky softness of your nightgown, teasing the hardened nipples underneath.

Then his mouth is on you again, hot breath fanning across your chest as his head dips lower, lips and tongue working in tandem to caress your pebbled skin through the fabric of the nightgown you’d purchased just for him on his last birthday—the one he always handled with such care as he tore it off you.

You adore the feel of the hard muscles and planes of his back as your hands explore his body, your delicate fingertips tracing his freckles and birthmarks and scars. You can feel the strength of him in every tiny movement, the quiet power and agility that so many underestimate, the vigor that turns you to a puddle every time.

His touch is gentle as he continues to move downward, his massive paws gliding dark blue silk upward to lay you bare before him—for a brief moment, you remember the scrap of matching blue lace still lying in the drawer where you’d abandoned it last night, much to your husband’s evident delight.

And then his face is buried between your thighs, teeth tugging at the fragile skin he finds there as those calloused fingertips dig into the meaty flesh of your upper legs, spreading you wide for him to devour. He’s all soft lips and warm tongue and hot breath as he explores every inch of you, that button nose that you so often press kisses to nudging and teasing you in just the right places.

His touch in this moment has you seeing stars, your hips bucking upwards as you feel yourself cresting the waves of pleasure he’s unleashing within you. You bury your fingers in his honeyed locks to steady yourself, your heart beating double time inside your chest as you sense yourself drifting further and further away from the shore, lost in this whirlpool of his creation. But then his fingers are lacing through yours, holding you secure. Anchoring you to him. He’d never let you slip so far away that he could not find you.

His touches don’t cease as you ride the wave of your high, his hands firmly wrapped around your hips and his mouth still on you as your back arches off the bed with a soundless cry, salty tears streaming out your eyes and into your hair, pulse racing, skin hot to the touch.

He’s holding you again, his lips featherlight once more as they travel across your collarbone, his work-roughened hands grasping your legs until the trembling finally subsides.

His touches whisper, I love you, I love you, I love you. I’m here. I’ll never leave you.

Taste.

You can taste yourself on him when he kisses you, a sharp, tangy flavor that you’ve never quite gotten used to. But on his lips, anything can taste like heaven.

As you tangle your fingers in his mussed locks and kiss him back, you try to pick out all the other flavors on his tongue—the faint hint of spearmint from the toothpaste he’d used to brush his teeth before bed, the barely-there taste of his peppermint chapstick, the slight saltiness from the sweat he worked up between your legs. They all blend together to form a flavor that is so distinctly him. You wish you could bottle it up and keep it with you forever.

His kisses taste sweeter than honey and get you drunker than any cocktail at The Hard Deck ever could. You could happily spend all your days like this—forgoing food and water for the rest of time so long as you could feast upon these lips that you love so much.

The rest of him tastes just as sweet as you mimic his kisses from earlier, your lips trailing across his jaw, working the spot just beneath his ear, then traveling down towards the dip of his shoulder.

Pressing him down into his pillows, you explore every inch of his body with eager lips, never tiring of the taste of his skin, still warm from sleep and flushed from exertion. And when you take him into your mouth, his hips jumping slightly as his hands find purchase in your hair, you swear you grow lightheaded for a moment at the musky, salty taste of him.

An act that you had once dreaded before knowing him now becomes the highlight of your morning as you use your mouth to bring him pleasure, the way he has done for you more times than you could even think to number. And where once upon a time you would have pulled away, now you welcome the explosion of him on your tongue, a mixture of salty and sweet that you couldn’t explain even if you wanted to.

But you don’t want to. Because this? This is just for the two of you, and no one else. You’re the only one who gets to know what he tastes like.

It fills you with a sort of giddy sensation, the flavor of both of you joined together on your lips and tongue. You kiss him again so that he can experience it, too, this blending together of the pleasure you find in one another.

His tongue is gentle in your mouth, moving with yours in a dance that your body knows all too well.

The taste of him tells you, I am yours, and you are mine. Always.

Sight.

He’s beautiful. He’s always been so beautiful.

As he grabs you around the waist and pins you down to the bed once more, hovering above you, you have a chance to admire the way the morning light comes streaming through the gossamer curtains, bathing him in a warm, golden glow.

Cerulean eyes gaze down at you, rivaling even the bluest of seas, and the love glowing in them is enough to send your world tilting on its axis and then turn it right side up again.

It’s taken you so long to truly embrace the way he looks at you, as if you yourself had climbed up into the sky and hung the moon and stars.

He’s been looking at you that way since the very start, but your instinct has always been to hide, to duck your head or avert your gaze—anything to escape the intensity of such undeserved adoration. But ever so slowly, as he’s worked to put the broken pieces of your heart back together bit by bit, you’ve found that you’re no longer so afraid to look into those stunning baby blues and accept the love that you find there.

And now, as you lay caged between his strong arms, you gaze unabashedly back at him, the unadulterated devotion brimming in his eyes mirrored in your own.

Looking up at him, it dawns on you—not for the first time—that everything about him, from the top of his head all the way down to his toes, is beloved to you. That golden brown curl that falls across his forehead when his hair, usually so immaculately kempt, is tousled from sleep and the sweep of your fingers. The crinkle around his eyes and the roundness of his cheeks as he smiles at you, those soft lips of his curving upward into a grin that could only be described as angelic despite the devilish things he does to you. The way his skin turns a faint shade of pink, as if even after all this time, he’s bashful about the way your body fits against his just so. That button nose that you can’t help but boop whenever you get the chance.

You reach up to trace his face with a gentle hand, slowly brushing one finger down the slope of his nose and outlining the bow of his lips.

If there ever came a day when you were robbed of the ability to stare at his precious face, you wanted to have every inch of it committed to memory.

He feels the same. You can tell from the way he caresses you, fingertips dancing across your skin as he touches your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, your chin. His glasses are still resting on the bedside table where he left them last night, but you know he can still see every bit of you, his gaze as intensely focused as the lasers he locks on mission targets.

His gaze screams into the early morning stillness, You’re my entire world. I don’t know what I’d do without you.

Smell.

His scent fills your lungs, fills every available crevice within you until all you can breathe is him. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Even after two showers, the smell of jet fuel still clings to his skin, a fixture as permanent as the freckles sprinkled across the back of his neck. It’s a part of who he is, embedded in the blood that flows through his veins. You think of all the times he’s apologized for it, but you like it—even when he’s gone, it lingers on his pillow, a reminder that a part of him will always be with you and that he’ll be back in your arms soon enough.

Jet fuel blends with the woody scent of his body wash, an aroma that you inhale deeply as you bury your face in his neck, your bodies writhing together in a slow, lazy dance as his need for you grows more apparent with each second that passes.

You can actually smell it, the thick scent of desire that hangs over the room like a cloud. Even with the window partially ajar, the early morning breeze lilting through the curtains, it’s a powerful aphrodisiac, making your own need all the more acute.

As his hand trails downward and dips between your legs, you gasp quietly into his mouth, hooking your leg around his as his expert fingers bring you to the brink once again. And yet much too soon, he’s pulling his hand away and smiling at the little noise of protest that you make. He reaches up to grasp your face in his hand and press a kiss to your nose, and you can smell yourself on him. It gives you a little thrill, this thought that you’ve marked him for yourself. He is yours and no one else’s. No one else will ever know this part of him, the part of him that he saves just for you.

And no one else will know you the way that he does. He’s marked you, too, the scent of him heavy on your skin. You hope that it never fades away.

When he stretches his body over yours, fitting himself inside you the way that only he can, your breath and your bodies mingle together as one, and the fragrance of your lovemaking permeates the air.

It says, The rest of the world is gone. It could all fall away right now, forever, and it wouldn’t matter because I have you in my arms.

Sound.

His breathing is heavy in your ear, his panting punctuated by soft grunts and groans of pleasure as his hips roll in tandem with yours, filling you up as he whispers against your skin how beautiful you are, how precious you are to him, how much he loves you.

It’s like a symphony, every noise he makes, every word he whispers music to your ears as your own sighs and whimpers harmonize with his.

No one else could ever make your body sing the way he does.

No one else could ever draw those sounds from him the way you do.

He’s holding you tightly, so tightly, as he loses himself in the sensation of your body, your body that’s gripping him so intensely that he has no choice but to cry out in ecstasy, his moans echoing off the walls of your bedroom and rivaling the yearning coos of the mourning doves outside your window.

You’re crying out, too, his name falling from your lips over and over again in a breathless rush as you cling to him, your arms wrapped securely around his broad shoulders. You know that you’re not going to be able to last much longer.

From the labored sound of his breathing, he isn’t either.

You whisper in his ear that you’re close, that you’re about to fall apart for him.

He captures your lips with his own and whispers back that he’s close, too, that if you can just hold out a few seconds longer, he’ll be right there with you to accompany you into oblivion.

And so you do. You hold out just long enough until he’s practically sobbing your name, and then you tumble over the edge as well, the sound of his name reverberating off the walls until the two of you are lying still in the afterglow, panting and gasping for air.

You can hear his heart beating inside his chest as he collapses on top of you, still inside you as he nuzzles against your cheek, pressing lazy kisses to your jaw.

Running your fingertips up and down his back, you relish the magnificence of this still, slow morning and the beauty of the man you get to share it with.

All of it—touch, taste, sight, smell, sound—is such a glorious reminder of what it is to be seen and known and loved in a way you never would have thought possible before him.

“I love you, Bobby,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his sweaty forehead.

Bob smiles at you, his hands coming to rest on either side of your face as he kisses you tenderly, admiring the way the light skates across your skin. “I love you, too, sunshine.”

#robert bob floyd #bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #x reader #x female reader #top gun #top gun: maverick #lewis pullman

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undermine-the-instinct · 1 year

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Stop looking at me with those eyes!! Jjk Pt l | Pt ll | Pt lll

Characters: Gojo, Geto, Yuuta, Nanami, Shoko, Toji, Naoya.

Warnings: Spicy times are alluded to/insinuated. Naoya gets his own warning, lol.

* ☆ * ☆ * ☆ *

{Satoru} never wears his blindfold when he's around you. He's stopped wearing it early into your relationship, let's his hair down and his shoulders untense.

And you cherish these moments together, the comfortable silence, the air around you two quiet and languid. You're kinda creeped out though by the way Satoru stares at you.

"Stop looking at me with those eyes."

"What eyes?" He grins, his face in his hands. If he had a tail, you think it would be wagging.

"You know what you're doing."

"I'm sure I have no idea."

Ever heard of the blue eyed gaze? People with blue eyes tend to keep their eyes wide open, which you thought was weird and fake, but Satoru eyes are practically tennis balls.

"Stop staring at me like that. I can't concentrate with you giving me those puppy eyes."

"Oh? Get over here then and give me some attention." You scoff, but it's cut short by your laughter.

"You're not even trying to hide your motives, are you?"

"Nope!" He pops the 'p' and grins at you with those sparkling eyes, his pupils two twin dark spots of gravity, pulling you into his orbit. You don't even notice how absorbed you are, till he grins and his pupils dilate, big and round like marbles. You blush, and shake yourself out of your reverie.

You must resist.

"...No. After I'm done with the chores. You won't let me go once I'm in your clutches."

"Oh kitten," Satoru shakes his head in faux pity. "I'm not letting you go ever."

* ☆ * ☆ * ☆ *

{Suguru} doesn't try to hide how often he stares, but he's so sly with it you hardly notice. When you do notice though he smiles, slow and wide, eyes dark and almost sultry.

You know his work is dangerous, and you know he will die doing it. You savor the way he looks at you, even if you're too shy to say it out loud. But he knows how he makes you feel.

"Stop looking at me with those eyes." Suguru's smile is lax and mischievous, like a cat that just got the cream. He tilts his head and his hair falls over his shoulder, dark silk you want to feel between your fingers.

"Do you really want me to stop, honey?" See? He knows what he's doing. Your face flushes red and his smile turns sharp and teasing.

"..."

He snickers, and your gut flutters.

"Yeah, I know."

"You think you're so slick, don't you?" You try to cover up your embarrassment with irritation, but Suguru sits up so suddenly, and quick as lightning snatches you from the far side you were standing beside. You're in his arms, squeaking and struggling and laughing, squirming to get free but there's no escape.

Suguru watches you, soft and fond till you're out of breath, huffing against his chest with a pretty red face. He leans down and smacks a wet kiss to your forehead, laughing at the way your face scrunches.

"Yes. Yes I do."

"I hate you."

"I love you too hun bun."

"....Love you too Suguru."

* ☆ * ☆ * ☆ *

{Yuuta} is the definition of lovesick. He's got those shoujo heart pupil eyes whenever you so much as breathe in his direction. And that's how it always is. Whoever he's talking to, whatever he's looking at– even if he is in the midst of battle, face angry and eyes pinprick focused, he turns soft when he looks at you.

And you're such a sucker for that face that it makes you crumble everytime you see it. And he doesn't even use it to exploit you, he just uses it to get you to take care of yourself, or let him take care of you!

"..."

"Please?"

"Not now."

"Just a small break. Please, you've been working so hard."

"Not now, Yuuta. And stop looking at me with those eyes."

Yuuta doesnt reply and you try to be strong, you try, but you crack and take a peek. Immediately those eyes attack your heart, and you sigh through your nose, already defeated.

"..."

You just stare down at him and you both know it, you can see the hope in his face, but you also see the patience. He's kneeling next to you, willing to wait this out, (because you always fold) no matter how long it takes, and you sigh all over again.

"You know I fold like wet cardboard with that face Yuuta."

"But it works?" Sweet bastard. "So may you…? Please?"

"Ugh, fine. A quick break." His face breaks out into a smile like the sky dawning.

"Thank you, sweetie."

* ☆ * ☆ * ☆ *

{Nanami} shakes his head, gentle but adamant. "No."

"..."

"I said no."

"..."

"We'll have to run if we want to make it to that cafe in time. You're wearing heels and I can't carry you with all these bags." He had to do some juggling just to be sure he could hold your hand, no way both you and the bags can fit in his arms.

"Love." You don't answer.

Nanami says your name and sighs hard in the same breath, pinching his nose.

"We have enough already, and we've already gone well above our budget today."

"That's never been a problem before. You don't have to get everything for me, y'know. I have my own money. We can run, and i'll pay."

Nanami's head turns so he can look at you like you're crazy; he takes you out, he pays. He understands the issue of feeling indebted, or feeling bought (of course you're not) but you're his (willingly) and what is his is yours. But as soon as he turns and opens his mouth to speak he knows he's made a mistake.

He was only holding out because he was only holding your hand, and not your gaze. But you perk as soon as he faces you and turn onto him all the charm and endearment you can put into your eyes.

Doe eyes. It's annoying whenever the eccentric Gojo, who acts like one of his students tries to do this, and he's not swayed (too much) when his students do the same.

You though? God damn it. Your eyes are wide and sparkle and plead with him and he sighs, crumbling like a sandcastle in a storm.

"Fine. We can make it in time. I'm paying."

"Thank you honey! But you don't have to pay."

"And you don't have to wear that lingerie you bought but you want to," Nanami starts pulling you along, gently, and smiles back at you as you follow along. You smile back, fluttering your lashes prettily.

"And I don't have to pay, but I want to. So I will. End of deal." You grin at him, practically skipping, happy.

The big doe eyes always work. Hopefully they'll work later tonight too.

* ☆ * ☆ * ☆ *

Siren eyes. Even as a youth {Shoko} never had a doe eyed gaze, and she never had the dark levity for sultry. Her dark eyes are like pools that you drown yourself in, and it's often you caught staring at her. She'd flick your forehead and tell you to let her get back to work, because no good deed goes unpunished. You grin and ask the doctor for a quick check up.

"This is your fourth check up of the day."

"It's for my health, doctor. You can't just leave me like this." Shoko rolls those pretty eyes of hers, and it takes your all to not sigh like some besotted schoolgirl. You can't hide your affection in your eyes though, and she raises an eyebrow.

"Hey, no. Stop staring at me with those eyes. I have work to do."

"Is there something in my eyes? Come closer so you can check it out." She shakes her head at you.

"Yeah, no, you're not slick."

"It could be a serious case!"

"Yeah, it is." She steps closer, the click clack of her heels matching the staccato of your heart.

She presses a quick kiss to your mouth, and another, and moves back before you could press for more.

"Yep, I knew it. A very serious case of I-need-attention-so-I'm-gonna-keep-bothering-my-lover-from-her-very-important-work."

"...itis." She mushes your forehead and walks off so you can't see the grin spreading on her face.

"Oh shut up."

* ☆ * ☆ * ☆ *

{Toji's} got a staring problem. You have chores to do and you know you can't make eye contact because then he'll come over and he won't let you leave.

It's a game of pretending you don't see his eyes, and the longer you go the wider his grin becomes because he knows you're cracking, he knows and it's so damn cute to him. You know you never last long.

And oh my God, (and he does this on purpose) when his eyes finally leave your face, and trail slowly over the rest of your form, sliding over your curves and angles and lingering on the places he best likes to touch….. If you make it past this Toji whistles, and leans back in his seat, arms and legs spread. He looks so big and inviting.

"You're holding on strong."

"Chores, Toji. I held them off long enough, they should have been done yesterday." God damn his eyes. Dark and alluring, he is every temptation and vice crooning your name.

You think if Sirens could exist out of the ocean, Toji would be volcanic, his eyes are ash and his hands are fire on your skin, melting you, all soft and pliant in his hold.

You're like chocolate around him. Melting and sweet and dripping in his hands.

"Yeah, yeah we were busy." Okay, stop thinking about that. Don't think about how long he kept you in that room, in that bed, lounging and kissing and touching and tasting–

He laughs, loud, head tilting back and his scar stretching with his mouth. When you finally turn to glare at him he laughs harder, at the red flush that's spread past your face.

"Yeah, get the hell over here baby," he wipes a tear away and opens up his arms, beckoning you over.

"You held on long enough."

* ☆ * ☆ * ☆ *

You don't know whether sometimes {Naoya} is giving you the bedroom eyes or just glaring at you. Sometimes it's both. You think it's both.

"..."

"...?"

"..." He's still glaring, but he definitely looks more angry now. Too bad. Its late and you have a skincare routine to finish. And you can't read minds, even though you can tell what he wants from the heat in his eyes, the stiff way he's holding himself.

He sighs hard, and your mouth twitches. He sees this, and frowns deeper.

"Are you done with your ridiculous routine? Get yourself over here."

"No love, I'm not. You're going to have to wait a few moments more." You hear a sharp intake of breath, because how dare you leave your husband waiting, and you can help it! You giggle.

"....How audacious you are."

"And how so dear?" You see his face turn pouty, before he smooths it back down to irritation. It's funny how angry he gets. He could just ask.

"You know what I want."

"Well you're going to have to wait. I'm busy."

"Exactly. Audacious. You are supposed to serve your husband. Not to leave me bereft."

"I also have to make sure I look my best, because that reflects on the both of us. I'm sorry baby, I know you want my attention." You grin, and you think if you were anyone else you would be dead already. You think Naoya would have killed them.

But you're you and you're amazing and your husband only puts his hands on you if you want him to. He knows he'd be damned to the lowest level of hell if he really spoke to you with and expected all that misogynistic bullcrap, so it's fun to play like this sometimes.

You sigh and set down one of your bottles. He perks, even if he tries to hide it, and you turn to him.

"It's Friday, so I'm doing a mask. I can't rush this routine." He opens his mouth to protest, but you hold a hand up. The power you hold.

"Lay down. Untie your hakama." The power you hold. Naoya looks at you like you're crazy, but he does just that, leans back and lets you see how the low lamplight tints his skin gold.

You gesture with your chin and his eyes widen as he catches on.

"Go on. You're so eager, right? Maybe if you put on a good enough show I'll join you." You smile. "Go on."

A/N: I sincerely think if Naoya had a poc partner, sorcerer or not, they fr could've set him straight. HES SO HANDSOME AND FOR WHAT???

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