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spatialwave · 1 month ago

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aches and pains.

➸ ask: "“Tell me to stop and we stop. I don’t care what’s happening. All I care about is you” with Viktor please 🥹👉👈" - @lillycore ➸ pairing: viktor x fem!reader ➸ word count: 1.7k ➸ tags: mdni! nsfw, pwp, smut, hurt/comfort, no use of y/n. ➸ notes: ty for the ask!!! <3<3<3

Viktor’s lips on your skin took away all that weighed you down. His touch or calm words mediated the worst days—you were so lucky to have his comfort. A man who loved you so much that he would do anything he could to keep a smile on your face.

Or to see your face contorted in pleasure at the gentlest of breaths along your body.

You were easy to please only because your lover was a quick learner. A few ghosting touches to your thighs taught him that you preferred taking things slow. Your legs spread and lips trembling when he would dip fingers between your rounded thighs, fingertips brushing along the fabric of your underwear only to drag back to your skin.

When his fingers returned to your heat, you were a mess, soaked through the fabric between your legs and onto the bedsheet below.

Viktor aimed to learn your body, to understand every ebb and flow of your emotions, and to want nothing more than to support all that was you.

His eyes flickered under the candlelight as he read the pages of a rather lengthy novel. Resting back on the couch with you, legs tangled, reading under the dim light as you drifted in and out of sleep after a long day at the academy left you exhausted.

You left so early and came home so late that you had only seen the sun through the few windows of the lab you were in. All for science—not much for your well-being.

He smirked behind the pages, face hidden from your view, “You’re not sneaky.”

You thought you had been, but your foot between his legs had rubbed a bit too hard against the hardening bulge in his slacks. Of course, he wasn’t at all oblivious to your advances.

“Oops,” you giggled, sinking further into the couch as you watched him coyly. Smiling when he peeked over his book and directly at you, a brow quirked.

“I thought you were trying to rest,” he chided playfully, closing the book and resting it atop his lap. He shifted beneath your touch, your foot still offering gentle rubs against his growing erection that showed how much he wanted this, too, “If I keep you up, you aren’t going to complain that you’re too tired in the morning, are you? So I have to make breakfast and bring it to you in bed.”

A sickeningly sweet smile spread across your lips, combating the tired look in your eyes. “Don’t act like you don’t prefer cooking breakfast. You said yourself that I’m a horrible cook.”

He swatted at your leg, a guttural hum of disappointment coming from him, “I didn’t say that… I said you weren’t, eh,“ he battled through proper wording for a moment, ”the best cook.”

You rolled your eyes at his sheepish smile. “Same thing,” you giggled, biting down on your bottom lip as you retracted your foot and moved to sit up, extending a hand as you stood.

Viktor allowed himself to be tugged along by you after he blew out the candle, following you slowly to the unmade bed that looked inviting at the late hour. With how exhausted you seemed, he almost wondered if you would fall asleep.

The heavy bags under your eyes were a bit concerning, reminiscent of his own days when work took priority over himself.

“Don’t force yourself if you’re too tired,” he reminded you, his voice was soft as you both lay in bed, much of your clothing already removed from each other’s bodies. His lips were pressed to your bare shoulder as he lay on his side, peppering you with soft kisses while his hand grazed over your lower stomach. It ignited flames inside your abdomen.

“Not tired,” you mumbled. It had been over two weeks since you were last intimate with him, you couldn’t help but feel like you needed to do this—you hadn’t gone this long without sex with Viktor ever.

It had been on your mind since you arrived home, a new insecurity wrapping your psyche. Would he lose interest in you if you didn’t?

Your brain wasn’t kind to you when you were tired.

Viktor trusted your words and continued. His lips left lazy, open-mouth kisses along your skin while his hand pushed below the fabric that clung tight to your hips. Long fingers brushed between your already wet folds, and Viktor smirked.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” he whispered lowly, lips brushing against the shell of your ear, “You’re already so excited. You must have been waiting patiently all day for this.”

Squirming at his touch, you looked into his yellow eyes, which illuminated under the soft lighting offered by a small bedside lamp. Specks of gold swirled through them as he admired you, analyzing your reactions as your lips parted into an ‘o’ shape and eyes fell shut at his careful ministrations.

Viktor enjoyed taking his time with you, fingers rubbing slow circles against your clit—dipping into your tight cunt to curl against your g-spot. His thumb continued the pressure against your bundle of nerves, leaving your back arching and quiet mewls escaping your lips.

“Viktor,” you breathed his name out, his practiced touches already pushing you to the edge. The heat in your lower stomach grew bigger with each pump of his fingers inside you, his hot breath on your neck pushing you so damned close.

You hadn’t thought your release would come so soon and easily, and your mind eased at finding solace in rest soon.

“Not yet, love,” he murmured, relishing in the whine that came from you when his fingers pulled from its spot inside your tight walls. Leaving you empty and unsatisfied, wondering how you would make it through this before passing out into a deep sleep.

You were completely spent by the time his head was between your legs, exhaustion overwhelming you with each passing moment. Yet, you didn’t want this to end—not when you’d craved his touch so desperately. When you felt like you were so far in, you’d only disappoint him if you stopped now.

So, you kept pushing yourself forward. Focusing on the pleasure filling your veins as he settled into the bed below you, and you straddled him.

His cock pushed deep inside you as your hips dropped, your cunt wrapping so deliciously tight around him. You gasped as you rolled your hips, nails dragging along his chest as you looked up at the ceiling and rode him with tired movements. Your stomach was full of heat, pleasure filling all of your senses, but it wasn’t enough to get lost in

Your mind was a storm of negative thoughts. Clouded by overexertion.

Nimble hands held your hips, soft moans coming from Viktor as you bounced yourself up and down. Fucking yourself on him—though not with the fiery passion you often had.

Your thighs had already begun to tremble, aching so soon.

Viktor took notice.

“My love.” Your eyes dropped and widened, watching as your lover shifted up on an elbow and looked over your face. His hand moving to caress your cheek, thumb rubbing at your skin, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you lied after a few beats of silence, feeling your stomach twist tightly.

Viktor’s brows furrowed together as he moved to sit up, allowing you to rest back on his thighs. Your eyes had begun to water, glistening with unshed tears as your emotions heightened.

“No, no,” he whispered, his eyes softening, “You’re not okay, and that’s okay. Tell me if this is too much, and we’ll stop. I don’t care about this—I care about you.”

You wiped your eyes with two hands, forcing the tears away. “But we’ve just been so busy,” you sniffled, embarrassment crawling up your spine. “We haven’t done this in a long time, and I don’t want to disappoint you. It’s not too much—I’m just so tired.” You pouted, sulking at the reality of the situation and avoiding his gaze.

Viktor’s arms wrapped around you in response, holding you to his chest as he pulled you back. Now laying amongst the pillows, your ear pressed to his chest and listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as tears spilled down your cheeks.

“Don’t ever feel like you have to do this for me,” he whispered, fingers combing through your hair, “I’ll love you no matter what. You could take an oath of celibacy, and I would still love you. I would only have to find time to tend to myself now and then.”

You heard the smile grow on his lips, and you couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled up your throat. Tilting your head back, you peered up to meet his gaze. All the worries in your mind melting away at his sincerity.

If there was anyone who knew you better than yourself, it was Viktor. The man who knew what you needed from a particular look in your eyes, or knew exactly what you’d say next when you spoke so passionately about something you loved. He could tell how overworked you had become lately as you navigated your final years of schooling. Somehow, finding yourself busier than him, who was assistant to the dean.

“You’re too good for me,” you murmured, burying your face into his bare chest, “I feel bad. Now you’re all worked up, and I’m just crying on you like a mess.”

”I’ll survive,” he chucked, fingers trailing along your spine.

Slowly, he moved you both until you were on the bed next to him. Face still hiding against his chest, but now with your arms wrapped tight around his waist and a leg thrown over his hips. Clinging to him tightly.

“Promise me you’ll get some rest tomorrow. Proper rest.”

You yawned against his chest, “I promise.”

Viktor held you, arms wrapped around your shoulders as his chin rested atop your head. His eyes fixated on the open window, watching the moon in the distance that had risen over the skyline of Piltover.

You snored once you fell asleep, each soft sound easing his heart as he thought about what he’d make you for breakfast.

#viktor x reader #viktor x you #viktor x y/n #viktor #viktor arcane #arcane viktor #arcane #arcane fic #viktor fic #arcane fanfic #viktor smut #arcane smut #arcane x reader #arcane x you #arcane x y/n #wordsbyspatial #spatialanswers

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whatudowhennooneseesyou · 10 days ago

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𝑶𝒃𝒔𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒅

Pairing: Vampire Bang Chan x sub fem!reader

Content Includes: DUB-CON, DARK FIC!!! blood play, kidnapping, mind manipulation, spit play, unprotected sex (he's a vampire so condoms aren't needed you know?), aphrodisiacs, biting, oral (fem receiving), jealous and possessive sex, praise, body worship, aftercare, bath sex, kissing, 18+

Word Count: 3K

It's pretty soft in it's dynamics honestly but the underlying themes are incredibly toxic and unhealthy so this is your final warning, this fic will not be for everyone.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been here—days, weeks? Time blurred together in the dim, lavish bedroom where Bang Chan kept you. The first days had been filled with resistance: pounding on the door, screaming for help, and refusing to eat. But Bang Chan had been patient, his eyes glinting with that quiet, obsessive resolve as he whispered promises that you would come to love him, that he’d make you see he was the only one who could care for you properly.

The last time you tried to run, he’d found you halfway down the staircase, dragging you back to this room as if you weighed nothing. That night, he’d fed you his blood for the first time, his lips pressed to your mouth as you resisted, his voice low and commanding. "Drink," he had said. "You’ll feel better. I promise."

You hated how right he’d been. The warmth of his blood coursing through you had sent a dizzying, molten pleasure straight to your core. It had softened every sharp edge of your defiance, leaving you pliant, your mind clouded with a hazy need for him.

Now, when the door creaked open, your heart skipped—not with fear but anticipation. Even as your mind rebelled, your body craved him, craved the dizzying ecstasy his blood brought.

Bang Chan stepped inside, his dark, predatory eyes drinking you in as you sat curled up on the bed. He looked as though he’d been pacing outside, his sleeves rolled up with his shirt undone at the collar, his hair a tousled mess, the remnants of blood on his lips and his mangled eye reflecting in the moonlight.

"Are you still sulking, baby?" he murmured, his voice low and almost tender. "Haven’t I given you everything?"

You didn’t answer, but your gaze betrayed you, flicking to the faint scar on his wrist. He caught the movement immediately, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his lips.

"You need me, don’t you?" he asked, approaching the bed with the careful intensity of a predator cornering its prey. "Even when you try to fight it, you feel it—the pull. My blood running through you, tying you to me."

Which was the point to all this wasn't it? For what could a man who can't be alone yet be sentenced to a lone eternity do?

He had to make you depend on him, feed off him, make you addicted to the aphrodisiac running through his veins, fill the void of emptiness in his dormant heart and replace it with your blood, your moans, your aching cunt and eventually...hopefully, your love and care.

Even if he had to force it, manipulate, take it.

You were the only thing he desired yet couldn't own entirely in his aimless, monotonous world.

He climbed onto the bed, his body caging you in as he cupped your face with one hand. His thumb brushed over your lips, and you shivered under his touch.

"Let me take care of you," he whispered, his voice trembling with need. "Let me give you everything you’ll ever desire."

He kissed you then, his lips soft but insistent, coaxing a response from you even as your mind screamed to resist. His hands slid down your body, peeling away the thin fabric of your oversized t-shirt to expose your skin to his hungry gaze.

"You’re so perfect," he murmured, his lips trailing down your neck, leaving a searing path of kisses, each leaving a crimson mark on your skin. "Every inch of you belongs to me. No one else will ever touch you, taste you, or even look at you."

He bit into his wrist without hesitation, his blood welling up in dark, crimson drops. Instead of pressing it to your lips, he leaned down, capturing your mouth with his. The metallic tang of his blood mixed with the heat of his kiss as he spat it into your mouth, his tongue chasing the last drops.

You moaned in euphoria at the taste of it, your tongue lapping at his bottom lip as your body became tingly with arousal and need, a burning heat pooling at your core and flowing to every limb and fibre of your being.

A firm hand wrapped around your neck and tilted you up so you were staring at Bang Chan who's eyes were deep and shadowed and held an unsettling combination of adoration and dominance, a bottomless pit of longing and control that promised he’d never let you go.

"Swallow," he commanded, his voice rough with desire.

You obeyed, your body shivering as the warm, heady rush of his blood spread through your veins. The haze returned instantly, a fog of contentment and submission that made you pliant under his touch.

"That’s it," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear, hand slowly releasing. "Feel how much you need me. Feel how good it is to give in to me."

You could only whimper in response, your eyes becoming glassy from receiving your daily fix- too fucked out to notice his smirk as Bang Chan kissed his way down your skin, unbuttoning his shirt as he does so.

By the time he was finished with your torso, your skin was covered in shades of pomegranate and crimson, your nipples swollen and kiss-bruised, you were a canvas for his all too-consuming desires. Your marked flesh returned to blank perfection by the healing powers of his blood, which only provided the permission he needed to claim you again.

He removed his shirt, letting it fall to the ground as you gazed in awe at his torso, untainted and marble-toned under the moonlight. His hands moved between your thighs, spreading them apart as you lay pliant for him. His mouth is pressed against your skin in the softest of kisses before puncturing the skin with his fangs, his eyes lidded in a complete state of pleasure as he drank from you.

You barely had time to recover and notice the pain before his tongue lapped at your core with an unrelenting intensity that left you gasping.

"You taste like my redemption," he groaned, his voice muffled against you, his tongue drawing circles and suckling on your clit at an inhuman pace. "My heaven. And you’ll never need anyone but me."

The pleasure built quickly, your body trembling under his expert touch. Just as you reached the edge, he pulled back, his lips glistening with blood and your slick as he looked up at you.

"I won't let you cum yet until I've been satiated by the warm, sweet, wet cunt of yours." He speaks as he undresses, removing his pants and shoes so he is fully nude, his muscles tense and cock hard and aching from how close he was about to enter into his paradise.

His fingers gently brush down the side of your face as he hovers over you, pushing your legs apart with his knee so he could slot between them, running his fingers down the sides of your body before pulling your knees up and around his waist.

There was no light apart from the essence of the moon streaming through the bare window so he was a shadow of your darkest fears and deepest cravings but he could see all of you, crave you, lavish at your beauty.

And it angered him to his core that he could never truly own you, that you couldn't be truly his unless you offered yourself to him freely.

"You’re mine," he said, his voice raw and filled with dark heat as he pushed into you, filling you completely.

Your nails dug into his shoulders as he moved inside you, his thrusts deep and desperate, his hands gripping your waist as if he feared you might vanish beneath him.

Bang Chan always entered you without any type of preparation, he was so cold and you were so warm, breathing fire into him from the outside in, the first push into your tight, warm and wet heat had him teetering on the edge of his orgasm every, single time.

For you however, it would have been painful without the blood but with it alighting you with flames from the inside and out, the stretch of him filling you and settling so perfectly inside of you was enough for your body to shake and tremble from how close you were to eternal bliss, your loud moans filling the room as your nails raked down his back, pulling him closer to you.

"Yes, mark me, scrape your nails down my back, make me feel alive again," the words were laced with a gravelly husk, his voice breaking. "Say you’ll always need me. Say you’ll love me the way I love you."

"I’ll never leave," you whispered, the words spilling from your lips without hesitation.

"Good girl," he groaned, his forehead pressing against yours as his thrusts grew erratic. "You’re my good girl. Always."

His thrusting slowed to light grinding as he bit his wrist again, tearing open the barely healed wound with his fangs as the blood pooled from his mouth, streaming down his chin and dripping over your chest as you sensually opened your mouth to receive the drug in its purest form, swallowing and gulping all that you craved as Bang Chan pushed the essence further into your mouth, ensuring every part of your mouth and teeth were covered with his tongue.

You could feel his cock pulsing inside of you from this intimate act, an exchange of life force, a life he desperately wanted to give you and a life you can live with if it means feeling like this every day.

His thrusts grew faster again, his hips snapping against yours as he balanced himself on his arms, his right hand moving down your abdomen, leaving streaks of blood in their wake as his fingers nestled against your clit, his face shining with pride at your enthusiasm and pleading whines to finish.

"You're getting tired aren't you?" Bang Chan cooed at you in a slightly mocking tone, his eyes flashing a hint of mischief as he maintained his pace, not even breathless or a hair out of its place.

"I'll let you rest after you've cum for me babygirl, soak my cock for me, squeeze me with that perfect cunt of yours yeah?"

You reached your orgasm just moments later, your back arched and mouth open in a silent scream, draped in a way that Bang Chan could only describe as nirvana, his secret elysium from the agony of living forever.

The bedroom was silent except for the sound of your labored breaths, the aftermath of your intimacy still tingling through your body. Bang Chan hovered above you, his dark, piercing eyes studying your face with a mix of obsession and adoration.

"Don't fall asleep yet" he murmured, his lips brushing your temple. "I need you to get cleaned up baby. Let me take care of you."

Before you could respond, he scooped you into his arms, carrying you effortlessly into the bathroom. The room was filled with the faint scent of lavender, the soft yellow lighting casting a homely ambience in the room. He settled you over his lap as he fiddled with the taps, rubbing your back lightly as the tub filled up.

Chan didn’t say a word as he set you down in the tub, his hands moving to cup and pour water over with a careful reverence. His fingers lingered as he began to wash the blood off your chest with his bare hands, his touch igniting fresh sparks of heat wherever it grazed your skin.

"You’re so beautiful," he said, his voice thick with emotion. His thumb traced the curve of your jaw before he leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was slow and all-consuming.

He stepped into the bath when he was ready, his body facing yours. The warmth of the water enveloped you as he helped you sink into the tub, your back resting against the porcelain.

Chan seated himself between your legs, the water lapping gently against his toned chest as his hands roamed over your body. "Just lie there baby, let me heal you" he murmured, his lips trailing from your collarbone to the swell of your breasts. His kisses were soft, reverent, each one filled with a silent promise.

His hands moved with practiced care, spreading soap over your skin as he washed you, his touch lingering in a way that made your breath hitch. "I'll keep you safe," he whispered, his voice gentle, with an underlying edge of possessiveness "Even if it means locking you away where no one else can take you from me."

The bathwater was beginning to darken in a hue of red as he washed the blood away, his cock hardening and skin burning with need at your beautiful body underneath him, your face looking so pure under the warm light and under his tarnished, sin-covered hands.

When you gazed up at him through your lashes, there was a sense of gratitude and care in them, like you were genuinely enjoying and appreciating this moment of care despite his blood in your veins thickly veiling the reality of this moment.

But it was enough for Bang Chan, his appetite for you insatiable and unwavering, every moment when he wasn't over you, holding you, being inside of you, dripping his blood into you would cause him desperate, emotional pain and an ache to tether his skin to yours.

His lips found yours again, his kiss deep and unyielding as he pressed closer, his body hovering over yours. The water shifted as he manoeuvred you, his strong arms bracing on either side of you as he caged you in.

"I'll make you need me" he said, his voice trembling with a mix of desperation and hunger. "I'll be the only thing you'll ever crave, even if I have to make you depend on it."

His mouth captured yours in a bruising kiss, and you gasped as he positioned himself at your entrance. His dark eyes met yours, his expression raw and unhinged as he whispered, "Say you’re mine."

"I’m yours," you breathed, the words spilling from your lips before you could think.

"That’s my girl," he groaned, his voice breaking as he pushed inside you. The water rippled around you, the heat of it amplifying the sensation as he moved with slow, deliberate thrusts.

The sudden intrusion made you wince in discomfort slightly but the ache was only fleeting before the familiar pleasure swept through your body, your body already conditioning itself for Chan's purpose as your legs automatically parted and your arms wrapped around his shoulders.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice rough as his hands roughly grabbed the side of your face . "I need to see you, need to know you’re not thinking about anyone else."

He always wanted to make love to you whilst he was above you, having you pinned underneath him- purely because he enjoyed how powerless you looked but also because he needed you to look into his lovesick eyes and know how obsessed he was over you, how he'd kill for you, how every breath you exhaled was on his conditions.

"I’m not," you whispered, your voice trembling as his pace quickened.

"Good," he rasped, his forehead pressing against yours. "Because no one will ever love you the way I do. No one else will ever take care of you like this. And I'll spend a fucking eternity proving it to you if I have too".

And how could you think of anyone else when every fibre of him was in you, his blood in your veins, his words in your brain, his teeth in your skin, his cock hard and plunging into you...because you were just as twisted and obsessed he was, obsessed for the fix, for his care, his words, his undying devotion towards- it was an addiction you could not quell, nor desire too.

His thrusts grew deeper, more desperate, the water splashing gently against the edges of the tub. His lips found yours again, his kiss feverish as if he could seal you to him forever.

"Tell me how to make you happy," he begged, his voice breaking as his movements faltered, his need for you overwhelming him. "Tell me what I have to do to make you stay with me."

"You already do," you managed to whisper, your hands clutching the tendrils of his hair as the pleasure he gave you consumed you.

"Say it again," he demanded, his voice trembling with emotion.

"You make me happy," you said, your words spilling out in breathless gasps.

His grip on you tightened as he buried himself deeper, his lips pressing against your neck as he groaned, "That’s it, baby. You’re mine. Always mine."

The tension coiled tighter and tighter until it snapped, leaving you both trembling as the waves of pleasure washed over you. He held you close, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered, "I’ll never let you go. Never."

After a moment, he eased back just enough to slide out, pulling you on top of him so you were resting against his chest, his hands rubbing gentle strokes up and down your back.

"Don't ever think of leaving me" he said, his voice barely above a whisper, but firm and edged with a thinly veiled threat.

"You won't like what I become if you do".

Surprise!!! What a way to end 2024 everyone, a final gift for you all to say goodbye and welcome the new year.

I've been wanting to write this type of fic for Chris for months now and railway was the final thing needed for me to break my writer's block and write something.

My most popular fic ever of 2024 was in fact my Haunting Adeline fic with Yunho so whilst I won't write dark fic all the time, I'll probably write more of it if you can handle reading more of it.

Incredibly grateful and appreciative to everyone I've interacted with and spoken to this year, let's see what the next 12 months will bring and inspire out of me.

Kisses and hugs to all of you!!!

Taglist: @scuzmunkie @marievllr-abg @umbralhelf @starsareseen @lino-jagiyaa @mischiefsmind @mrcarrots @junieshohoho @partywithgyu @whatsk-poppinhomies @craxy-person @hologramhoneymoon @gyuhanniescarat @staytinyinmybpack @necessiteez @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @berryberrytan @sensitiveandhungry @laylasbunbunny @bangchanbabygirlx @i-love-ateez @anyamaris @krishastumblernow @hexheathen @michel-angelhoe @northerngalxy @youre-alittle-taste-of-hell @starillusion13 @justaaveragereader @ja3hwa @jus2passtime @shroomoth @marykpoppins @leomggg @daddysspecialdollyworld @mykryptonitelight @wisejudgedragonhairdo @sanakimohara @chansfavouritetoy

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ink-n-shadow · 4 months ago

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i’m back on my owner!ghost bullshit!!

𝜗𝜚 cw: slight smut (minors—DNI), pet play, owner!ghost, aftercare, collar/collaring, subspace, unedited

but instead of rough and tough owner!ghost, it’s after a particularly draining scene for you, and owner!ghost is all soft touches and gentle hands. he’s letting your tear-stained and red cheek rest against his sweat-slick thigh as his fingers begin gently undoing the tethers of your metal play collar.

“shh, shh—s’alright, pup. gonna put the soft one back on,” ghost murmurs soothingly when you start squirming in his hold, a slurred whine leaving your mouth as you try and prevent him from taking the play collar off. because in your still delirious and staticky brain, you see it as a sign of him untethering you from him forever.

his calloused fingertips are soothing the reddened skin beneath the metal before tying the soft silk collar you always wear back around your throat, making sure the small metal tag simply etched with a cursive ‘g’ isn’t resting on your irritated skin.

owner!ghost after a scene is lathering your sore body in shea butter, letting you remain a boneless, floaty mess in the ruined sheets as he tries to ease the aches before you come back down to earth.

it isn’t until your entire body is smooth as silk and the stars behind your eyelashes have dimmed to mere glimmers that he’s pulling you to sit up in his lap, head slumped into the curve of his muscled chest and his fingers carding through your tangled hair.

“where’s my baby, hm?” he hums affectionately under his breath as his crooked nose prods against your sticky temple, scarred lips trailing feathery kisses along your hairline amidst your slow decent from your submissive headspace. when he notices you peeking up at him from beneath your lashes still frosted with unshed tears (from the umpteenth orgasm he’d given you for the night), his lips curve into his typical crooked grin.

“there you are—there’s my good pup.”

#i need him so biblically #the way i could write owner!ghost for the rest of my life #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley smut #cod x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #simon riley x you #simon riley imagine #call of duty smut #cod smut #ghost smut #cod ghost smut #iNs Simon “Ghost” Riley 💀#iNs pet play

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luvsupa · 3 months ago

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“YOU’RE A STAR!”

tags: musician!choso x manager fem!reader, reader has a secret fan account, both are in 20, choso has lots of tattoos and is an r&b singer, he has piercings, smut (p in v), ōral sex (f!recieving), sub!choso (ish), voyeurism, etc. mdni.

w.c: 3,2k

a/n: YALL I’m almost at 2k LIKE THATS INSANEEEE!! TY GUYS SOSOS MUCHHH AHHH

+ erm if there’s errors lmkk

you sit in choso’s expansive dressing room, surrounded by his makeup and fashion assistants, eyes glued to the big screen as he finishes his final song of the concrrt. the sound of thousands of screaming fans fills the air, their voices blending with his deep, angelic one. even from back here, you can hear the unmistakable roar of the crowd, hanging onto every note he sings. the way he commands the stage, the way he moves—everything about him makes your chest tighten.

he looks unreal tonight, his stylist outdid themselves. the subversive, edgy look suits him perfectly, especially the ripped wife-beater that showcases his inked arms, gleaming under the stage lights. the body glitter you suggested—yeah, that was definitely a good call- catches the light in all the right ways, making him look out of this world.

you’re supposed to be his manager, maintaining some form of professionalism, but damn, it’s impossible when he looks this good. especially when he runs his hand through those messy brown locks , letting a few strands fall over his face. you bite your lip, trying to focus on anything but the way your heart races when he’s on stage.

the thought of professionalism slips even further when you pull out your phone, dimming the brightness low. not for work—no, not tonight. instead, you open the app you use to connect with his fanbase under your secret username.

chogetsmewetter

it still makes you smirk every time you see it. his fans had been relentless, trying to bribe you for the username. but it’s yours, and you're not giving it up for anyone.

chogetsmewetter: are u guys seeing how good he looks… need him immediately

responses flood in almost instantly.

chososwhore: baby, nobody wants him more than i do…

choochoo: y’all send videos of the concert plzzz :(

kamosbaby: my baby daddy lookin good on stage.

you’re too caught up in scrolling through the candid photos and fan reactions, smiling like an idiot, when the makeup assistant catches you off guard.

“what’s got you smiling like that?” she teases, arms crossed and eyebrow raised.

you quickly shove your phone into your pocket, plastering on your best fake smile. “just checking cho’s schedule for next week. his brothers want to surprise him at the last show.”

it’s a lie, of course, but you’re used to spinning quick stories, and she just shrugs, moving on. but not without another jab. “girl, you love calling him cho, don’t you? does he let you call him that in bed too?”

your eyes widen as choso’s fashion designer giggles along with her. “guys, nothing’s going on. we’re strictly business—i manage his schedule, and that’s it.” but the words taste bitter, even as you force them out. nothing more. yeah, right.

the deafening cheers from the TV rescue you from any more teasing. all eyes turn to the screen as choso wraps up, thanking the crowd with that deep, velvet voice of his. the camera zooms in on his face, his lips curling into a soft smile as he waves and blows kisses to the adoring fans. gosh, he’s perfect.

a few moments later, the dressing room doors swing open, and there he is. choso, in the flesh, followed by his bodyguards. his team erupts in cheers, swarming him with praise, but you move to the back in the corner, blending into the background. moments like this are too chaotic for you, but you know you’ll have your moment later, probably on the tour bus.

amidst the chaos, his eyes find you, and he frowns a little when he sees you typing away on your phone, oblivious to the world. he doesn't know, of course, that you're replying to posts about him.

before you can finish your latest message, you feel him standing right in front of you, towering over you. the air feels thick between you two, and you curse internally as you slip your phone into your pocket once again, heart racing.

“you forgetting something?” his voice is low, teasing, as he glances down at your hands.

you quickly shake your head, trying to play it cool. “c’mon, cho, you know i’d never survive in that crowd,” you say, nodding toward the gaggle of team still dying for his attention.

his hands, cold from the stage, slide into yours, pulling you just a little closer. you swallow hard. “i knowww, but your support matters the most outta all of ‘em,” he says, rocking slightly, his lips curling into that perfect half-smile. the one that makes your stomach flip.

he smells incredible, the scent of his unreleased cologne wrapping around you, making your head spin. you smile, turning away, but he moves with you, trying to catch a glimpse of that smile.

“c’mon, let’s grab dinner. my director’s waiting,” he says, releasing your hands, and you instantly frown, missing his touch.

you follow him and his bodyguards out, offering a quick farewell to the makeup and fashion team. they don’t miss the chance to wink at you, clearly still enjoying the teasing.

as you near the exit, the noise outside grows louder—fans desperate to catch one last glimpse of choso. this is the part of the night you dread, knowing how insane the crowd can get. but when he looks over his shoulder and gives you that grin, the chaos doesn’t seem so bad.

two guards swing open the doors, harsh light flooding in as flashes from cameras blind you instantly. the screams grow deafening, and you brace yourself. this is always the worst part—being unable to see, disoriented, as the paparazzi go wild trying to capture every inch of choso’s presence.

but choso? he thrives in this. he’s in his element, beaming as he dives straight into the crowd. signing albums, posing for photos, accepting gifts—he eats it all up. you trail behind one of his bodyguards, eyes flickering to where he’s standing. your heart clenches as you catch sight of him—his lips locked with a fan.

you swallow hard. it’s not the first time. he always does this with her—his so-called “number one fan.” he remembers her face, her name, every single time. each time he kisses her in front of his adoring crowd, it feels like a punch to the gut. the fans love it. the media laps it up, turning her into a minor celebrity among his fandom.

how do you know? through your secret fan account.

you scoff quietly to yourself as you slip past the crowf, making it safely onto the tour bus. heading straight for the private area at the back, you drop your bag onto one of the leather couches, sinking into the seat by the window. from here, you can still see him outside, giving the fans hugs, taking endless photos. you watch in silence, jealousy simmering just beneath the surface.

finally, after what feels like forever, choso steps onto the bus, breathless and flushed. he walks down the aisle toward you, eyes gleaming with excitement.

“fuckkk, they’re amazing,” he groans, collapsing onto the couch beside you, still riding the high from the crowd.

they’re amazing? or she’s amazing…

you force a smile, eyes glued to your phone. “you looked like you were having fun, choso,” you mutter, distracted by your personal texts. his head drops back with a groan. one thing he can’t stand is when you don’t give him your full attention.

before he can start whining, one of the fashion designers calls your name from the front of the bus. you sigh, getting up quickly to see what the issue is. in your rush, you leave your phone behind on the couch.

choso watches as you walk away, eyes narrowing when he sees your phone lying there. you never leave it behind, always keeping it close, and curiosity gnaws at him. his leg bounces as he contemplates it. fuck it.

he snatches your phone up, eyes widening as the first thing he sees on your notification center is all he need to see.

[chogetsmewetter] new like from choochoo and 100+ others:

I need to fuck choso nowww, he’s so fuckin hot it’s not fairrr.

damn.

a slow, wicked grin spreads across his face. so that’s why you’ve been acting weird. he sets your phone back down just as he hears your footsteps returning.

you return, completely unaware of what just happened. “choso, they said we can’t leave until another hour—” you start to explain, but he’s not listening. his thoughts are elsewhere, his leg bouncing slightly as he bites the inside of his cheek.

“how do you want me to fuck you?” he suddenly blurts out, his voice low and dark.

your eyes widen, body stiffening as his bold words hit you like a train. you fumble for the curtain, pulling it shut so the driver can’t hear.

“w-what the fuck are you talking about?” you stammer, your breath catching in your throat. his dark brown eyes lock onto yours, unwavering. he doesn’t need to say it—his gaze tells you everything.

he knows.

panic rises inside you as you glance toward your phone and then back to him. he nods slowly, confirming your worst fear. he found out.

“so… are you those shy freaks…” he asks casually, standing up from the couch. his towering frame looms over you, and your world feels like it’s shrinking as he removes his leather jacket, revealing his tattooed, muscular arms.

“y-you wanna do this here? in front of the fans?” you whisper loudly, eyes darting toward the windows that are now covered by the blinds.

he chuckles, low and wicked. “you didn’t seem to care posting your dirty thoughts in front of me.”

and he ate with that one.

just like how he’s now devouring you in the back of the tour bus. you’re nestled on the couch, right in front of the curtains that separate the chaos outside from your little world. choso is on his knees, going at you like a possessed man. your legs are pushed tight against your chest as he laps up your juices, sucking and swallowing your sweet fluids. his cold nose piercing nudges your clit as his tongue thrusts deep inside you at an inhumane speed. any trace of shame has long evaporated, replaced by his loud moans vibrating against your cunt, making your eyes cross slightly.

your hands tangle in his silky brown locks, tugging gently, which earns you a whimper as he pulls back, your essence and saliva coating his chin and glossy lips. “mmm, p-pull on it more, pretty,” he urges, gazing up at you with doe eyes, brows furrowed in concentration as he loses himself in you once again.

obeying him, you tug harder on his hair, bucking your hips against his face while his hands grip the back of your thighs, pushing you deeper into your chest. he’s growling now, lost in the pleasure he’s giving you.

“yesss, f-fuck, you’re so goooddd,” you praise, head thrown back as he slurps at your juices like a starving man. he pulls away to admire your twitching hole, his fingers parting your folds wider. he spits a wad of saliva directly into your gaping pussy, making you clench instinctively as he slides in two thick digits, effortlessly gliding through your sloppy walls. his thrusts are calculated as he studies your features, which are now squeezed shut in bliss.

“hmm, she’s fuckin’ wettt,” he comments, your pussy responding with loud, squelching sounds that fill the back of the bus, echoing your mess. “hahh, you put that username to use,” he taunts, your body burning with embarrassment. his thick fingers pick up speed, massaging that sweet spot, and your back arches off the couch, your lower tummy tingling as your breath quickens.

choso can sense you’re close, the way you tighten around him. suddenly, he sucks hard on your clit, swirling his tongue around your poor nub. you cover your mouth with your hands, muffling the moans that threaten to escape .

just before you can cry out his name, he pulls his fingers out, leaving you undone. he retreats from your soaked clit, watching your translucent essence dribble down your convulsing hole, spilling onto the couch. your breath hitches as he delivers a sharp slap to your pussy, jolting electricity through your body, and the sticky remnants of your orgasm cling to his palm, igniting an insatiable addiction to your sensitivity.

“nahhh, is this the wettest you can get?” he says, rising from his knees and unzipping his jeans, pulling his throbbing cock free from its confines. your mind goes blank at the sight. fuck, he definitely never lied about his size, especially in his songs. choso sits beside you, manhandling you onto his lap, your pussy pressing against his hard cock as you whimper,

this is really happening.

“ride me, darling—use me all you want.” he states, and it feels like you’re living out your dirtiest dream, because yu are. he leaves trails of kisses along the side of your neck, his glossy lips—coated in your cum—smudging against your skin. you stare down at his shaft, his leaky tip begging to be touched. raising your hips, you grab the base of his cock, making him wince as you align his rosy tip with your drooling entrance. his crownhead stretches you open, and you whimper at how big he is with each inch you take. your velvety walls accommodate his size, practically expanding as he settles into your pussy.

without warning, choso grips your hips, slamming you down against him. you wail as every inch of his cock plunges deep inside your walls, and he moans at how tight you are around him. “f-fuck, baby, takin’ so fuckin’ l-long,” he says impatiently, thrusting up into you as each movement leaves you more dazed and breathless.

with newfound courage, your hips immediately fuck back into his, faster than his sloppy thrusts, making his eyes roll back in pleasure. your grinding drives him wild, your pussy gripping him like it’s life or death. choso’s head falls back, broken moans slipping past his lips, his adam’s apple bobbing as he struggles to hold back even more sounds of ecstasy.

you can feel the heat building between you, his cock stretching you further with each thrust. you grind down harder, relishing the way his body responds, each movement causing him to whimper and squirm beneath you. his hands grip your waist, guiding you, but you can tell he’s losing himself in the sensation, growing more ditzy with every upward thrust.

“c’mon, baby, ride me h-harder,” he begs, voice thick with desperation. his eyes fluttering as he’s moaning loudly. it’s intoxicating, watching him come undone because of you. you match your pace to the rhythm of his moans, your slickness coating him more with each thrust. the sound of your bodies slapping together drowns out the cheers of the fans outside, your pussy so noisy it’s almost too loud for your own liking.

“mmm, keep your eyes on me, pretty boy,” you purr, brushing your fingertips through his hair, tugging a big- earning a whimper at the pet name. you can see the way he bites his lip, trying to hold back more moans, but you know he won’t last long.

“hgn, you think jus’ cause you’re on top ‘m your bitch?” he groans, the tension between you two thcick. his gaze is wild, pupils dilated, and it only drives you further as you increase your pace, your hips slamming hard against his thighs, coating his throbbing base with your slickness. you giggle as he pathetically moans out, hands gripping your flesh tighter as you grind harder. his chubby tip sloppily kisses your cervix, sending shockwaves through your body as it begins to shake.

the way he reacts to every thrust, every grinding motion sends a thrill down your spine. he’s completely lost in you, his breathing ragged and unsteady. “y-you feel so good,” he stammers, voice breaking as he struggles to keep his focus, each word laced with pleasure. you smirk, feeling powerful, proud at the control you have over him.

“mhmm, ‘m starting to think y’er all talk, cho. you’re not showing me how you’d fuck me,” you taunt, leaning in his ear and tugging on his ear piercings, making him shudder at your seductive voice.

your words truly did something to him, awakening something much darker within. without hesitation, he carelessly picks you up, sliding his cock out of your hole as he slams you against the table adjacent to the couch. bending you over, he realigns himself with your hypnotizing cunt, the air thick with the heat of your lust. choso slams his entire length into your pussy, the sound of slickness echoing in the cramped space as your body squelches loudly, both of you moaning in unison. he grips your hips tightly, pounding mercilessly into you, each thrust sending shockwaves through your body as you cry out, not caring if the bus driver or any staff hears your cries of pleasure.

“cunt so good,” he growls, feeling you clamp down hard on his girthy length. his moan resonates deep within your core as he swats your ass, the sound of skin meeting skin sending electric jolts through you. he feels like he’s deep in your guts, rearranging everything inside you, each thrust making your pussy squelch obscenely. it’s so loud that it drowns out any sounds from outside, the wet slaps of your bodies merging into a symphony of lust. you’re practically squeaking like a damn mouse with every thrust, your body unable to contain the pleasure coursing through you.

without warning, he grips your hair and pulls you up against him, his mouth brushing against your ear as he whispers, “take it all, mama. you can take it.” his words send a shiver down your spine, the duality of his sweet yet dominating tone intensifying your arousal. you nod, feeling yourself surrender completely to him, wanting nothing more than to be his.

“m-more cho’ ,” you whine, and he responds with a primal growl, his hips slamming into yours harder, faster, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. his movements are relentless, each thrust a story to his desire, his need for you. you can feel the tension coiling tighter within you, the pressure building to a breaking point.

but then, in the midst of your euphoric bliss, you slowly open your eyes, and your jaw drops in shock. he placed you directly in front of the window, where all the fans are just outside, oblivious to the scandalous scene unfolding inside. the reality of the moment crashes over you, and you gasp, suddenly aware of the possibility of being seen.

“c-cho… the—fuckk—the fans,” you manage to warn, your entire body jolting with his relentless thrusts, each one motivating him to go even faster, to claim you harder.

“nahh, now you wanna back out?” he snarls through gritted teeth, going absolutely feral. his grip tightens as he reaches to grab the back of your hair, pulling you flush against his chest, forcing you to take him deeper. the blinds rattle as he yanks them open wider, letting in more light for the fans to see everything happening inside. the flashes from paparazzi cameras blind your vision as they snap multiple shots of your fucked out expression, choso grinning behind like a devil at each click.

“say cheese, pretty. you’re gonna be a star,”

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #choso smut #choso kamo #choso kamo smut #choso kamo x reader #choso x you #choso x reader #kamo choso smut #smut #anime smut #jjk x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you

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chocum · 7 months ago

Text

COMING DOWN !

— bunched up, sweet little whimpers, he always gets so sensitive under your touch feat. choso kamo

WARNINGS. femreader (she/her) x goodguy!cho :3 mentions of violence/death, sub cho, dom reader, overstimulation, begging, blowjob, premature ejaculation ;( crying + 1.2k wc note. i’m so insane abt choso it’s actually scary, he’s all i think about. tysm for all the support on my first post. love u all! feedback + reblogs are appreciated! also art by @/swag_yay on x. ty again & enjoyyy ᡣ𐭩

choso hated missions with a passion that pierced his very soul.

his cursed energy manipulation and combat skills are unrivaled, making him crucial to a mission’s success, but the relentless nature of them drained him beyond words— both mentally and physically.

they feel so repetitive: eliminate curses, protect civilians, prevent damage. eliminate curses, eliminate curses, eliminate.

he has always been driven by a deep desire to protect everyone he could, especially those who were unable to do so themselves, but the constant cycle of violence and death confused him—wrestling with self-doubt, doing mental gymnastics, trying to justify his actions. the cognitive strain became a heavy burden that compounded during missions, further exhausting him like heavy buckets of water dousing an already flickering flame.

and after meeting you — his sweet, sweet girl — his hatred for missions only grew.

the ache of missing you constantly gnawed at him. your homey scent. your taste still fresh on his tongue, preventing him from concentrating because, in his mind, he’s still tangled in your sheets, stealing sweet kisses that linger on his lips long after they’ve left yours.

when out scouting, he would catch glimpses of couples hand in hand in the streets sporting deep smiles, making his stomach twist— his brows pinching together, deepening the ridge between them.

his sole solace was the thought of returning home to his pretty girl once everything was over— it pushes him to keep going, to keep fighting, even avoiding shoko because he preferred your clumsy little hands to patch him up.

finally done with his latest three-week mission — a seeming eternity away from you — he was being driven to your place, to you, home.

head lolling back against the car seat, he spreads his legs wider, rolling his hips to adjust himself, before sinking, letting the leather seat swallow him whole. he tilts his head to the side, deep purple irises flickering, to watch the familiar scenery— large leafy trees crowding the darkening highway under evening skies.

after he waved his goodbyes, giving thanks to his driver, he stumbled up to the door, his fingers fumbling awkwardly with the keys underneath the dim light of the porch. on the other side, the distinct sound of the lock clicking open causes you to bolt up, rushing to greet him.

he pushes it open and there you are. looking up at him with that big smile he adores so much lighting your face— pretty eyes sparkling with relief. you squeal and fling your arms around him without hesitation and he does the same, burying his face into the side of your neck, feeling your hair brush against him, inhaling deeply.

you always smelled so good— a blend of your natural scent and hints of vanilla from your body wash. he’s been craving that scent for so long, growing dizzy now that it finally embraces him, his body falling limp, so weak in your smaller arms.

you pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, fingers gently tracing the smooth lines on his face— lines that seemed deeper since you’d last seen him.

“i missed you so much” you hummed faintly as he cupped your face, nuzzling your warm cheeks against his rough hands.

“i missed you so much more”

he leaned down to find your lips. they felt so much softer than he remembered. kissing you deeply, his calloused hand cradling the back of your neck, drawing you closer into the warmth of his embrace.

and when you moan against him— oh, it sounds so sweet, the blood rushing to his cock so quickly. next thing he knows, he’s rutting against your thigh, pressing against you so, so desperately, almost mounting you.

“what’s wrong cho?” a soft whine escapes him at the sudden loss of contact, “tell me, baby, use your words”

“i’m sorry,” he breathes, a pretty blush crawling up his neck, “just missed you so much— got excited”

“i know, my pretty boy, but ‘m here now, okay? let me take care of you. i know you missed it.” you take his hand, drawing him to your room as he follows obediently, shutting the door behind him, “did you touch yourself without me?”

he shakes his head, his fluffy hair cascading down to rest on his shoulders. “you .. you told me not no”

“good boy”

you push against his shoulders, gently guiding him to sit on the bed, his breath hitching so sweetly watching you lift yourself to straddle his waist. connecting your lips once more, hips grinding against him so slowly— rocking back and forth. his mouth now tinted pink and tenderly swollen from your ardent kisses, you move down to his neck planting a trail of light ones along the sensitive skin, each touch eliciting subtle little quivers and soft exhales. his fists bunch up the sheets, he—

“sorrysorrysorry” he babbles breathlessly— endlessly, his pants turning damp, material darkening as his cock twitches and pulses so cutely, cum drooling out his sensitive slit, “just feel so good against me. been so long. couldn’t even touch myself when you sent those pictures. it’s so sensitive”

“shhhh ‘s okay, cho.” a finger pressed against his pout— pushing its way in for him to suckle on warmly before you slide down to your knees. trailing your hands down his thighs, tugging on the hem of his pants, “i’ll clean you up”

he’s still so hard— his tip blushing, crying white cream, and when you take him in your hands, his hips jerk up for you— body still coming down from his high and you’re already taking him in your mouth, cruelly, licking fat stripes up his twitchy length.

“fuck ‘s too much baby, i just- wai, wait, please.” he’s pawing at you, pushing against your head, but he sounds too cute, crying and whimpering around you for you to stop— looks too cute with the prettiest pink blush shrouding his body from the tips of his heated ears to his curled toes.

you gargle and gag around his cock— exaggerating the sounds because you know it drives him insane. he loves when you get so nasty and messy for him, foamy spit bubbling around where his cock plugs your mouth up. your hands move to cup his warm balls, caressing and squeezing gently, coaxing him to cum for you again.

“ah f- baby, i’m so fucking— please. wanna cum for— you. gonna be so good, gonna—”

he cums salty, thick stripes straight down your warm throat with a whine so pretty you wish it was recorded so you could play it over and over and over.

and he’s crying— it’s too much, feels too good — sweetly hiccuping, sniffing as he hides his face behind his hands. such a pretty boy. he’s growing limp in your mouth and you pull off with a whine before kissing up his shaky legs.

“did so good for me, cho, missed having you like this” lightly moving his hands to pet at his damp cheeks, watching keenly how he leans into your touch, wiping pretty doll-like tears with your thumbs.

knowing that he has you to take such good care of him once he’s home will forever ease his mind while he’s away, a comforting thought that lingers like a soft embrace, even in your absence.

#ᝰ.ᐟ — so’s diary #choso smut #choso x reader smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader smut #choso x reader #jjk x reader #choso x you #jjk x you #choso x y/n #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen #choso kamo

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trashytracktales · 28 days ago

Note

I need lando ANGST. Make me cry! But also smut! Goshhhh I need it. Something like they’ve been distancing each other and things have been so tense and one day lando catches reader getting herself off so he says ‘if you wanted me to fuck you all you had to do was ask.’ And then he ruins here. But lots of angst in the beginning. Ty I love you xx

Endings, beginnings | LN⁴

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── Well. I was sobbing while writing this. Hope you're proud of yourself 💔

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𐙚 summary ──── They’re at a breaking point in their relationship, their stubbornness and jealousy pushing them so close to the edge. After agreeing to distance each other during an exhausting triple header, Lando returns home unexpectedly to find her in his apartment, trying to cope with his absence.

𐙚 pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader

𐙚 rating ──── explicit

𐙚 category ──── F/M

𐙚 warnings ──── +18, mature/sexual content, angst, smut, toxic dynamics, emotional distress, descriptive language, masturbation, oral & fingering ─ (f)receiving, unprotected sex, swearing, potential relationship breakdown.

𐙚 word count ──── 5.1k

𐙚 date ──── Dec. 12, 2024

𐙚 a/n ──── This is my 10th work ayeee! Thank you guys so much for investing your time into reading my silly little stories, and for trusting me enough to bring your requests to life. I appreciate you a lot 🤍🎀

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

IT'S LATE. THE kind of hour that turns Monaco into a still painting, muted and hollow, yet as breathtaking as ever.

Lando isn’t supposed to be home yet. The plan was to stay in Brazil for a couple more days after the race, but plans change when you're a professional overthinker. Somewhere between the chaos of three back-to-back races, he couldn’t stand the thought of another night in a hotel.

He needed to be in his own space so he could think.

The elevator ride to his floor seems like going on forever, his suitcase dragging heavily behind him, its wheels scratching aggressively against the polished floors the second he gets out of it. He’s expecting silence; an empty apartment, untouched, heavy with the ghosts of their last argument. But when he opens the door, the faint smell of her perfume hits him hard across the face, and his heart tightens.

His living room is dimly lit, the soft glow of a scented candle casting long shadows on the walls. A throw blanket is draped over the couch, and a half-empty mug of tea sits forgotten on the coffee table.

And then he sees her.

She’s curled up on the couch, wearing one of his oversized hoodies. Its sleeves cover her hands as she hugs her knees to her chest, her face partially hidden in the dim light of the room. Her hair is a little messy, and there’s a redness to her eyes that tells him she hasn’t been sleeping well — he knows he shouldn't, but he's glad he isn't the only one losing sleep over this. On a deeper level, it means they both care enough to let it consume them.

So, it has to count for something, right?

For a moment, he just stands there, staring. Then, the words spill out before he can stop them, or think of something else to ask, “Why are you here?”

Her head snaps toward him, her wide eyes betraying a mix of surprise and guilt. She looks like a deer caught in the headlights, frozen in place.

She straightens slightly, pulling the hoodie tighter around herself. “Lan…” she blinks in amazement, her voice barely audible.

“I just asked you a question,” he says, sharper than he initially intended.

He's not usually like this. But considering how they left things before he had to go, Lando is entitled to ask questions. It was her suggestion to separate, and finding her here only messes with his head more.

“I… know. I'm sorry,” she looks away, her fingers tugging at the hem of the hoodie. “I didn’t think you’d be back so soon.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” his suitcase thuds against the floor while he fixes his eyes on her. “Why are you in my apartment? We said we’d take some time apart.”

Her shoulders hunch defensively, but her voice remains the same as he knows it — soothing, carrying so much tenderness that it could stop wars. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

Lando exhales harshly, nodding while dragging a hand through his curls. “We agreed on space, remember?” he insists, “You can’t just show up here like nothing happened.”

“I didn’t—show up,” she snaps, her tone suddenly sharper. “I’ve been here for a while. I didn’t know you were coming back so soon,” she repeats.

“Okay, then. Let me get this straight. You're here, but you don’t answer my texts anymore,” he fires back. “Does that make any sense to you? ‘Cause it sure as hell doesn't for me.”

“I was going to,” she retorts, standing now, the oversized hoodie swallowing her frame.

Lando takes a step forward, his hands on his hips. “I don't understand you. I thought this was what you wanted,” he says, his voice quieter but no less intense. “Space. Time. A chance to figure out if we even work anymore.”

“Yes,” the girl agrees, “I wanted to figure us out, not pretend we don’t exist.”

Lando's voice rises, his frustration spilling over, “You think I’m pretending? I’m doing what I thought you wanted! Because every time we’re together, we just end up—”

“Fighting,” she finishes bitterly. “Yeah, I know. Do you think I enjoy feeling like this all the time?”

His shoulders slump slightly, the fight draining out of him. “I don’t know,” he admits, his voice softer now. “I don’t know what to think or do anymore.”

They stand there in silence, the weight of their shared frustration pressing down on them. She sits back down on the couch, clasping her hands on the edge of it.

When she finally speaks again, her voice cracks. “I don't want to fight, Lando. I’ve been staying here because I couldn’t be in my own place. Everywhere I looked, I saw you. I thought maybe if I stayed here, it would make sense to feel your presence, because it's your place.”

Lando’s jaw tightens as he lets her words sink in. The sight of her, wearing his clothes with tears in her eyes makes his chest ache. He wants to wrap himself around her and make sure nothing will ever hurt her again, but the ego works a double shift tonight.

Still, “I'm not mad that you're here,” he clarifies. “But why didn’t you tell me?” asks Lando quietly.

“I didn’t think it would make a difference,” she whispers. “I planned to leave before you… Well, it doesn't matter now.”

“See, that right there is the fucking problem. Of course it matters! Why wouldn't—”

“Because!” her firm voice interrupts him. “We keep hurting each other, and I honestly don’t think we'll ever stop. You’re stubborn and selfish, and I’m jealous, and we both jump to the worst conclusions about each other all the fucking time.”

Lando sighs, “Right,” he says after a pause, his voice laced with guilt. “I am stubborn and selfish,” he agrees, “I get angry too fast. Is that it? And you—you think I’m always looking for a reason to leave.”

Her breath catches as she looks down at a random point on the floor. “Aren’t you?”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He steps much closer, his voice firm. “No. I’m not. But you make it so damn hard to stay sometimes.”

He regrets his words the second they leave his mouth. He's aware that she's not the only one to blame for the situation that they're in, but at the moment, he's making it seem that way. He can't look at her hurt expression, so Lando closes his eyes for a second, a long silence settling in the distance dug so deeply between them.

She continues to look at him, anger flaring in her eyes. “Yeah, well, you make it hard to trust you, Lando. Every time you’re away, I feel like I’m waiting for the other bomb to drop.”

He finally opens his eyes, rubbing a hand over his face. “Alright, what do you want from me, hm?” he asks. “I don't know what you expect me to do.”

Her voice breaks as she replies, “I don't have any expectations left. I just want to stop feeling like I’m losing you all the time.”

Lando’s face softens, the exhaustion from weeks of racing and months of fighting etched into every line. He steps closer, slowly, until he’s standing in front of her. He crouches down so they’re eye level, his expression conflicted.

Even as hurt as she is now, he is still amazed by her beauty. Gazing down at him, she spreads her legs gently so she could make more room for him in her space. However, she's doesn't dare to touch him, no matter how badly she needs to feel him, just to remind herself that he's real.

“I'm so fucking tired, baby,” says Lando, his voice breaking slightly. “Aren’t you tired?”

She nods, a tear slipping down her cheek. “Every day, especially when you're not here,” she chokes out. “But I still want to try. God, Lando, I can’t imagine not trying.”

His hands reach for hers almost instinctively, but he acts with the same hesitation, pulling back at the last second. She notices, the flicker of hurt on her face evident in the way she squeezes her eyes shut, only to erase that image from her memory.

They sit in silence for a while, the air thick with unresolved issues and the weight of everything they can’t say. He studies her, trying to think ahead, but it’s impossible when she's like this — indecisive and lost.

Finally, Lando stands up, exhaling sharply. “I need a shower,” he mutters, heading toward the bathroom without another word.

She watches him go, her heart sinking. She’s still here, but somehow, it feels like she’s further away from him than ever. All she wants to do is jump into his arms and tell him she's missed him so much these past few weeks. Tell him how much she loves him, and that she would do anything to see him happy and satisfied with their life together. But she's too far away, and if she doesn't jump high enough, she could find herself free-falling, with no one to catch her on the other side. And that's too much of a risk, even for her.

When Lando comes back, his hair damp and his expression unreadable, she’s standing by the window, looking out at the city lights.

She doesn’t turn when he approaches, but she speaks softly, her voice small. “Do you even want me here?”

Lando freezes, her question cutting deeper than he expects. After a long pause, he answers, his voice low. “Of course,” he says. “But I honestly don’t think it's a good idea.”

She finally turns to look at him, her eyes searching his face. “Yeah…” the girl nods slowly. “I just—Lando. I can’t keep doing this if I’m the only one who believes we can make it.”

Lando nods. “Thing is, I don't know what to believe anymore,” he says honestly, his voice steady.

A simple truth that neither of them wants to acknowledge. But even as the words hang in the air, neither of them moves to leave. Because for all the pain, there’s still something tethering them together — something they’re both terrified to lose.

“I’ll take the couch,” he finally says, tugging the throw blanket off the armrest. His voice is flat, drained of the emotion that had filled it earlier.

“What?” she asks, startled.

“You can have the bed,” he clarifies, avoiding her gaze as he starts arranging the blanket. “It’s late. We’re both tired, and this… we can’t fix this tonight. We should rest and talk it out in the morning.”

She opens her mouth to protest, the words forming instinctively, but then she stops herself. He looks so tired, not just physically but emotionally. His shoulders are tense, his jaw set in that stubborn way she knows so well. He’s trying to create the space she's been asking for — not because he doesn’t care, but because he does.

“Okay,” she ends up saying, her voice small. Defeated. Once again.

At that, Lando turns to meet her eyes, his expression serious, almost distant. It’s a side of him she doesn’t see often, the version of Lando that’s careful and guarded. She hates it, hates the way it makes her feel like a stranger to him. But mostly, she hates that she’s the one who’s brought this out in him.

“Goodnight,” he says softly, his voice tinged with a finality that makes her stomach churn.

Alright then.

“'Night,” she replies, walking past him, their arms touching lightly.

She retreats to his bedroom, closing the door quietly behind her. The familiar scent of him — clean, musky, intoxicating but soothing, grounding her with its quiet presence and making her feel more at home than ever — wraps around her as she crawls into the bed they’ve shared so many times before. But it feels different now, colder, emptier. Foreign, somehow.

For a stupid, silly moment, she lets herself believe that things will be okay in the morning. That they’ll talk, really talk, and find a way back to each other. She clings to that thought as she stares up at the ceiling, her fingers clutching the edge of the blanket. But no matter how hard she tries, she can't shake the feeling that this is it.

Neither of them sleeps for hours after that.

IT'S FOUR IN the morning when Lando lies on the couch, his eyes fixed on the darkened ceiling as his thoughts race. He can hear the faint creak of the bed when she shifts, knowing she's not asleep, either, and it tugs at something deep inside him. He’s never been good at leaving things unfinished, and this is no different.

He pushes himself up from the couch for what feels like the hundredth time, his fingers curling and uncurling in frustration.

Maybe this whole thing was a mistake.

Maybe he shouldn’t have come home.

Maybe this is exactly why they need space, because when they're in each other's proximity, he simply can't think straight. Especially when she's just a few feet away, separated by only a simple door.

A door that masks the sounds of her soft cry.

Then, he hears the same faint sound, broken, but unmistakable. It cuts through his doubts like a knife through butter, sending a sharp pang of guilt and something deeper, a lot darker, straight to his chest. He hesitates for only a moment before moving toward the bedroom, his steps careful, almost hesitant. His hand hovers over the door, his heart pounding against his ribs as he takes a deep breath in.

Lando knocks softly, his voice barely louder than the quiet hum of the apartment. “Is everything okay?”

Nothing.

He knocks again, his jaw tightening.

The silence presses against him, thick and suffocating, until he can’t take it anymore. He twists the knob and pushes the door open, his pulse roaring in his ears as his eyes adjust to the dim light.

She’s sprawled on his bed, the sheets tangled around her hips, one hand clenched in the fabric while the other moves between her thighs. Her head is tilted back, her lips parted in soft, shaky gasps, and her eyes are squeezed shut like she’s trying to block out the rest of the world.

His throat goes dry, his emotions colliding in a chaotic storm of shock, desire, and something dangerously close to anger. Not anger at her — it never is — but at the situation, at the rift between them that’s left her seeking comfort this way. And at himself, for not being able to fix it.

He should walk away. He knows he should. But instead, he steps into the room, his movements slow and calculated as he crosses his arms over his chest, watching her intently.

Her eyes snap open, and for a moment, she looks utterly petrified. Her cheeks flush a deep crimson as she scrambles to sit up, her legs snapping shut as she fumbles for words.

“No, don’t let me interrupt you,” says Lando, his voice low and rough.

“You scared the shit out of me, Lando,” she stammers, her voice trembling. “I thought you were…”

Asleep.

“And I thought you were crying,” he says, wetting his lips. “Well, I was right in a way.”

The words hang heavy in the air, and she looks away, her hands twisting nervously in the sheets. He hates the way she shrinks under his gaze, but he can’t stop himself from taking another step forward. His jaw tightens again. He doesn’t know what to say or do, circling back to the same feeling.

He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to feel, either — hurt, anger, longing?

So much lust.

The silence stretches between them until it’s almost unbearable. And then, finally, she moves, swinging her legs off the bed like she’s about to leave.

But he doesn’t let her.

His hand shoots out, grabbing her ankle and tugging her back toward the edge of the bed. Her gasp echoes in the quiet room, her wide eyes locked on his as he steps between her legs, his grip firm but not forceful.

“What are you doing?” she whispers, her voice shaky, a mix of uncertainty and... hope that she already knows the answer.

“Fuck if I know,” he admits. His hands slide up her thighs, spreading them apart again, and he drops to his knees in front of her. “But I can’t just… I can’t leave you like this.”

“Baby,” she breathes, her tone caught between a plea and a warning.

“Let me take care of you,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. “Please. I can't take this shit anymore.”

At the sound of his pleading, she reaches out, her fingers threading through his hair as her breath hitches. It’s all the permission he needs to press his lips to her warm entrance, soft and tentative at first, but when she arches into him, her body trembling beneath his touch, something inside him snaps.

Lando doesn’t hesitate once she gives in, her fingers tightening in his hair as her thighs tremble against his shoulders. His hands grip her legs, his touch firm but reverent, holding her open for him like he’s afraid she’ll change her mind.

The first swipe of his tongue over her slit is slow and deliberate, tasting her in a way that makes her breath hitch. He hums low in his throat, the vibration sending a shockwave through her that has her head falling back against the mattress.

“Lan…do,” her voice breaks on his name, a soft moan that sends a shiver down his spine.

“Always so sweet for me, love,” he exhales heavily, her scent intoxicating.

Lando's grip on her thighs tightens as he pulls her closer, his tongue moving with purpose now, circling her clit and flicking in a rhythm that makes her toes curl. The erotic sounds from between her legs make her close her eyes in pleasure, her pussy tightening around him with each intentional stroke of his tongue. He’s thorough, so meticulous, as though he’s trying to commit every whimper and every twitch of her body to memory.

“That's so good, Lan. Feels so good,” she lets out a string of moans, her eyes rolling as the air gets knocked out of her lungs. “Oh, god, I've missed your mouth so much.”

She traces her hand through his hair, holding him while her hips push forward, the bridge of his nose tickling her clit so sweetly. He wants to drown in her, to lose himself in the way she responds to him, every single time.

Each gasp feels like a lifeline, tethering him to something real, something he can hold on to when everything else feels so uncertain. Her fingers curl in his hair, tugging slightly as her hips begin to move against him, chasing the friction he so willingly gives. Lando's jaw clenches at the way she’s unraveling for him, and he redoubles his efforts, his tongue flicking faster, more insistently, as he pulls out to suck gently on her clit.

“Baby, please,” she's almost crying, her voice shaky, but still cutting through the air like a plea for salvation. “Need you… so close.”

Lando doesn’t stop. He can’t. Especially not when her legs start to tremble against him, her breathing becoming erratic as she teeters on the edge. Instead, he slides one hand from her thigh to her hip, pressing her down slightly to keep her steady while his other hand moves swiftly to where he has been tongue-fucking her. His long fingers slide gently through her wetness, curling inside as he finds the spot that makes her see stars.

She feels herself opening wider for him, then clenching harder while he adds just enough pressure to make her body tense, his tongue never ceasing its rhythm.

“Lando, I—” her words dissolve into a broken moan, and he knows she’s close.

His heart pounds in his chest as he keeps going, the sound of his fingers fucking in and out of her pussy blending so beautifully with the noise of his tongue lapping at her clit. He doesn’t care how long it takes; he’ll stay between her thighs forever if he has to. He won't move again until she falls apart beneath him. For him. Maybe then Lando will understand why he needs her so much, why the thought of losing her feels like losing a piece of himself.

When she comes, it’s like the world stops from spinning. Her body tenses, her thighs trembling as she cries out his name, over and over again, her release washing over her in waves. He should pull out and give her time to ride out her orgasm, but his tongue and fingers coaxing her through it, making her gasp for another breath, is sending shocks of ecstasy to his hardened cock. In his desperate attempt to relieve his pain, he rubs himself against the bed, but it is not nearly enough.

Finally, when her hands are falling limply from his hair, that's when Lando slows down his movements. He presses soft kisses against her inner thighs as he pulls back slightly, his hands gently stroking her soft legs.

“You alright?” asks Lando, his voice raw.

She looks down at him, her chest heaving as their eyes meet. There’s something vulnerable in his gaze, something that makes her throat tighten. His lips are swollen and glossy, his chin slick and glistening from her arousal. His breathing is as unsteady as hers, his chest rising and falling rapidly as if he’s just run a marathon. The sight of him like this — completely undone and yet so devastatingly composed — makes her stomach clench with need. More need.

“Mhm,” she manages, heat rising from her chest to her cheeks, while her hand involuntarily travels back between her own legs.

Lando slowly wipes the wetness from his chin with the back of his hand, his eyes never leaving hers. The motion is deliberate, almost taunting, as if he wants her to remember every second of her high. Then he rises to his feet, his big frame towering over her as he leans forward, bracing himself on either side of her hips. Her breath catches as he hovers above her, so beautiful and wrecked, his face so close that she can feel the warmth radiating from his skin.

She expects Lando to kiss her, her lips parting slightly in anticipation, but instead, he tilts his head and murmurs, his voice a low rasp that sends a shiver down her spine.

“If you wanted me to fuck you, all you had to do was ask, baby,” his unfiltered voice makes her heart race in her chest. “I don’t care that we’re fighting. It doesn’t matter how tired I am,” he continues, his eyes dark and piercing as they lock onto hers. “I’ll stop anything, drop everything, just to fuck my needy girl, yeah?”

The bluntness of his words, paired with the raw intensity in his voice, leaves her momentarily speechless, the pads of her fingers collecting whatever is left from her release. She whimpers softly, her lips parting again as she brings her fingers to his, pushing inside his mouth while watching his pupils dilating. Lando sucks on them with the same thirst as earlier, biting softly when she tires to pull out. At that, something inside her snaps. She surges up, her hands gripping the back of his neck as she pulls him into a fierce, desperate kiss.

His lips are warm and soft, slick with the taste of her still lingering there, and she can’t help the way she moans into his mouth. He groans in response, deep and guttural, as his tongue slides between her lips, claiming her in a way that makes her stomach flip.

It feels like fire and desperation, like he’s trying to pour all of his frustration into one single kiss. When his tongue moves against hers, she whimpers, the sensation achingly familiar yet entirely overwhelming. It feels like he’s everywhere, like he’s consuming her from the inside out, and she doesn’t want it to stop. Ever.

“Lan,” she moans into his mouth, “Please…”

Her pleading seem to break something in him. Lando pulls back just enough to meet her gaze, his lips curling into a slow, crooked grin, making her realize how bad she's missed seeing it. There’s something tender yet profoundly sad in his expression, though, a quiet heartbreak that makes her chest burn.

“Please, what? Hm, what do you need?” he murmurs, his hand tracing a soft, reverent path down her body.

His fingers graze her collarbone, her ribs, her hip, each touch filled with a tenderness that feels almost out of place amidst the heat between them. But she doesn’t care about the sadness or the hesitation. Not right now. She arches into his touch, her hands clutching at his shoulders as she's whispering nonsense, too drunk on him to make more sense than that.

Lando’s breath mingles with hers, his lips brushing hers in the faintest of kisses as he whispers, “You aching for me, baby?”

Her nod is small, almost imperceptible, but he feels it, and his hand slips down to her hip, grounding her. The weight of his touch is familiar, comforting even, and it sends a tremor through her body that she doesn’t try to hide.

“Hurts so bad,” she admits, her voice cracking as her eyes meet his.

“I know,” he nods slowly, his voice thick with emotion. “Can I me make it better?”

“Always.”

He presses his lips to hers fully now, a slow, lingering kiss that feels like a balm against the ache between them. It starts soft, tentative, as if they’re testing the waters, but quickly grows deeper. His tongue sweeps across her bottom lip, and she opens for him, sighing into his mouth as he kisses her with all the longing, irritation, and so much love that he’s been holding back.

His hands move with purpose, sliding under the hem of her shirt — his shirt — and pushing it up, exposing her bare skin. She gasps as his palms graze her sides, his touch igniting a fire that spreads through her veins.

Lando pulls back just enough to tug the shirt over her head, his eyes darkening as he takes her in. “My beautiful baby,” he says, almost like he’s reminding himself that she still belongs to him and vice versa.

Her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t look away. Instead, she reaches for him, her fingers tugging at the hem of his own shirt. He helps her, pulling it off in one fluid motion before pressing his chest against hers, their bare skin meeting in a way that feels like coming back home after a long, tiring trip.

They move together like this, slowly shedding the layers between them until there’s nothing left but their bodies and the weight of everything they've done wrong.

He lowers her onto the bed, his lips never leaving hers as he settles between her legs. The warmth of his body, the solidity of him, makes her feel anchored, even as the storm inside her threatens to consume her. And when he enters her, it’s heaven, deliberate, like he’s savoring every inch of her. She moans, her hands flying to his shoulders as he stretches her, filling her with his perfect length. He stills for a moment, his forehead pressed against hers as they both adjust to his size.

“Remember how easy it used to be?” he whispers.

She nods while his lips are brushing her temple. “Yeah. I remember.”

The first thrust is painfully slow, managing to pull a soft moan from her lips. But soon enough, Lando sets a rhythm, one that feels familiar, almost nostalgic, like they’re trying to recapture the simplicity of how things used to be. She matches him, her hips rising to meet his, their bodies moving together in perfect sync.

As the pace builds, so does the intensity and vulnerability between them. The kisses become messier, more desperate, and his thrusts deepen, driving into her with a force that feels like a mix of anger and love.

“I don’t want this to be the end,” he says suddenly, his voice cracking as her nails dig into his back, leaving crimson lines in their wake.

“No?” she asks, a little hesitant.

His movements falter for a split second before he recovers, his eyes locking onto hers. “God. No, baby,” he says, his voice thick with determination. “We can fix this. I swear we can.”

Tears well in her eyes, and she can see his own glistening in the obscure lighting. They’re both breaking, and yet neither of them wants to let go.

Lando thrusts harder now, the force of it making her cry out as her body arches beneath him. She meets him halfway, her legs wrapping around his waist as she pulls him deeper inside her, as close as humanly possible. The room fills with the sounds of their bodies slapping against each other, their breathing, and their muffled cries.

“I need you,” she whispers, her voice barely audible over the rush of their movements. “Like this, all the time. Only you.”

“You have me,” he replies, his voice breaking. “You’ll always have me, you know that.”

“Promise me,” she demands as she starts clenching around him, the heat building once again inside her.

Lando gasps at the feeling, fucking into her harder. “Shit, baby. I promise you. I promise.”

The weight of his words pushes her over the edge, her release hitting her harder the second time around. She cries out, tears streaming down her face as her body shakes beneath him. He follows moments later, his own climax tearing through him as he buries his face in her neck, his shoulders trembling with the force of it.

They stay like that, tangled together, their bodies molding into each other as they come down from the high. But the tears don’t stop. They cling to each other, crying softly as the reality of their situation crashes down on them.

“I love you so much,” he says, feeling her fingers tracing patterns on his back.

“I love you, too,” she admits without hesitation. “Do you think that's enough?”

Lando lifts his head, his eyes red-rimmed but full of a tentative hope. “No. But it's a start.”

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

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theonottsbxtch · 16 days ago

Text

MY PEACE | MV1

an: this was a request from a lovely first time requester ( @pinkinternetstarlight )i had so much fun with this except i probably went about this differently than was expected maybe? i don’t know but i hope everyone enjoys it

wc: 1.9k

THE MONACO SKYLINE GLITTERED outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of Max’s apartment, but the man inside couldn’t see it. Not really. He was slumped on the sofa, his head buried in his hands, elbows resting on his knees, still dressed in the sweat-soaked polo and race trousers he hadn’t bothered to peel off since getting home. The hollow thrum of the media circus still echoed in his ears—reporters’ voices, headlines dissecting every moment of his race, every mistake, every edge of aggression they couldn’t wait to sharpen into a weapon.

The living room was dim, the only light a faint glow from the kitchen where she stood, stacking plates from his barely-touched dinner into the dishwasher. He hadn’t asked her to come over; he never had to. She just… knew. She always knew.

She moved with quiet purpose, tying her hair back with a loose band, sleeves rolled up as she made her way around his space—tidying up the chaos he left in his wake. To anyone else, it might have seemed like she was cleaning for the sake of it, but he recognised it for what it was: her way of looking after him, of making sure that when the noise of the world threatened to cave him in, the corners of his life she touched felt a little less sharp.

He glanced up when she wandered back into the room, her bare feet soft against the wooden floor, carrying a folded blanket. She sat beside him without a word, the way she always did, close enough that her shoulder brushed his. Without asking, she unfolded the blanket and draped it over his lap, tucking it in just so.

His breath hitched—he didn’t mean it to, but there it was, like a crack in a dam he spent his whole life patching up. He turned his head slightly, enough to catch the faint scent of her perfume, and for the first time all day, the ache behind his ribs quietened.

“You don’t have to do this,” he murmured, his voice hoarse.

She turned to him, one corner of her mouth lifting in a small, knowing smile. “I know I don’t.”

He let his head fall back, tipping to the side until it came to rest against her lap. His body felt too heavy to hold up anymore, but here—here was lightness. Her fingers slid through his hair, slow and deliberate, untangling the knots the day had left behind.

The monster inside him, the one he kept chained under the weight of the world’s expectations, fell silent.

“Dinner’s in the fridge for tomorrow,” she said softly. “And I’ll stay the night if you want.”

He shut his eyes. He wanted to say he didn’t deserve this—didn’t deserve her—but the words wouldn’t come. All he managed was a nod, and when she leaned back against the cushions, her hands still in his hair, he let himself breathe.

The silence between them stretched on, but it wasn’t heavy. It was soft, the kind that let him loosen the grip on his thoughts, if only a little. He stared at the darkened skyline, the city lights casting faint patterns on the walls, and tried not to get lost in his head. But it was a losing battle. It always was.

The thought crept in before he could stop it. You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve her.

The words sounded like his own, but the voice behind them wasn’t. It was his father’s, sharp and clipped, laced with that same cold disdain that had haunted his childhood. His dad had always seen her as a weakness, a threat to his focus and discipline. How many times had he warned Max about letting anyone get too close? About “wasting energy” on things that didn’t matter?

And yet, here she was, the only person who’d stayed. The only one who’d made it through the wreckage of his life without turning away.

Her hand was still in his hair, her fingers slow and soothing, but he could feel the faint shift of her breathing as she glanced at the clock on the wall.

“Max,” she said softly, her voice cutting through the noise in his head. “You’ve got a flight tomorrow morning. You should shower and get some sleep.”

He opened his eyes, the weight of the day still pressing down on him, and turned to look at her. “I’ll sleep on the plane,” he mumbled, though he didn’t move.

“Shower first,” she said, firm but kind. “You’ll feel better.”

He didn’t argue. He never could, not with her. With a quiet sigh, he sat up, the blanket slipping to the floor, and dragged himself to his feet. The thought of standing under hot water—letting it wash away the grease and grime and whatever else the day had left on him—wasn’t as bad as he let on.

By the time he stepped into the shower, he could hear her moving about in the kitchen again. He let the water beat against his skin, his hands braced against the tiled wall as the heat loosened the tension in his shoulders. Still, his mind wouldn’t stop replaying the same loop: his dad’s voice, the doubt, the sense of never being enough.

When he finally emerged, towel slung around his waist, the smell of something warm and sweet drifted through the apartment. He found her in the bedroom, already curled up against the pillows, a mug of hot chocolate in her hands. On the bedside table sat another mug—tea, the way she always made it for him, a perfect balance of strong and soothing.

She didn’t look up as he walked in, her nose buried in a book, the soft glow of the bedside lamp making the room feel impossibly safe.

He took the mug and sat on the other side of the bed, cradling it in his hands as the steam curled up around his face. For a while, they didn’t speak. She kept reading, and he let himself lean back against the headboard, the warmth of the tea spreading through him.

It wasn’t until he was ready—until the words that had been choking him all day finally loosened—that he spoke.

“They hate me,” he said quietly, his voice barely more than a rasp.

She looked up from her book, closing it without a hint of impatience, and turned her full attention to him. “Who?”

“Everyone,” he said. “The media. The fans. Hell, even Checo, sometimes.” He laughed bitterly. “They don’t even know me, but they’ve already decided I’m the villain. And the worst part is… I think they’re right.”

Her brows knitted together, and she set her mug down on the table. “Max,” she said, her voice steady, her gaze unflinching, “you’re not a villain.”

He shook his head, staring into his tea. “I don’t know how you can say that. You’ve seen it—how I am on the track, how I am off it. I push people away, I—” He stopped, the words catching in his throat.

“You’re human,” she said simply. “You’re not perfect, but no one is. And everything they say about you? That’s noise. It’s not who you are.”

His hands tightened around the mug, and he looked at her, his expression raw, like he was seeing her for the first time.

“You don’t have to stay, you know,” he said, his voice breaking. “You could’ve left a long time ago. Sometimes I think you should’ve.”

She held his gaze, her eyes calm but fierce. “And sometimes I think you forget that I get to make my own choices,” she said softly. “I’m here because I want to be, Max. Not because I feel sorry for you. Not because you owe me anything. Just because you’re you.”

The weight in his chest shifted, just a fraction, but enough. He didn’t know how to respond to that—not yet—but when she picked up her book again, leaning against his shoulder as if nothing had changed, he let himself close his eyes and breathe.

For tonight, it was enough.

The tea was long forgotten on the bedside table, the room quiet save for the faint rustle of her turning a page and the soft hum of the city beyond the windows. Max shifted under the duvet, his body still heavy with exhaustion, but the ache behind his ribs had eased, just enough to let him breathe.

She lay beside him, her book propped against her knees, the light from the lamp catching the soft curve of her face. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, trying to ignore the pang of something sharp and unfamiliar blooming in his chest. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt it, but tonight it seemed impossible to ignore.

He adjusted his pillow and turned on his side, facing her. “You’re going to read all night, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice low, teasing.

She glanced at him, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Not if you need to sleep.”

“I always need sleep is what you say, no?.”

She laughed softly, her head tipping to the side as she closed her book, slipping it onto the nightstand. “Alright, I’m done.” She reached over and turned off the lamp, plunging the room into comfortable darkness.

He shifted closer instinctively, the warmth of her presence drawing him in. They’d done this a hundred times before—falling asleep in the same bed, his arm slung over her waist or her head tucked against his chest—but tonight felt different. The space between them was charged with something unspoken, a tension he didn’t have the courage to name.

She settled into the pillows, her back facing him, and he hesitated for a moment before closing the distance. His arm slid around her waist, pulling her closer, and she melted into him without a second thought.

“Goodnight, Max,” she murmured, her voice soft and drowsy.

He rested his chin lightly against the top of her head, inhaling the familiar scent of her shampoo. “Goodnight,” he said, though his mind was far from quiet.

The weight of the day, the weight of everything, seemed to dissipate as he held her. She didn’t demand anything of him, didn’t ask him to explain himself or prove that he was more than what the world saw. She just… was. And somehow, that was enough to quiet the storm inside him.

His eyes fluttered shut, the warmth of her body lulling him into something close to peace. And before he could stop himself, the words slipped out, barely more than a whisper, lost to the dark.

“I love you.”

She didn’t stir. Didn’t react.

For a moment, panic flared in his chest—what if she’d heard him? What if she didn’t feel the same? But as her breathing deepened, slow and steady in the quiet of the room, he realised she was already asleep.

Relief swept over him, and he tightened his hold on her just a fraction, burying his face in her hair. It was better this way, he told himself. She didn’t need to know. He didn’t need to ruin what they had, didn’t need to drag her into the mess of his life any more than she already was.

For tonight, it was enough to hold her. To let the monster in him fall silent, just for a little while.

And as sleep finally pulled him under, he couldn’t help but hope—just a little—that maybe someday, he’d find the courage to say it again.

the end.

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby

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tbaluver · 4 months ago

Note

hi!! i was wondering if i could ask for some angst with all the guys ٩(◕‿◕｡)۶

smthing like mc (gender neutral if possible!) going to a mission and not coming back and the guys' reactions to that ?

ty in advance (≧▽≦)

When You Don't Come Back From Your Mission- The Love And DeepSpace Men

parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader genre: angst no comfort a/n: hi anonnie! i hope this was okay and that you enjoy ! i'll post a part where mc/ reader comes back from the mission after a long time and maybe that would be a comfort part of this angst reaction (๑>؂•̀๑) i know a couple people from my inbox have requested me to write something about that and i'll get it out soon it's just sitting on my drafts but it'll be out so so soon ദ്ദി ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ ) sorry lovelies i just get distracted a lot any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

You and Xavier weren’t assigned to this mission, which was a bummer given how often you two have been always paired for similar tasks. Your extensive training together, countless sparring sessions, and numerous times you two have spent together have created a deep bond and sense of confidence in each other’s skills. Although it was unusual to not be paired in a mission, you both trusted in your abilities and didn’t think much of it.

As he returned from picking up snacks at the convenience store, he walked into the Hunter’s Association office and was struck by the sense of panic that had been overtaken in the room. The frantic energy was evident as he overheard that your team has not given any responses or updates regarding your location. The news hit him like a jolt, nearly causing him to drop the snacks he was holding.

His gentle demeanor shifted to one of deep concern. The usual calmness in his eyes was replaced by a serious and troubled look. His universe felt like it had dimmed, knowing that the brightest star was missing from his grasp.

He demanded immediate access to the latest mission’s location, coordinates, or any relevant information. He insisted that he would take charge of the situation himself and offer no objects as they recognized the intensity in his voice.

He internally blamed himself for not coming sooner. Every path he takes as he travels to find you, only fuels the sense of urgency and concern to find your and ensure your safety.

Zayne:

Zayne has always trusted in your abilities and knew what you were capable of. Each mission, he knew you could handle it with ease and he had faith that you would come back. As always, before he left he would always remind you, “Stay safe and don’t do anything reckless. I don’t want to see you back in my office with another injury.”

Normally, your absences were brief and he would patiently wait for your return, eager to hear the absurd stories of your missions, but this time something felt different. Something he couldn’t quite place. The days dragged on longer than usual and the silence from you was unsettling.

He tried to distract himself with paperwork and tending to patience but his anxiety gnawed at him, thinking of what had happened to you. A mission shouldn’t take this long, especially for someone as skilled as you.

Every day he would send a text and sometimes they were random. Sometimes they were filled with encouragement or updates about small things in his life, in hopes to get a response from you. However, each message he sent was always left unanswered which fueled his growing concern. He began to doubt if you were ignoring him or if something far worse had happened.

Unable to contain his worry any longer, he drove to your house and knocked on your door unannounced. The minutes stretched into an agonizing wait and when there was no response. His heart that had been warmed by your presence has now gripped by icy fear.

Each day he has desperately waited for any responses and any updates from the Hunter’s Association about your well-being. The longer he had to wait, the more he was determined to join the battlefield himself in desperation to find you again.

Rafayel:

Ever since you departed on your mission, he would be counting the seconds, minutes, and days until your return. It’s something he would usually do when you leave for a mission. Time passed by slowly in your absence and he tried to distract himself by visiting the beach or working on new sketches, hoping to find a spark of inspiration for his next piece. Yet, inspiration was difficult when his greatest muse was missing for a few days

A few days. What began to be a few days stretched into a week and more. His concern grew as your silence and absence in his life persisted. Normally, you would have responded to any of his texts or calls even amid the chaos of your missions. But now, this mission was different. His phone never lit up from any notifications from you and your absence gnawed at him.

His distress was evident. His meticulously groomed appearance had unraveled. His hair was disheveled and his outfits mismatched. The studio that was usually a bright haven of creativity had become a reflection of his inner turmoil. The room was shrouded in shadows, and canvases were marred with erratic splashes of paint and frustrated strokes.

'Missing you comes in waves and tonight I am drowning.'

He was spiraling and grew relentless, digging up any lead and rumor of information about your mission. Whatever happened to you, someone was going to pay. He doesn’t care if the bounty on his head catches up to him. He’ll try to find you no matter what, even if it takes him another 800 years.

Sylus:

He knew you were a skilled Hunter so initially he dismissed your absence as just another routine mission. He assumed he would see you again soon in a couple of days and began making plans for the two of you to relax and enjoy when you returned.

However as days turned into a week without any responses to his text or voice messages, his calm demeanor began to crumble. Your status on DeepSpace hadn’t been updated since the last time you had talked and it never showed that you read his messages. His unease deepened when Mephisto reported that he had been unable to locate you.

The growing anxiety and frustrations were impossible for him to contain. He had tried to rush to the location of your mission only to find no trace of you there. His office became a battleground of his conflicted emotions. He cursed himself for being so careless about you.

Luke and Kieran could only witness the storm of anger and worry from a distance. They dared not to approach him during the moments of his intense agitation. They understand as they miss you as well but they could only wish they could do so much to help find you.

He figures he has to take matters into his own hands no matter the cost. Your little Hunter’s Association could only do so much but many do not understand how much power, influence, and resources Sylus has at his disposal. He doesn’t care if he has to get his hands dirty, he will have to do anything to find his little dove back in his arms again.

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s4kura-tr3 · 25 days ago

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i loved your hurt/comfort insecure nanami fic! could you do some drabbles for the other jjk guys (reader comforting them about an insecurity)? i love them all so your choice which ones

Perfect

A/n aww ty so much! I really love writing stuff for jjk it makes my day

Since I have already did Nanami he won’t be added if you haven’t read it got to my materialist and there you should find it!

Characters: Gojo, Geto, Toji, Yuji, Megumi, Sukuna

Tw: a hurt/comfort, insecurity, a little suggestive in Tojis part. Sukuna being a lil ooc, A long one folks..

Satoru Gojo

Satoru wasn’t usually the type to doubt himself. In fact, self-doubt seemed like something that didn’t exist in his vocabulary. Yet, recently, the words of others had been getting to him more than he cared to admit.

“You’re so loud all the time, Gojo.”

“Does everything have to be a joke with you?”

“You’re like a kid in a man’s body.”

It had started as harmless comments, things he shrugged off with his usual smirk and a witty retort. But after hearing them again and again, from friends, colleagues, even strangers—it stuck. Maybe he was too childish. Maybe his carefree nature wasn’t as endearing as he thought.

For the past few days, he had been… different. You noticed it almost immediately. The usual playful banter, the teasing remarks, and the exaggerated antics? Gone. Instead, Satoru had been unusually reserved, his words measured, his energy dimmed.

He wasn’t being himself, and it worried you.

One evening, the two of you sat on the couch together. Usually, Satoru would have sprawled himself out, dramatically flinging an arm around you while rambling on about something ridiculous. But tonight, he sat upright, hands clasped together, eyes glued to the TV without really watching.

“Alright,” you said, turning to face him fully. “What’s going on?”

He blinked, feigning innocence. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been acting… weird.” You gestured at him. “Quiet, serious, like you’re trying to audition for a role in some boring corporate drama.”

That got a small smile out of him, but it faded quickly. He sighed, leaning back against the couch.

“Do you ever think I’m… too much?” he asked softly.

Your eyebrows furrowed. “What? No. Where is this coming from?”

“It’s just…” He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “People are always saying how I’m loud or immature. I thought… maybe I should try being less, I don’t know, annoying.”

Your heart sank at the vulnerability in his tone. This was so unlike him, the usually confident and larger-than-life Satoru Gojo.

“Satoru,” you said firmly, taking his hand in yours. “You’re not annoying. You’re you. And that’s what I love about you.”

He looked at you, those stunning eyes of his searching your face for any hint of insincerity.

“You’re loud because you want to fill the room with laughter. You’re childish because you remind people not to take life so seriously. And yeah, maybe you’re a bit over-the-top sometimes, but that’s what makes you you. You light up every space you walk into. Why would you want to dim that?”

His lips parted, but no words came out at first. Then, a soft chuckle escaped him.

“Man,” he said, his voice lighter than it had been in days, “how’d I get so lucky to have someone like you?”

You grinned, leaning closer to him. “You’re lucky because I happen to think noisy, dramatic boyfriends are the best.”

He laughed, the sound warm and familiar, filling the room like sunlight after a storm. The playful glint returned to his eyes as he leaned down to nuzzle your cheek.

“Okay, but just for the record,” he teased, “you’re also pretty loud sometimes, you know.”

“Yeah, but you love it,” you shot back.

He smirked, pulling you into his arms. “You’re right. I really do.”

And just like that, Satoru Gojo was himself again—bright, lively, and utterly unapologetic.

Geto Suguru

Suguru Geto had always been confident. He carried himself with a quiet grace, his long, jet-black hair tied neatly behind him, flowing like a curtain of silk. To you, it was one of his most striking features—something that made him uniquely him.

But lately, he had been feeling… off.

The comments were small, casual, but persistent enough to stick.

“Why do you keep your hair so long? Isn’t that a girl thing?”

“Don’t you think you’d look more manly if you cut it?”

“Guys with long hair just look weird.”

He brushed them off at first, but the more he heard, the more they lingered. The words gnawed at his confidence until he started questioning himself. Maybe they were right. Maybe it was time for a change.

Late one evening, you noticed he wasn’t in bed when you reached out for him. The soft hum of the bathroom light spilled under the door, and curiosity tugged at you. Gently, you knocked before opening the door, only to freeze at the sight before you.

Suguru stood in front of the mirror, scissors in hand, his dark eyes shadowed with uncertainty. His long hair, normally tied back, hung loose around his shoulders, cascading like ink down his back.

“Suguru?” you asked softly, stepping into the room.

He flinched, lowering the scissors but not letting them go. “You should go back to bed,” he muttered, avoiding your gaze.

“Not until you tell me what you’re doing.” You walked closer, your voice calm but firm.

He sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I was thinking of cutting it,” he admitted, his tone low.

You tilted your head, confused. “Why?”

He hesitated, then finally met your eyes. “People keep saying it’s feminine, that it doesn’t suit me. Maybe they’re right.”

The vulnerability in his voice made your heart ache. This wasn’t like Suguru, the man who usually carried himself with unwavering confidence.

You reached out, gently taking the scissors from his hand and setting them on the counter. Then, you turned him to face you fully, your hands resting on his shoulders.

“Suguru,” you said softly, “do you want to cut your hair because you want to, or because of what other people are saying?”

He hesitated again, looking away. “I just… don’t want people to think I’m weird.”

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re not weird. You’re you. And your long hair? It’s one of the things I love most about you. It’s strong, it’s beautiful, and it’s you. Don’t let anyone make you feel like you have to change that.”

He looked back at you, his expression softening. “You really think that?”

“I know that,” you said firmly. You reached up, running your fingers through his hair, marveling at how soft and smooth it was. “This hair of yours? It’s perfect. And even if you decided to cut it, I’d still love you. But don’t let anyone else decide who you should be. You’re already perfect just the way you are.”

Suguru exhaled, the tension in his shoulders melting away. A small, genuine smile crept onto his face, and he leaned into your touch.

“You always know what to say,” he murmured, his voice lighter now.

“That’s my job,” you teased, grinning up at him.

He chuckled softly, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. “Thank you,” he whispered into your hair.

“Anytime,” you replied, your voice muffled against his chest.

That night, Suguru went to bed with his long hair intact, feeling more like himself than he had in days. And as he lay beside you, your words echoing in his mind, he realized that the only opinion that truly mattered was yours—and his own.

Toji Fushiguro

Toji wasn’t one to dwell on things. Life had shaped him into a man who took things as they came, without much fuss. But lately, as he looked in the mirror, he couldn’t ignore the signs of time creeping up on him.

The faint wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.

The silver strands starting to thread through his black hair.

The way his back ached after sparring, when it never used to before.

The chubby softness that replaced the sharp definition of his youth.

He hated to admit it, but it all gnawed at him. The years had taken their toll, and it made him wonder—did you notice? Did you still see him the same way?

For the past week, Toji had been… off. He wasn’t teasing you as much, his trademark smirks less frequent. He avoided his reflection and spent extra time at the gym, only to come home frustrated when his body refused to cooperate the way it used to. You couldn’t help but notice the way he lingered in front of the mirror longer than usual, his brows furrowed in thought.

One night, you found him sitting on the edge of the bed, his shoulders hunched. He was staring at his hands, his calloused fingers flexing absently, lost in thought.

“Toji,” you called softly, sitting beside him.

He glanced at you but quickly looked away, as if embarrassed. “You should get some sleep,” he muttered.

“Not until you tell me what’s been bothering you.”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening. Finally, he sighed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “It’s nothing. Just… getting old, I guess.”

“Old?” you repeated, blinking in surprise. “What are you talking about?”

He gestured vaguely at himself. “Look at me. Wrinkles, gray hair, a bad back… I’m not the man I used to be.” His voice was low, almost bitter. “It’s like every time I look in the mirror, I see someone else. Someone… weaker.”

Your chest tightened at the vulnerability in his words. Toji, the man who always seemed so sure of himself, was doubting his worth because of something as natural as aging.

“Toji,” you said gently, reaching for his hand. “Do you know what I see when I look at you?”

He glanced at you, his green eyes shadowed with doubt. “What?”

“I see the strongest, most handsome man I’ve ever met,” you said firmly. “I see someone who’s lived through more than most people could imagine and came out the other side. Every wrinkle, every scar, every gray hair? They’re proof of that. They tell the story of a man who’s survived, who’s grown, who’s loved.”

He stared at you, his expression softening as your words sank in.

“You’re not defined by how you look, Toji,” you continued, your voice steady but full of emotion. “You’re defined by the way you protect the people you care about, the way you love me, the way you never give up no matter how hard things get. That’s the man I see. That’s the man I fell in love with.”

Toji’s lips parted slightly, but he didn’t speak right away. Instead, he reached up, brushing his thumb gently along your cheek.

“You really think that?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

“I don’t think it,” you said, leaning into his touch. “I know it.”

A slow, genuine smile broke across his face—the kind of smile that made your heart flutter no matter how many times you’d seen it.

“You’re too good to me,” he murmured, pulling you into his lap and wrapping his arms around you.

“Not true,” you teased, nuzzling against his chest. “You deserve every bit of it, old man.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “Watch it, or I’ll remind you how ‘old’ I am in ways you won’t forget.”

You laughed, the sound warm and full of love, and for the first time in days, Toji felt like himself again. Sure, he wasn’t as young as he used to be, but with you by his side, he realized he didn’t need to be. Because to you, he was—and always would be—perfect.

Sukuna ryomen

Sukuna was not a man who doubted himself—ever. He was the King of Curses, feared and revered, and he didn’t care what anyone thought of him. Or at least, that’s what he told himself.

But the comment from one of his servants had hit a nerve he hadn’t expected.

“It’s only a matter of time before they leave you. Who’d want to stay with someone so… volatile?”

Sukuna had brushed the remark off at the time, beheading the servant without hesitation. Yet, the words lingered, festering in his mind like a curse.

The days that followed were… off. Sukuna wasn’t himself. The sharp edges of his personality were dulled. He no longer snapped at minor annoyances or barked orders with his usual commanding tone. Instead, he was quiet, withdrawn, almost measured.

And it worried you. Sukuna, the man who always seemed larger than life, who never hesitated to speak his mind or express his emotions, was holding back.

You found him one evening in his chambers, sitting on the edge of his throne, his usual confident posture replaced by something almost… unsure. His clawed fingers tapped against the armrest, his gaze distant.

“Sukuna?” you called gently, stepping closer.

He stiffened, glancing at you. “What is it?” he asked, his tone gruff but lacking its usual bite.

“You tell me,” you said, crossing your arms as you stood in front of him. “You’ve been acting strange. What’s going on?”

He clicked his tongue, looking away. “It’s nothing. Drop it.”

“No,” you said firmly, surprising him with your persistence. “You don’t get to brush me off like that. Not when something’s clearly bothering you.”

For a moment, he said nothing, his jaw tightening. Then, with a frustrated sigh, he finally spoke.

“One of the servants said something,” he admitted, his voice low. “About you. About me.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “What did they say?”

“They said you’d leave,” he said bluntly, his crimson eyes meeting yours for the first time. “Because of my… temper.”

The words were almost hard for him to say, and it hit you just how deeply they had affected him.

You took a step closer, your expression softening. “Sukuna…”

He scoffed, looking away again. “It’s not like I care what some pathetic servant thinks. But… it made me wonder.” He paused, his claws flexing against the armrest. “If they’re right. If I’ll drive you away one day, and my love is bigger then my pride..”

Your heart clenched at the vulnerability he was showing, a side of him he rarely let anyone see. You knelt in front of him, resting your hands gently on his knees, forcing him to look at you.

“Listen to me,” you said firmly, your voice steady. “You’re not perfect, Sukuna. No one is. But I didn’t fall in love with you because I thought you were. I fell in love with you. The good, the bad, the angry, the terrifying—all of it.”

His eyes searched yours, as if trying to find any hint of a lie.

“Yes, you have a temper,” you continued, “but you’re also loyal, protective, and so much more than the anger you feel. And if you ever do lose control, I know you’ll never hurt me. You’ve had every opportunity to, and you never have. That’s what matters.”

He was silent for a long moment, the tension in his body slowly ebbing away. Finally, he reached out, his clawed hand cupping your cheek with surprising gentleness.

“You’re too good for me,” he murmured, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

“No, I’m exactly what you need,” you said with a small smile, leaning into his touch. “And I’m not going anywhere, Sukuna. Not now, not ever.”

A faint smirk tugged at his lips, the closest thing to a smile you’d ever see from him. “You’re either brave or foolish to stay with someone like me.”

“Maybe a little of both,” you teased, rising to your feet and leaning in to kiss him softly.

When you pulled away, his crimson eyes held a warmth that wasn’t there before. “Don’t let them get in your head again,” you said. “I love you, Sukuna. All of you.”

For the first time in days, he felt the weight in his chest lift. He pulled you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you as if to keep you anchored to him.

And just like that, Sukuna felt like himself again—not because his anger was gone, but because you had reminded him that he was more than just the storm inside him.

Megumi Fushiguro

Megumi wasn’t one to get rattled easily. He wasn’t the loudest in the room or the most expressive, but his quiet presence was steady and dependable. You loved that about him.

But after meeting one of your old friends over lunch, a lingering doubt began to fester in his mind.

The conversation had been light and casual until your friend brought up your dating history.

“You’ve always had a type,” your friend teased, grinning. “Super affectionate, touchy guys—remember that one boyfriend who used to write you love notes every day?”

Megumi had sat there, quietly sipping his tea, but the words stayed with him long after the lunch ended. He wasn’t affectionate—not in the way your friend had described. His love wasn’t shown through constant words of affirmation or grand romantic gestures.

But was that what you wanted? Was that what you needed?

The days following the lunch were strange. Megumi was… different.

You’d been dating long enough to know his rhythms, the small, subtle ways he showed his love. The way he’d brush his hand against yours when walking side by side, or how he’d make sure you were always on the inside of the sidewalk. He was never loud about his affection, but it was there, constant and unwavering.

But now, he was acting out of character.

He was holding your hand more often, lingering in hugs longer than usual, and—most surprisingly—he kissed you on the forehead in public. It wasn’t bad, but it was so unlike him that you couldn’t ignore it.

One evening, as you sat on the couch together, you decided to bring it up.

“Okay,” you said, turning to face him. “What’s going on with you?”

Megumi blinked, his expression a mix of surprise and guilt. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been… different,” you said, trying to choose your words carefully. “Not that I don’t appreciate it, but you’ve been more… affectionate than usual. It’s not like you.”

He stiffened, looking down at his hands. For a moment, you thought he might deny it, but then he sighed, running a hand through his messy hair.

“I overheard what your friend said,” he admitted quietly. “About how your type used to be affectionate guys.”

You frowned, confused. “So?”

“So,” he said, his voice quieter, “I figured I should try to be more like that. More like… what you’re used to. What you deserve.”

His words made your chest tighten. The thought of Megumi, your stoic, thoughtful boyfriend, feeling insecure about something so fundamental to who he was broke your heart.

“Megumi,” you said softly, reaching for his hand. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He looked up at you, his green eyes clouded with doubt. “But what if it’s not enough? What if I’m not enough?”

You squeezed his hand tightly, your voice firm. “You are enough. More than enough.”

He stayed quiet, so you scooted closer, cupping his cheek gently and forcing him to look at you.

“You don’t have to be anyone else for me,” you said. “I don’t need over-the-top gestures or constant affection to know you love me. I see it in the way you make me tea when I’m stressed, or how you check on me after a long day without saying a word. You show your love in a million small ways that mean more to me than any grand gesture ever could.”

His expression softened, a flicker of relief passing through his eyes.

“I love you, Megumi,” you continued. “Not some version of you that you think I want. Just you.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, slowly, his lips curved into a small, genuine smile.

“I guess I overthought it,” he murmured, his tone lighter now.

“A little bit,” you teased, grinning.

He sighed, leaning back against the couch and pulling you into his side. “I just… didn’t want to let you down.”

“You could never let me down,” you said, resting your head against his shoulder. “And for the record, I like your type way better than anyone else’s.”

He let out a quiet laugh, the sound warming your heart. “Thanks,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

And just like that, the tension between you melted away. Megumi realized he didn’t need to change for you—he just needed to keep being the person you’d fallen in love with.

Yuji itadori

Yuji Itadori had always been the type to wear his heart on his sleeve. When he cared about someone, he showed it—whether that meant pulling them into a random hug, texting to make sure they got home safe, or just being around as much as he could.

But lately, he’d started wondering if maybe… it was too much.

It happened after a passing comment from one of his friends.

“Man, Yuji, you’re always sticking to them like glue. Don’t you think they’d want some space?”

The words weren’t meant to hurt, but they stuck with him. Did you ever feel suffocated by how much he wanted to be around you? Did you secretly wish he’d dial it back a little?

That thought alone made him pull back.

You noticed it almost immediately.

Yuji, your usually cheerful and affectionate boyfriend, had started acting… distant. The hugs were shorter, the playful touches less frequent, and he didn’t lean into you on the couch like he usually did.

At first, you thought maybe he was tired or stressed, but as the days passed, it became clear something was bothering him.

One night, after dinner, you decided to address it.

“Yuji,” you said gently, setting your plate down and turning to face him. “Is something wrong?”

His head shot up, his wide eyes betraying his guilt. “Huh? What? No, nothing’s wrong!”

“Don’t lie to me,” you said, your voice soft but firm. “You’ve been acting different lately. Did I do something to upset you?”

“No!” he said quickly, his hands waving in front of him. “It’s not you. It’s me.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he looked away. “I’ve been… trying to give you more space. I didn’t want to be too clingy, you know? I don’t want you to feel like I’m smothering you.”

Your heart sank at the insecurity in his voice. Yuji, who had always been so confident in how much he cared, was now second-guessing himself because he thought it was too much.

“Yuji,” you said softly, scooting closer to him. “Why would you think you’re smothering me?”

He shrugged, his eyes still avoiding yours. “Someone said I might be, and I started wondering… maybe they’re right. Maybe you’d want me to back off a little.”

“Hey,” you said, reaching out to take his hand. He looked at you then, his brown eyes filled with uncertainty.

“Listen to me,” you said, your tone firm but warm. “I love how affectionate you are. The way you always check on me, the way you hold me, the way you make me feel loved—none of it ever feels like too much. If anything, it makes me feel lucky.”

“Really?” he asked, his voice soft and hesitant, like he couldn’t quite believe it.

“Really,” you said, squeezing his hand. “I’d rather have you be your clingy, caring self than have you pull back and act like someone you’re not. You’re perfect the way you are, Yuji.”

He stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable, before a small smile broke across his face.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I guess I was overthinking it.”

“You definitely were,” you teased, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek.

He laughed, the sound light and full of relief, and pulled you into a tight hug—the kind of hug that only Yuji could give, warm and all-encompassing.

“I missed this,” you said, nuzzling into his chest.

“I missed it too,” he admitted, resting his chin on top of your head. “I promise I won’t hold back anymore.”

“Good,” you said, grinning against his shirt. “Because clingy Yuji is my favorite version of you.”

His laughter rumbled in his chest as he held you a little tighter, and for the first time in days, Yuji felt like himself again.

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caplanbuckybarnes · 1 month ago

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The Devil's Tailor (mafia!bucky barnes)

Summary: you work for dangerous criminals, most notably, the mafia leader himself, when they need new suits and dresses for political statements.

Warnings: mafia au, a smidge of flirting

WC: 630ish

Read on AO3!

The faint scent of cigar smoke clung to the air, mingling with the aroma of freshly pressed fabric. You stood behind the counter of your little tailor shop, fingers delicately threading a needle as if the world outside didn’t exist. But you felt it—the weight of his gaze before he even spoke.

“Miss Y/L/N,” came the low, gravelly voice. “You’ve outdone yourself again.”

You didn’t look up immediately, letting the final stitch slide into place before tying it off. “You say that every time, Mr. Barnes.”

Finally, you raised your eyes to meet his, and there he stood, James Buchanan Barnes, the most dangerous man in the city, dressed in a suit you’d made for him just weeks ago. The midnight blue fabric clung to his broad shoulders like a second skin, the silver cufflinks gleaming under the dim light. Everything about him screamed power, from the glint of his vibranium hand to the calculated smirk playing on his lips.

But it was his eyes that caught you—the sharp, steel-blue gaze that seemed to strip away every layer of pretense.

“Well,” he drawled, stepping closer. “Maybe it’s because you deserve the compliment every time.”

You fought to keep your composure, placing the freshly finished tie on the counter between you. “Flattery won’t get you a discount.”

His smirk deepened, and he reached for the tie, his fingers brushing yours. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Besides, you’re worth every penny.”

“You mean my work is,” you corrected, stepping back to give yourself some breathing room. “What can I do for you this time?”

Bucky leaned against the counter, his presence overwhelming in the small shop. “I need something special. A suit for a meeting.”

You arched a brow. “Special how?”

His expression turned serious, the playful air dissipating. “Let’s just say this meeting might be… heated.”

You nodded, understanding the unspoken words. A bulletproof vest wouldn’t suit his needs, but a suit lined with discreet protective layers? That, you could do.

“I’ll need measurements again,” you said, grabbing your tape measure.

“Think I’ve grown?” he teased, but his tone lacked its usual lightness.

You walked around the counter, gesturing for him to stand straight. “Arms out,” you instructed.

He complied, and as you worked, you couldn’t help but notice the scars peeking out from his collar, the tension in his shoulders, the slight weariness in his eyes.

“You trust me with this?” you asked quietly, your fingers grazing his wrist as you measured.

Bucky’s gaze softened, his voice dropping to a murmur. “I trust you with more than that, doll.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, and for a moment, you forgot about the tape measure in your hands.

“Why me?” you whispered, meeting his eyes. “You could go anywhere. Hire anyone.”

He tilted his head, a small smile curving his lips. “Because you don’t ask questions. You don’t judge. And, most importantly…” His fingers brushed a strand of hair from your face. “You make me look damn good while keeping me alive.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you forced yourself to focus, clearing your throat. “Well, let’s hope this suit does the trick.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “If anyone can pull it off, it’s you.”

As you finished taking his measurements and scribbled notes, Bucky lingered by the counter, his eyes never leaving you.

“You know,” he said as he turned to leave, “they call you The Devil’s Tailor out there.”

You smirked, crossing your arms. “Only because I work with the devil himself.”

Bucky’s grin was wicked, his eyes glinting as he opened the door. “Careful, doll. Keep talking like that, and I might just make you mine.”

And with that, he disappeared into the night, leaving you with trembling hands and a heart that raced faster than it should.

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targaryen-dynasty · 9 months ago

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STRESS RELIEF.

Daemon Targaryen x female!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MINORS DNI; implied canon typical incest/ targcest (no named relationship other than husband & wife but reader speaks high valyrian), oral (m receiving), balls sucking, balls worship, cock slapping, breeding kink, fem reader (no mentions of appearance)

WORDS: 2.9 K

NOTES: I KNOW I said you won't get anything from me for the next two weeks, but this is an old story I love and edited, and I'm always in the mood to suck his balls. Ty Lana @zaldritzosrose 🤍

❗️𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

The door to your chambers bursting open with a thud, the thick wood slamming against the old masonry of Maegor’s Holdfast, is what forcefully pulls you out of your slumber.

As your eyes shoot open, you need a few seconds to adjust to the dim light of your chambers, the flame of the fireplace long extinguished and indicating it’s been a while since you found sleep.

Every sense of tiredness that has lingered in your bones vanishes suddenly at the noisy intrusion, more so as you spot the armor-clad silhouette of your husband standing at the threshold of your marital quarters.

He appears to be even more bulky and bull-like with the natural broadness of his shoulders accentuated by the heavy armor and the golden cloak, and just that sight alone has an aching desire filling your veins.

It’s the closer look you take that makes you aware of his labored breathing, chest rising and falling with heaving breaths, almost seeming as though he’s in great stress.

Whenever Daemon barges into your chambers at this hour, still wearing his armor, you know he needs to be consoled and pampered.

“Husband?” Your soft voice finally pierces through the silence, still thick with sleep from being awoken so abruptly.

A few, determined strides is all it takes him to enter the room, closing the door behind him as loudly as he’s opened it before. Although you know something is plaquing his mind, and that he’s not usually as harsh towards you as this, you still flinch at the thud.

Sitting up straight with the bedcovers bunched in front of your breasts, you have a puzzled look on your face. One of the few things Daemon has established fairly early into your marriage was the strict prohibition of you wearing any kind of smallclothes or nightgowns to bed, as he wants you to lie just as bare next to him as he always does.

He always states that there are quite a few practical reasons for it, with easier and quicker access to your cunt being the main one of them. Albeit you know for certain that he just loves to feel your skin on his when he falls asleep, solely embraced by the warmth and softness of your body snuggled up against his.

Clashing of metal accompanies his heavy footsteps as he approaches you, stern gaze fixed on your small frame.

The closer he gets, the more you are able to make out his chiseled features with long strands of his silver-blonde hair framing them perfectly. Even in the almost non-existent light of your chambers you notice the dark blown eyes, the adored lilac almost fully eclipsed by pitch black.

“Va aōha ybon,” he rasps, voice deep and commanding, and leaving no space for any kind of objection. On your knees.

You comply swiftly, the bedcovers thrown aside to reveal your naked form. A somewhat feral growl ripples through your husband’s chest at the sight, the curves and dips of your body enhanced by the light the moon casts through the windows.

The stone floor feels cold and hard as you sink to your knees, causing you to shift your weight from one knee to the other and back, trying to mend the discomfort at least slightly.

It usually requires your help to strip him off his heavy armor, but much to your surprise, Daemon manages to shred himself out of the majority of it all by himself, driven by sheer lust and hunger for you.

Where his silver hair is usually well combed and neat, the loose tresses now cascade down his shoulders and back visibly tousled and dirty.

Your hands lie folded in your lap, thumbs brushing over each other in a way to keep yourself calm. You have been married to Daemon for two summers, but know his silence never means anything good. It is threatening, and more often than not getting you into trouble, because he always has something to say.

As he stands in front of you in his full glory, only clad in a pair of dark breeches and a loose tunic, you hesitantly reach to place a hand on his sturdy thigh while his hand cups your cheek in return. Finding yourself leaning into the touch, you’re quickly repulsed as you catch a whiff of what smells like sweat, dirt and… iron.

“What have you done today?“ you ask innocently, though you aren’t sure if you want to hear his reply – that means if you even get one.

While the pad of his thumb brushes over the curve of your lips, his other hand slowly unlaces the front of his breeches, easing the confines of his half-hard member, and causing a wave of arousal to seep out of your cunt, anticipation making it clench around nothing.

“Oh, we have restored law and order,“ he purrs, the cocky smirk on his lips indicating that he’s more than satisfied with the outcome of it all. “The Kingsguard cleaned the streets from the city‘s scum.“

Listening intently, you just nod in acknowledgement, not at all surprised by your husband‘s actions. “And does the king know you did that?“

“I do not care if the king knows or not,“ he spits, impatiently tugging the front of his breeches down just enough to free his cock and stones. “He is blind, guided by the incompetent leech that claims to be his hand.“

A musky scent hits your nose when you catch sight of his thick cock. His musky scent, mixed with the salty smell of sweat. It has you licking your lips like a greedy whore, and if anything, you love it. It’s a sharp reminder that you have married a hardworking and ambitious man, and not a boy.

Your hand instinctively curls around his member, your index finger and thumb barely touching. His girth has always been something that impresses you. He’s considerable, leaving you wondering at times how it even fits into your mouth and cunt.

You slowly tug him to full hardness, stroking him the way you know he likes, even though your pace is a bit slower than usual. You listen to him rant about his brother, and the insolence of his hand, Otto Hightower, merely humming whenever your husband expects you to.

Once his cock stands to full attention, throbbing in your hand, you release it and instead fondle his stones, heavy and hot in your hand. The fleshy pouch they sit in is a bit darker than the rest of his pale skin and visibly sagged, but doesn’t hang too low.

Your actions earn a disapproving tsk from Daemon, despite the visible twitching of his cock at the new stimulation, and he wastes no time in fisting a good bit of your hair to shove your face towards his crotch. The scent is more prominent the closer you get, but not at all repulsing. Instead, it arouses you even more.

You’re not sure if it’s Daemon‘s usual lack of patience or his abnormal obsession with the king and his entourage that makes him greedy and needy for your touch, but you decide to not give in to him so easily.

Gently squeezing and fondling the sack of his stones, your tongue licks a flat stripe from the base of his member up to the bulbous tip of it. A salty taste lingers on your tongue, the few beads of his arousal quickly gathered and swallowed by you. You hum appreciatively at the taste, seemingly pleased to witness the affect your touch and presence has on your husband‘s body.

A sharp tug on your hair catches your attention and makes you yelp, your wide eyes finding your husband‘s demanding ones. “Quit playing games,“ he growls. A warning. But he should know by now that you are not one of his hounds, and what works with them doesn’t necessarily intimidate you.

Your tongue swirls around the tip of his cock, kitten-licking it until his heavy pants are replaced by annoyed huffs and grunts. Daemon doesn’t like you teasing him – not when he craves relief.

You keep your eyes neatly trained on him, studying his changing expressions to know whenever you’re playing with fire, and when it is best to follow his commands. Switching the positions of your mouth and hand, warmth brushes your face before the familiar musk seeps into your head.

Closing your eyes as all your senses are clouded by him, you latch on Daemon’s sac of stones, nuzzling your nose into the dark, coarse hair to take one of them in your mouth. Low purrs ripple from your throat, sending vibrations through his body.

You haven’t noticed, but your thighs clench and unclench repeatedly with each suck of your mouth, trying to soothe the aching settling at the apex of your legs. However, it doesn’t grant you the friction you crave.

“My, my, now look at that,“ Daemon coos. “Sucking my stones like a common whore. So desperate to have your mouth filled by me, hm?“

The condescending tone of his voice sends shivers up your spine, and you keen at the degrading nature of his words, moaning around his slightly slacked flesh.

Daemon is unable to tear his dark blown eyes from your full mouth struggling to take both of his stones. You’re trying so hard, but your mouth isn’t slack enough, causing you to nearly choke yourself trying to please him.

Droplets of your saliva dribble from the corners of your mouth down your chin, gathering in your jugular notch, and really making you look like you belong to the Street of Silk; a common whore desperate for her mouth to be stuffed by something, and not caring if it was filled by his stones or cock.

While you are messily suckling the sack of his stones, you tease a few licks up his length, tracing the prominent vein on the underside of it with the tip of your tongue.

You relish in the way he twitches and squirms under your touch, the deep grunts only spurring you on even more. But you also are soaked for him, core clenching and aching, begging to be used.

Daemon has started to tug himself off at the sight of your lips around his flesh, big hand the perfect size for his considerable length, while his other tightly fists into your hair to keep you where he wants you.

You hollow your cheeks around him, sucking with the tip of your tongue dragging over the sensitive skin. The familiar taste of manhood lingers on your tongue, and your jaw goes slack, finally managing to engulf his whole sac with your mouth. But when you try to pull away for a breath, Daemon only snorts and pulls you right back to his stones.

He harshly tugs on your hair, tilting your head back so you are forced to look at him when he slaps his hard cock against your face. Your saliva adds a sheen to his flushed skin, making him glisten in the dim light, and catches your attention, your eyes trailing over the length of his cock – you want nothing more than to feel those veins on your tongue.

As his cock repeatedly makes contact with your swollen lips and cheeks, the indecency of it all sends heat straight through your body, for it’s the first time he has ever done something like that.

Daemon bows forward, looming over your frame but coming close enough for you to feel his breath fanning over your face. Goosebumps prickle on your skin, and his intense lilac eyes send desire straight to your jumbled mind.

“What a wanton harlot you are,” his tongue darts out to wet his lips. “Whores of the Silk Street do such things.”

While his degrading words go straight to your head, making you eager for more, you still cower beneath his dominating presence. “Yn ao hae ziry,” you reply, cocking your head sideways in an innocent way. But you like it.

It seems that your feigned innocence doesn’t convince him, because you suddenly feel something warm and wet dripping down your cheeks; his saliva. He has spat on your cheek, spreading it over your heated skin with a satisfied smirk ghosting over his features. Daemon rarely enjoys having you talk back at him, to tease him, and right now clearly isn’t one of those moments.

At the realization of what he’s just done, you feel your voice tighten in your throat, your lips pressing into a thin line as embarrassment floods your veins.

“Gaoman, yn…,” he muses, bending back and tracing the tip of his length along the slit of your pouty lips. “...nyke hae ziry tolī skori gaomā daor ȳdragon rȳ mirre.” With these words leaving his lips, his cock hits your cheek once again, almost as if he’s making fun of you. I do, but I like it more when you do not speak at all.

The grip on your hair loosens only for him to cup your cheek, fingertips digging sharply into the flushed skin of your cheeks. His other hand repeatedly taps the tip of his cock against your swollen lips in a demanding manner, begging for entrance.

“Open your mouth, or else I am opening it for you.”

You wet your lips, just the mere thought of having him down your throat causes a sense of soreness to linger in the back of it, and Daemon seems to notice your apprehension.

“I see your mouth begging for my cock, you filthy slut. Don’t act like an insufficient brat for you have done this plenty of times before.” He is right, but that doesn’t mean you’ll ever get used to his sheer size. Your thoughts, however, are cut short because Daemon isn’t Daemon, if he doesn’t take matters into his own hands.

The tip of his cock prods against your lips, and with the grip on your face tightening, you are all but forced to part them for him. There’s only little to no time to adjust to his size granted to you, because he sheaths himself inside of you in one, swift thrust.

A few seconds pass in which neither of you moves. Your nose is nuzzled against his pubic bone, the tip of it brushing the wispy trail of his hair, and you try to stifle the urge to gag and choke around him, your hands getting ahead with clutching his muscular thighs to keep yourself grounded.

Every muscle of his body twitches with pleasure as he grows accustomed to the warmth and tightness of you, his head tipping back to release a bawdy groan.

And then his hips start to buck into your mouth, allowing a wave of fresh air to fill your lungs when he almost completely pulls out; only the tip remaining embraced between your lips. A firm hand locks behind your head to stop you from pulling back.

Daemon’s hips thrust into your mouth with reckless abandon like he belonged into it, the bulbous tip hitting the back of your throat but never giving you anything you can’t handle. He knows you can take it, and that you like it.

The lewd noises of his soaked cock easing in and out of your warm mouth fill the room, spurring him on even more. At this point, you are soaking wet for him, droplets of your arousal leaking onto the stone floor beneath your legs.

Your cheeks hollow around him as you choke and sputter around his length, spit dribbling down your chin and bosom. His stones tighten with his cock throbbing on your tongue, ready to spend himself down your throat at any given moment, your previous teasing clearly coming in handy.

There are tears brimming in your eyes, unhelpful when all you want is to look up at him, watch how he scrunches his brow and puckers his lips as he gazes at you in rapture.

“That’s it,” Daemon groans, the pace of his hips faltering as he chases his release. “Take it all.” And that is when you felt it.

His hot seed spills down your throat, coating your tongue. You gag slightly when his hips start to stutter, cock twitching and pulsing with the force of his peak. Droplets of his seed spill from the corners of your mouth, mixing with your saliva and dribbling down your chin while you struggle to swallow the rest.

Nonsense spews out of his mouth as his groans grow more wanton, no doubt losing awareness of his volume. You are destined to be the main topic of the court's whispers in the morrow, just like your mother and father have been before you.

His fingers comb through your hair slowly, stroking your head as if he’s thanking you for a job well done, while he rides out his peak with languid thrusts of his hips.

When he finally stops to regain his composure, chest rising and falling with each heavy breath he takes, he allows you to pull back from him, a string of your saliva connecting your swollen lips with the bulbous head of his cock, only breaking as you lick your lips to gather the remnants of his spent.

“Ñuha sȳz riña,” he rasps, pulling you up on your feet to capture your lips in a heated kiss. The taste of him on your tongue spreads over his tongue and causes him to groan. My good girl.

Like a man possessed, he flips you around and easily throws you onto your marital bed. When you land on your stomach with him following closely behind, mounting you and straddling your arse, you squeal and chuckle, ecstatic that it’s finally your turn.

“Tonight is the night I shall put a child into you. I want to see your body swell with my seed.”

Daemon Taglist: @barbiedragon @hypocritic-trash-baby @schniiipsel @avalyaaa @baizzhu @yn-jackson

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