#until all his tears and feelings spill out

[kurooh]

explaining the basic culinary concepts of thanksgiving to choso goes in one ear and out the other, until you start talking about stuffing something, having to pack it all in so it’s full.

“cho, wait, the turkey’s cooking—”

he shrugs uselessly, yanking your underwear off and making sure to avoid the neat knot of your apron at your back. he’d pulled at your shirt eagerly before eventually deciding to leave you in your apron and whatever was beneath it.

choso spits onto his cock and slicks it up along his length, making his skin glossy and sticky. small beads of pearlescent precum spill from the slit of his cock, only adding to the lubrication and making it better. he gnaws on his lower lip as he guides his cock towards your quivering pussy, exhaling sharply when he pushes in.

that first overwhelming wave of pleasure is always the hardest to stand against—you’re so tight and oh so warm, slick walls squeezing him hungrily. heat burns at the back of his neck and he tosses his head back, shakily grabbing onto your hips in an effort to steady you against the kitchen counter.

“fuck, choso,” you moan, eyes rolling back into your skull. instinctively, your ass presses back into his pelvis, an obvious plea for something more. “it’s—‘s so fucking big.”

“it’s the perfect size for you,” he whines, shaking his head to clear the thoughts of cumming prematurely. “arch a little, please.”

you comply easily, choking on a sound of delight when he finally starts to move inside you. like an older car, it takes choso a little while to get it going, but once he does . .

small glass bottles of spices tumble around the counter when you push your arms forward, nails scratching at the granite as you search for something to get a hold of. his hips help to bully his cock deeper inside you, his tip kissing your cervix almost every thrust.

“f-fuck!” you keen, a sob tearing from your throat.

his fingers stroke over your back and he shakily reassures you, a large hand scooping under your chin: “i know, i—ngh, baby . . you’re t-taking it so well.” a beat of verbal silence is filled with desperate moans and the steady clap of skin against skin; when choso speaks again, he’s so far gone you can’t quite make heads or tails of his words.

“i-i love it—i love this pussy, i love you—o-oh god, ‘m gonna fuck you full, baby. gonna show you what stuffed really means.”

your legs tremble weakly, and your face is pressed against the counter while a few tears spill freely down your cheeks. choso’s heavy balls slap against your clit, begging to be emptied and lavished in attention. your back arches and your puffy pussy starts to flutter hard around his cock, teary cries of delight leaving your lips when he grunts and continues to fuck you.

“i-inside, i need to cum inside you,” choso gasps, hand dropping to your throat and pulling you back against him. the new adjustment makes it more difficult for his cock to slip out of you now, and easier for him to fuck deeper.

“cho,” you stutter out dumbly, not even registering the burning smell spreading throughout the kitchen, “jus’ fill me up, stuff me like you wanted.”

it’s as if the words command his body; choso’s breath comes in fast, wheezy pants as his hips stutter unceremoniously and he’s almost out of time to warn you. “i really will,” he gasps, voice cracking and words splintering, “‘m gonna put a baby in you, too.”

hot ribbons of white spill against your cervix, leaving his cock throbbing and soaking in his mess. choso came so hard you can’t help but wonder how long it’ll take for it to finally spill out of you — an hour, at least. his hand presses down firmly against the softness above your pelvis, and the pressure makes your cunt bear down harder on him, squeezing the last few drops of cum out of his cock.

“l-lemme feel it, baby. cum for me, please, need to—” he can’t even finish his sentence before you’re cumming so hard his cock is pushed out of you. it rests against his pelvis, twitching as he hears you ride out the high. it’s nothing but euphoric, filled with relief and excitement all at once—but the illusion quickly falls away when you smell something burning.

the something is your turkey that had been cooking nicely in the oven, becoming crisp and delicious. now, it’s blackened and reeking. choso lightly presses a hand to the center of your back and apologizes.

“i’m sorry, i didn’t think—”

you sigh disappointedly, unable to recover much of the turkey. “i-it’s okay. there’s just a ton of stuffing for it.”

“stuffing?” he asks, as cum starts to drip from your cunt, making your inner thighs messy.

“it’s just an add on to put into the turkey,” you supply, waving plumes of black smoke away. “it makes it bigger, fuller.”

“so, like pregnancy?”

“i guess?” you ask, utterly confused. “who compares turkey to pregnancy?”

“it makes sense to me. i did fuck a baby into you, didn’t i?”

[italiangirlcoresblog]

main masterlist \\ f1 masterlist

-------------------------❦︎-------------------------

𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 (𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐨𝐧)

✩ : the aftermath of the las vegas grand prix with max

𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭. : max verstappen

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : fluff, fluff, and more fluff

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 775

✍︎ : SO SO SO EXCITED FOR MAX, I HAD TO POST SOMETHING (i don't know if i like it tho, let me know what you think!)

-------------------------❦︎------------------------

You couldn't remember the exact moment when the tears prickling your eyes had started streaming down your face, but right then it didn't matter. Nothing really did.

The only thing you could focus on was the roaring of the engines right across the pit lane, matching the loud thumping of your heart.

One more lap.

Just one lap, and Max would've been crowned World Champion for the fourth time in a row.

You brought your hands up to your mouth, squeezing them together in a silent prayer as your eyes remained glued to the little screen in the Red Bull box. The crowd cheered as George Russell was declared winner of the Grand Prix, their screams seeming miles away from you as you still held your breath. The race wasn't over yet.

The next few minutes were a confused swirl of people shouting, hugs, and congratulating pats on the back—a river of blue suits that dragged you outside into the crisp night breeze. You ran alongside the rest of the crew, vision blurred with tears, until you reached the barrier and let out something between a sob and a laugh.

There he was.

Standing tall on top of the car with both arms thrown in the air, taking in the thousands of people yelling his name and chanting him with a deafening applause, Max had never looked so genuinely happy and excited about his own achievement.

Suddenly, his gaze caught yours through the visor of his helmet, and you could swear you'd seen his eyes light up. In less than one second, he jumped off the vehicle and ran up to where you were standing, his large hands immediately finding your waist as you secured yours around his neck, letting him effortlessly lift you off the ground and spin you in the air while just screaming with pure, raw joy.

Once he was done, he didn't let you go, wrapping your legs around his torso and placing his hands on the back of your thighs to keep you up. His chest rose with every heavy pant he let out. You closed your eyes, tears still spilling from them, before resting your forehead against the cold glass of the visor and taking a deep breath of relief: finally.

Pulling away, you gently helped him take the helmet off, one of his hands quickly leaving your side to rip the balaclava off his head. All you could see was a glimpse of his icy blue eyes before his fingers firmly cupped your jaw and drew you into him, your lips crashing together. The suddenness of the kiss made you drop the helmet to the ground.

You ran your fingers through his hair, trying to pull him impossibly closer, your lips chasing each other in their own perfect race, breaths intertwined in a flawless melody.

Even with your eyes closed, you could feel the blinding flashes of the paparazzi's cameras surrounding you. You could hear the amused whistles coming from both fans and the other drivers, but you couldn’t care less. This moment was yours and yours only, and it felt so right: just you and Max, melting in each other's arms.

When you moved back, breathless from the intense kiss, you brought your still trembling hands up to his face and traced every inch of it with your fingertips, your touch feathery, almost as if to draw a map on his glistening skin: thick, pensive eyebrows, always so focused eyes, and full lips.

"You did it, Max," you managed to whisper, voice hoarse from staying silent for too long. "Four-times World Champion."

"Actually, this is the first World Championship I've really won." You could hear the laugh in his voice, his smug expression making your eyebrows furrow in confusion.

"Because it's the first one my world came to see," he explained softly, his fingers running up to your forehead to brush a lock of hair out of your face before grazing your silky skin, his gaze lovingly locked onto yours.

You felt your eyes well up with hot tears once again, but as soon as one of them started rolling down your cheek, he was quick to catch it with his thumb and tenderly wipe it away.

"Nice reflexes, Verstappen," you muttered against his lips, a faint smirk plastered on your face.

"Not bad for a four-time World Champion, huh?" He grinned back before closing the gap between the two of you, drunk on the feeling of your mouths dancing together.

The world around him was long forgotten. For now, the only world he seemed to care about was the one wrapped tight into his arms.

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©italiangirlcoresblog // do not copy, rewrite, or translate any of my work on any platforms

[fear-is-truth]

Kai anderson with a reader experiencing subdrop after sex. You can decide whether its their first time with this or not

So during the subdrop the readers nonverbal besides a couple whimpers and whines, noticeably js out of it and clinging to Kai all teary eyed nd shit 😛. + wtv else youd want to add ofc

tags — f!reader﹒fluff﹒finger sūcking﹒ kinda ooc?

THE AIR REEKS OF SWEAT AND SEX, remnants of your nightly union. the sheets tangle around your legs, clinging uncomfortably to your sticky skin, but you can’t bring yourself to move. kai’s chest rises and falls steadily beneath you, and you wonder if he’s fallen asleep. you stare vacantly at the black screen of the tv on the wall, the reflection of your bodies caught in its glossy surface. your mind is empty, but your chest feels too full, like it might burst.

coldness creeps in slowly, curling around your limbs despite the warmth radiating off him. you shift slightly, cheek rubbing against his chest, but even the heat doesn’t reach the icy ache spreading through you. your clammy hands find his sides, fingers trembling as you cling to him. tears sting at your eyes, your lips tremble as you press them together to hold in a whimper.

kai stirs beneath you, letting out a low, tired sigh. his hand moves lazily to your back, his fingers brushing against the ridges of your spine. “what now?” he mumbles, voice edged with irritation. his eyes flicker over your face, taking in your tear-streaked cheeks and the dazed, faraway look in your eyes. you don’t answer—can’t answer. all you can manage is a faint whine as your grip on him tightens. your head burrows against him, desperate for the kind of comfort you can’t find in yourself right now.

“you’re fine,” he says, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone, wiping away the streak of wetness there. “you’re not breaking, alright? you’re just in your head.” his hand moves lower, his thumb now brushing over your trembling bottom lip. “breathe, baby. in and out. don’t make me count for you.”

you try—a shaky inhale that stutters in your throat—but it’s enough for now. kai watches you closely, his thumb pressing against the plush of your lip. “that’s it…. attagirl.”he praises. “focus on me.” another quiet whimper leaves you, and he presses his thumb further, nudging it against your lip until it slips into your mouth.

“there we go,” he coos. “you like this, don’t you?”

your lips part without hesitation, and you let him slide his thumb inside, your tongue brushing against the calloused pad of it. hollowing out your cheeks, you suckle weakly, instinct taking over as the motion soothes the ache within.

“good girl,” his other hand still combing through your hair. “see? you’re okay. just needed to settle down. i’ve got you.” his voice is steady, firm enough to cut through the haze. your eyes are glassy, wide and unfocused, tears spilling over silently as you blink up at him. the coldness that had seeped under your skin begins to ebb away.

[darksigns-exe]

your love is sunlight - nicholas ruffilo x f!reader

warnings: unprotected intercourse, swearing

word count: 1.7k

masterlist | taglist sign-up

He’s all yours for the rest of the year. 

With the band’s last show done, you’re intent on keeping Nick as close as you can. And while this year hasn’t been as busy as the previous few, you still missed him terribly.

He sleeps so soundly next to you, and you almost don’t want to wake him. It’s still early, he doesn’t have to be awake yet. You remain next to him until you feel yourself becoming restless. Unravelling yourself from him is always hard, and you barely manage to tear yourself away from him.

You wander over into the kitchen. Since you found a place together, you’ve managed to turn this place into a cosy little corner where the outside world doesn’t matter that much.

Lydia hops up onto the counter while you prep your first coffee of the morning. You scratch the spot under her chin, earning you a satisfied little sound. It had taken her a moment longer than the others to get used to you. Now that you’re on good terms, she has become so affectionate with you.

Nick is – as expected – slowly rousing from his sleep when you return to the bedroom with your coffees. He rubs his hands across his face, trying to shoo away the sleepiness that still clings to him. You pause for a second to watch him.

When his eyes finally find you, his lips twist into a soft smile. “Good morning.” he mumbles, his voice still a little rough.

You place his cup on the bedside table next to his side of the bed, before settling down next to him.

“Sleep alright?” you ask.

You reach out to brush a few stray pieces of hair out of his face.

Nick gives a nod in reply as he sits up. He reaches for his cup, cradling it in his hands. He sighs contently when he takes the first sip.

“Pretty good. Could have done with a little more, though.”

“You didn’t have to get up yet.”

“No, but I don’t sleep that good when you’re not next to me.” he places his hand on top of your thigh, giving it a soft squeeze, “Don’t like sleeping without you.”

You drop your head to his shoulder, “Luckily you won’t have to until next year.”

“I really can’t convince you to come with us?” he almost sounds a little sad, and you do feel bad for having to say no to him.

The idea of being stuck on a plane for that long simply fills you with too much fear and discomfort.

“I’ll hold your hand the entire time.” Nick offers, “We could stay for a bit longer if you want? See a few things?”

You know what he’s trying to do, and you’re almost ready to give in.

“I’m not going to be in the way?” You feel a little silly asking the question, you’re friends with the boys, you know you wouldn’t be in the way.

“Baby.” his hand carefully turns your face towards him, “You’d never be in the way. We’d all love to have you there. If it’d make you feel better, I’m sure we can find something for you to do.”

You lean forward to kiss him, almost spilling the contents of your cups onto the freshly washed sheets. Nick quickly sets his cup back down on the night stand, before he takes yours from your hands, too.

His lips find yours again so easily. His hand weaves into the hair at the back of your neck, keeping you close to him.

You quickly find yourself placed in his lap. Nick’s free hand finds a comfortable home at your waist, his fingers digging into the soft flesh he finds there. You can’t tear yourself away from him, the way he kisses you is just too addicting.

Instinctively, you grind down against him, feeling him already growing hard. Nick lets out a little sigh, prompting you to repeat the motion. He gives a stronger squeeze to your waist, silently telling you to keep going. You bring one of your hands between your bodies, trying to touch him properly.

“Scoot back a little?” Nick whispers, barely parting from your lips.

Reluctantly, you move back from him, giving him space to practically tear off his shirt. He struggles with the pyjama bottoms, and you lift yourself away from him to help him, just for you to topple over on top of him. Nicks laugh echoes through the room.

“Careful baby.” he smiles, pulling you in for a quick kiss as you set yourself upright again, “You wanna stay on top today?”

You nod.

You love watching Nick fall apart under you, and you know that he likes seeing you on top of him.

His fingers quickly find their way between your thighs. Your head drops back when the tips of his fingers dip into your wetness. Nick likes to take his time with this, no matter how much you whine and whimper for him. In fact, you think that it only spurs him on more.

“You feel so good, love. Think you’re ready for me?” he asks, fingers pushing deeper into you.

You nod, trying your best to choke out a yes.

His fingers shift inside of you a few more times before he carefully pulls them from you. You shift, making space for Nick to reach between your bodies. He lets out a hiss when his hand makes contact with his cock. You brace yourself against his waist, closing your eyes when he traces the head against your folds.

The first stretch is always a lot, no matter how much he prepares you for it. You take your time sinking down on him. Nick wraps one hand around yours, gripping it tightly to ease your nerves. Once you're full seated on top of him, you tear your eyes open, looking down at your love.

Nick gazes up at you with a devastating softness. Your love for him is only growing stronger with every day, and really you can’t imagine being with anyone else.

“Whenever you're ready, my love.” he gives your hand a gentle squeeze.

You give yourself a few more moments before you begin your slow grind against him. Nick tries to keep his eyes on you, but he only lasts a few minutes before his head falls back against the pillow, and he lets out a low sigh.

The hand on your waist flexes, twitches as he groans softly.

You trace your fingers across his cheek, gently brushing your thumb across his skin. Nick’s eyes flutter open and he gives you a soft smile.

“Nicky.” you sigh, return the squeeze of his hand.

He feels so good inside of you, filling you so perfectly. You grind down against him, slowly increasing your speed.

“You’re so good, baby – so fucking good.” the breathy tone of his voice makes you tremble too.

Nicks tongue dips out to wet his lips, and you can’t stop yourself then. You lean down to kiss him, all the while still moving yourself along his cock. You feel Nick smile against your lips, making you smile in return.

You stay close, and thankfully Nick understands that he needs to help you out a little. He needs a moment to find a comfortable rhythm, but once he does, you know that you won’t last much longer.

“Getting close?” you whisper against his lips.

Nick nods quickly, trying his best to stifle a moan.

Your insides feel so tight already. You let yourself drop forward, resting your forehead against his shoulder. Every thrust into you drags you closer and closer towards your release. His hips stutter and a moment later you feel him spilling inside of you. Nick gasps out your name. His hand tightens against your waist just a little bit too tightly.

You try to keep up the rhythm, but ultimately fail. Nick is quick to pick up on it though and brings his thumb to your clit. You moan out loud when he begins to draw quick circles over you. You follow him soon enough, falling apart around him so easily. You sigh his name against his skin.

Eventually, you let yourself sag against him. Nick’s arms wrap around you, holding you close to him.

“I love you so much.” he says softly, still so very breathless.

In return, you press a kiss against his bare shoulder, “I love you so much.”

You remain like this for a while longer. By the time you manage to separate yourself from him, your coffee has gone cold. Nick fixes both of you new cups while you’re under the shower, and you come back to an almost finished breakfast spread.

He’s at the stove, preparing your scrambled eggs ready when you enter the kitchen. You wrap your arms around his middle, resting your cheek against his back.

“I’m almost done.” Nick says, and even though you can’t see his face, you know that he has that little smile on his face.

“Thank you for making breakfast.” you reply.

You press a kiss to his shoulder blade before you reluctantly distance yourself from him.

While he finishes up the scrambled eggs, you carry your coffees and the plate of cut up fruit over to the coffee table. You have to shoo Jerry away from the plate – as always.

Nick joins you soon enough. He kisses your cheek before he sits down on the sofa. Lydia quickly takes her place on his lap.

“We’ll have to find someone to babysit them.” you say as you sit down next to him.

“What do you mean?”

“For when we’re in Australia. I’m sure they won’t let us bring them. And God knows they can’t be left alone.”

You can practically hear the gears in his head turning, before he breaks into that beautiful smile of his.

“You’re coming with?”

“Of course. I want to see the baby kangaroos too.”

Nick pulls you in for a kiss, jostling Lydia in the process. He presses a series of little kisses against your lips. You can’t stop the smile that forces its way onto your face.

“Thank you, love. It’ll be even better with you there.”

You can’t possibly ask for more than this. With Nick by your side, you’re sure that you can do everything, even a long haul flight.

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[stardusksx]

ೀ⋆｡ ˚ TIME TO BEGIN AGAIN remus lupin x fem!reader

summary: after the death of lily & james, reader and remus navigate their broken relationship while raising harry potter.

gif not mine, credits to the creator <3

warning: sad & angsty but there is a happy ending! idiots in love?? talks of death and grief, past miscommunication, hurt/comfort, friend to lovers, fade to black at the very end but nothing explicit!

( word count : 1.89k )

Silver moonlight bled through the windows, illuminating the tears on her cheeks and setting one-year-old Harry Potter’s eyes ablaze. He stared up at her, gaze wide like his small body had finally succumbed to the shock. She swayed back and forth to soothe him, her heart heavier than concrete, sound of his now silenced screams still ringing in her ears.

Down the hallway, she could hear muted voices. Albus Dumbledore's sombre words were incoherent to her, but she didn’t care what he was saying— what anyone was saying. She'd arrived a matter of fifteen minutes ago, burned under their sympathetic gazes, and fell apart at the confirmation of what she had hoped was a cruel, cruel, joke. Then her eyes had landed on midnight hair and a blue baby grow, the toddler squirming in Mcgonagall's arms as hysterical cries bellowed from his lungs. She’d taken him from her, cradled him close, and wordlessly walked down the hallway to Lily and James' vacant room.

She couldn’t whisper it’s okay, couldn’t get any words of reassurance out even if the infant was the only one who would be able to judge if they were truthful or not. It was like she hadn’t had air in her lungs since the phone call— it felt like nothing would be worth the effort it took to breathe again.

Lily and James were good. They were everything that a person should be, and they were gone.

“I’ve got you.” She managed to murmur, because she did— it was the one true thing she could say to offer comfort, “I promise.”

His head came to rest against her chest, and she could feel the stickiness of his drying tears against her skin. She was remembering the sorting hat placed over coppery hair, the sheepish expression on James’s face after he had accidentally hit her with a crumpled ball of paper— a note he’d been trying to get to Lily, who was sat obliviously beside her. They were so intertwined with every memory of those seven years at Hogwarts that she would never be able to think about her time there without thinking about them.

It had been the best era of her life, now forever tainted, like a spill of ink to pure water. She felt like she’d come crashing to earth after floating through antigravity.

There was shuffling in the hall, and her head snapped towards the doorway.

"Remus." She breathed, voice full of grief. The sight of him sent another wave of despair over her as more tears surfaced and spilled like rain against a window. He was dishevelled and clearly just pulled from sleep, but the redness of his glassy eyes as he stared at her for a frozen moment was enough to tell that he was in the same emotional turmoil she was. Her lip quivered before he finally strode towards her, wrapping his arms around them both. A sob was muffled into his shoulder, and she could feel his tears against the skin of her neck. They'd lost it all tonight.

"Oh god." His voice was raw, broken, as he said her name, "Oh god."

She didn’t know how long they held each other, but his arms were the only sense of reprieve she could find— like one of the million elastic bands around her heart had snapped away. She was scared to let go, scared that the one band would tighten around her again and squeeze until she gave out.

She hadn’t seen Remus since graduation. They’d had a stupid argument— stubborn colliding with stubborn, neither one of them wanting to admit to their wrongs. She had called him careless, stupid. It was harsh, but when she’d heard he was in the infirmary from a prank gone wrong, her panic had made her irrational. Why do you care so much? He had spat back when he realised she hadn’t been joking— when he realised she was actually mad. As soon as he’d said it, he really did feel stupid for instituting that she did care that deeply for him. For insinuating it like he didn’t want her to care, like he hadn’t been wishing for her to care like that since first year.

Well, forgive me, her last words to him had been, sarcastic and punctuated with a glare that she hoped would hide the way her heart was hurting, next time I’ll be sure to not give a fuck, Remus.

He’d felt too ashamed to approach her, and she’d felt too raw from the way it had been as if all her vulnerable feelings towards him had been forcefully exposed and thrown back at her with a sneer.

Come on, Sirius had said her name softly after it had been weeks, you know he didn’t mean it that way.

Then he shouldn’t have said it. She’d responded, shoving her papers into her bag and exiting the dining hall. He shouldn’t have said it like she didn’t have a right to care about him. Not when her heart had been in her throat at the sight of his bandages, voice wobbling when she’d asked if he was okay.

Yeah, he’d responded, having the nerve to grin, it was worth it for—

She was worked up. When Dorcas had come to get her, she’d made it out like he was on his deathbed. She’d been terrified. It was careless, Remus. Are you that stupid—

His eyes had widened in surprise, clearly not expecting her reaction. And so it had happened. They had said things they shouldn’t, then been too stubborn to fix it.

None of that mattered now. “He can’t go to Lily’s sister,” She said, “He just can’t.”

Remus pulled back from her, his hand gently caressing the side of Harry’s face. “He won’t,” he said firmly, “We’re his godparents, he goes to us.”

They had spoken to Dumbledore after they’d finally gotten the toddler to sleep, and the man’s features had pinched in concern. “You’d have to go into hiding,” He said, “He’ll be a target if they find out he’s still alive, as will you— if you aren’t already.”

“Whatever it takes.” She had responded, Remus nodding along.

They found themselves in the middle of nowhere. Some cottage hidden by country side trees while they waited out the war with the death eaters. Harry needed to be held most night, his cries an echo against the darkness after awakening from another nightmare.

She had nightmares too. So did Remus. They started off in separate rooms, but ended up in the same one for comfort. He held her, whispered assurances as they weathered the grief. She did the same for him.

Harry began walking, talking. They laughed again for the first time sitting on the kitchen floor, legs forming a diamond as the little boy attempted to stumble between them. One step, two step. He’d collapsed into her arms, and she’d raised him into the air, their cheers making him squeal.

The way Remus looked at her then— it had made her feel like a schoolgirl again, like she was before all the loss. She had smiled at him, genuinely, then broke his gaze to continue praising Harry.

They took turns cooking. Reminisced. It was less painful to remember things together. Candle light would flicker on the kitchen table, and they’d talk for hours like they used to. Then they’d get into the same bed, sleep in each other's arms as rain pattered against the window.

It didn’t happen straight away. They were too busy with grief, with the hurts from that lingering argument they hadn’t talked about, but eventually, with time, came the healing. Came the capacity to remember what they’d toed the line at those few months before the end of their final year at Hogwarts.

She’d loved him for a long time. She doesn’t remember when she started, but she knows that she hadn’t stopped. Not even for a moment.

Remus? It was sometime in February, the common room empty as the clock struck one in the morning. The fire was spitting embers, tartan blankets draped over laps. You're my favourite thing to come of this, you know?

His head had snapped up from his parchment paper, eyes comically wide, w-what?

She’d grinned slightly at his bewilderment, out of all the things Hogwarts has given me, you're my favourite.

He’d spluttered, and she’d gathered up her homework and headed towards the stairs, tossing a night, Mooney, over her shoulders like she hadn’t left him short of breath. At the breakfast table the following morning, Sirius had been teasing him about something as she sat down. He’d been flushed bright red, swatting the other boy's hands away and harshly whispering to stop it. Sirius had smirked at her, raised his eyebrows suggestively, and she’d told him to sod off with a poor attempt at concealing a smile.

“You're still my favourite.” She says, late into the night as her hands are deep in dish water. Remus freezes, rag hovering over the counters he was polishing. When his head turned to look at her, his eyes were as wide as they had been the last time. She smiles, “You always will be.”

He stares at her, grip on the cloth loosing, before his arm completely falls slack at his side. He takes in a breath, there’s another beat, and he does something he regretted not doing the last time.

With two strides, his hands cradle her face, and he pulls her towards him. Moonlight illuminates them, silver streamers through the kitchen window, and he kisses her like he was always meant to. Her hands fly to his waist, to his shoulders, and she melts into him as if her very bones were liquidated and seeking to be moulded permanently against his shape.

“I love you,” He says it like a promise, “Always. With everything I have.”

The words linger between mingled breaths, chests rising and falling against each other. “You’re my world, Remus. You and Harry. I don’t need anything else but this.”

He takes her hands between them, brings them to his lips. “You have me. I don’t want to be anywhere that you aren’t.”

They crash together again, years and years of unsaid things melded into their movements. They become a tangle of limbs in a bed they’d shared for months now, skin against skin and a shared pleasure that rolled over them like liquid gold.

It should feel wrong— hiding away in this cottage, raising the child of their murdered best friends, praying for the end of a war. But little by little, life begins to take a shape again, starts to feel like there is certainty and purpose. Here with Remus, with Harry, the effort it takes to breathe, to continue, is entirely worth it.

[sur-i-ki]

ok this one doesn't get a chapter title. I've spent a lot of time writing and re-writing this because of how much of it is from what I've experienced. but. it needs to happen. so imma js post it tbh.

14/20

You try not to go into his room. It’s still his room, though he’s been gone long enough for the world to expect you to call it something else. A storage space. A guest room. Anything but what it is—a shrine.

The mere thought of it used to paralyze you—the weight of what you’d see, of what you’d feel, too unbearable to entertain. But now, standing here in the doorway, you realize you didn’t choose this moment. It chose you, dragging you here on legs that don’t feel like yours, under a weight that has sat on your chest for days, weeks, months.

The door creaks when you push it open, and the sound slices through the silence like something alive. You flinch, but you don’t stop. Your breath comes shallow and fast as if your body already knows what your heart refuses to acknowledge: you’re not ready for this.

The room is the same as the day he left it. The air smells stale, untouched, yet faint traces of him linger like a ghost you can’t exorcise. That warm, earthy cologne he always used, the one you told him made him smell like sunlight. You breathe it in too deeply, and it punches through your lungs like a blade. Your heart clenches at the familiarity, at the cruel way it pulls you back to a time when he was still here, still laughing, still alive.

You step inside, each movement tentative, like the floor might crack open beneath your weight. The bed is unmade, the sheets twisted and pushed aside in a way that’s so him it hurts. He always hated making the bed. "What’s the point?" he used to say, grinning in that lopsided way that made you want to laugh and scream at the same time. The comforter is bunched at the corner where he kicked it off the last time he slept here. His shirt is draped over the chair in the corner, a crumpled thing that looks like him—slumped, careless, perfect. And the sneakers. You hate the sneakers. He left them by the door, one lying on its side like he rushed out, like he planned to come back.

Your knees buckle, and you sit down heavily on the edge of the mattress. The fabric is cold under your fingertips, no longer carrying the warmth of him. You press your hands into the sheets, gripping them as if they might anchor you, but all they do is remind you of the emptiness that’s replaced him.

Your eyes wander without permission, catching on the little things that used to be invisible in the background of your life. The sneakers by the door, one tipped over, the laces undone. There’s a mug on the desk, dried tea leaves clinging to the edges like a relic. You pick it up because you can’t help yourself, the ceramic warm in your memory though cold now, the handle shaped to fit his hand. You clutch it so tightly your fingers ache. If you let go, it will shatter. If you don’t, you will.

A jacket draped over the chair in the corner, sleeves dangling lifelessly. Each item feels like a tiny wound, slicing into you in ways you didn’t know were possible.

There’s a photo on the desk. You almost don’t want to look at it, but your gaze is drawn to it like a magnet. It’s the two of you, grinning, arms slung over each other’s shoulders like the world could never touch you. The frame is crooked, leaning slightly against a stack of books he never got around to reading. Your throat tightens, and your vision blurs as tears rise unbidden.

You feel them spilling down your cheeks, hot and relentless, like a dam has finally broken. You try to wipe them away, but it’s useless. They just keep coming, each drop carving a path down your face, each sob ripping through your chest like shards of glass.

The grief is suffocating, pressing down on you like a weight you can’t escape. It’s in the air, thick and cloying, sticking to your skin and filling your lungs until you can’t breathe. It’s in your head, a constant hum of what-ifs and should-haves that won’t leave you alone. It’s in your heart, a jagged, bleeding thing that refuses to heal.

You clutch the photo to your chest, curling into yourself like you can fold away the pain. But it doesn’t work. Nothing works. He’s everywhere in this room. In the things he left behind, in the silence that’s too loud, in the memories that play on a loop in your mind.

You remember the way he used to sit at that desk, scribbling notes or sketching ideas he’d never finish. The way he’d hum under his breath, always a little off-key but somehow perfect. The way he’d glance up at you, his eyes soft and full of something you didn’t realize you’d miss until it was gone.

You can almost hear his voice, the teasing lilt of it as he’d call your name, the warmth of it wrapping around you like a hug. You can almost feel his hand brushing against yours, a casual touch that felt anything but casual. You can almost see him, standing in the doorway with that smile that made the world seem brighter.

But it’s all in your head. He’s gone, and no amount of wishing will bring him back.

The tears slow eventually, leaving you feeling hollow and raw. Your chest aches, and your head pounds, but you don’t move. You can’t. The thought of leaving this room feels impossible, like walking away would mean letting him go for good.

Your fingers brush against the comforter, tracing the patterns he used to complain about. “Too busy,” he’d said, but he kept it anyway because it was your choice, and he always let you have your way in the end.

A shaky breath escapes you as you lean forward, resting your head in your hands. The grief is quieter now, but it’s no less sharp. It cuts through you in waves, each one leaving you more worn down than the last.

You think about all the things you’ll never get to say to him. All the moments you’ll never share. All the times you’ll have to face the world without him by your side.

The room is a graveyard of what once was, each object a headstone for a memory you can’t let go of. You want to gather them all up, to keep them close so you won’t forget, but you know that’s impossible. The memories will fade, no matter how tightly you hold on.

And that terrifies you.

You don’t know how long you sit there, lost in the ache of what you’ve lost. Time seems meaningless, stretching and twisting until it feels like you’ve been there forever.

Eventually, your body moves on its own, your fingers reaching out to touch the photo again. You trace his face with trembling hands, as if you can somehow bring him back to life through sheer willpower. But the glass is cold under your fingertips, a harsh reminder of the distance between you.

He’s everywhere, and he’s nowhere.

The room feels like it’s closing in on you, the walls pressing closer, the air growing heavier. You stand abruptly, the motion making your head spin. You stumble toward the door, your legs shaky and unsteady.

You pause in the doorway, glancing back one last time. The room looks the same, but it feels different now. Or maybe you’re the one who’s different.

As you step into the hallway, the air feels cooler, lighter, but it doesn’t help. The weight of him follows you, clinging to your skin, your mind, your heart.

You don’t look back. You can’t.

Because if you do, you know you’ll never leave.

⇝ 𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴, 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥! 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘶𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯

[saccharine-serpent]

Panic and adrenaline flooded through his system, he fought every part of his body that gagged and heaved but in desperation he just bit down harder, feeling skin tear and vile blood stained his tongue heavily; he kept clawing at his face leaving deep scratches in the skin of his cheek and jaw. The hands on his body were vile and he struggled to pull away the groping hands that gripped so hard he could feel himself bruising from it, pain fuelled his panic as bloody tears welled in his eyes and began to spill down his cheeks before the knock at the door.

The moment Carson pulled away Viper nearly swallowed the chunk of flesh in his mouth, kicking and scrabbling he backed into the desk before he heaved and involuntarily threw up onto the floor. Coughing and gagging he spat up flesh and tainted blood, tears spilling freely his head pounded his arm burned and was swollen, he’d broken his bones before and knew he had again. His knuckles skinned and bloody, his body stained with vile blood as he emptied his stomach until he was gasping and shaking, clawing at his throat and hitting the floor trying to catch a breath. When Carson spoke he glared, a mess and defiant as ever, “ Go fuck yourself. ” He spat before he was left there, the loneliness hit him as he realised they didn’t care. Curling up he bit his lip and curled up, beginning to weep and choke back sobs as he began to truly understand. He was in hell.

———

By the time the staff found him he had been passed out from pain and blood loss from his tears, as well as a strange fever had overtaken him. The doctor called had him taken to the medical wing as the staff began to clean up the mess in the office, when Viper woke up he knew something was wrong. Struggling to sit up his arm throbbed and he gasped in pain, everything was spinning, his ears ringing, he felt sick and hot, his chest ached and so did his sides where he had bruises from being pinned down with such weight. He fought the covers, trying to get out the bed his balance buckled and the world span as he collapsed to the ground, crying out in pain he curled up struggling and wheezing. Fighting to get to his feet the world blurred and his head span, it was pounding deep behind his eyes like nails being driven into his skull as with every blink he saw bursts of images and symbols seated into his eyes, incoherent whispers filled the room and he began to panic.

Delirious he stumbled over to the door, scared he had one thought in his mind. Flee. He had to flee. He stumbled to the door and tried it, but it wouldn’t budge. Old memories flared, the whispers turned to laughter and he wheezes as if he couldn’t breathe, he kept trying the door before he banged against it with his fists until he couldn’t feel his hands. Choking on a terrified sob he grew desperate again, fear, panic, pain, it all drove him and he searched for a way out, he began to look out the windows, he was high up and couldn’t see an easy fall. He went down again as he tripped and everything made him heave, he threw up onto the floor again and began to freak out as it was thick and black like tar, it tasted rotten and he stared at his hands. Surgery scars lined his arm and his veins looked black beneath his skin, wiping his mouth he struggled to keep coherent, knees and arms grazed he staggered to the balcony and pushed it open. He looked around and saw a drainage pipe, it didn’t matter if he was in the flimsy mesh nightgown, or that he was barefoot and sick. He was desperate. So he climbed the railing and the ground surged and fell as he nearly fell, but reaching out he grabbed the pipe and struggled to find a footing, before long he was precariously trying to climb down as his arm shook from strain post surgery.

Closed RP W/@abyssalmarked

His head throbbed, pain rising from behind his eyes, he shifted and slowly sat up. Silken sheets falling back he stopped and paused confused, staring down at himself in a practically transparent and flimsy nightdress. Against his pale skin the black fabric stood out amongst the dark sheets of the bed, although he didn’t understand how he got into it. He looked around trying to remember how he got here, wherever here was, what had happened again? He had been home, but then… A piercing sound and darkness seemed to swallow him, but what had happened after? Why was he waking up here? Where was here? He swung his legs off the side of the bed and winced holding his head.

[evelynpr]

bakugou for the character ask game?

Truly the teenage boy, shonen deuteragonist, love interest coded, gay asshole, of all time.

My first impression - Woah I did not understand why people were so into this guy. Like I get it, he's a flawed and loud pretty boy, he gets character development, and probably gay, but seriously him??? His mouth is so fucking foul and he is so up his ass. - I was meh with this character, enjoyed him in fan content, but just did not get why people were sooo into this guy.

My impression now - I cried in "Light Fades To Rain". Twice. - My god his growth...his will, his persistence, and by god his love for Izuku is so ridiculous and powerful I just cannot help but admire the little shithead. - He is also a lot more to me than I expected, with the whole "foul mouth shit", "high expectations bullshit", "violent urges", and "dedicating your whole life and love to someone you love and admire" and that...that makes me feel quite conflicted.

Favorite thing about that character - The thing about Bakugou is that...you just cannot help but wish you had the same kind of persistence, strength, will, and power that he does. I love how all this is initially so shallow and selfish, then grows to wanting to be a better and truer hero. He really learns and changes and is just an unstoppable force of nature, it's genuinely incredible and beautiful to watch.

Least favorite thing - I wished that the overall writing did go harder in making him stop bad-mouthing people and...everything so much. You can tell he did grow to respect and care for people around him more, but by gods he is sooo bad at communicating his feelings right now. (tbf, he is so fucking young and traumatized) - Also, really please stop hitting people. I get a knee-jerk reaction to that kind of physical violence sometimes ngl.

Favorite line/scene - There are so many. I already mentioned his death in "Light Fades to Rain" so I'll mention a different one - Team Bakugou in Class A vs B was so goddamn good, for being a monumental milestone of his character. How much he trusted his teammates and put himself in danger to save others, winning in the end. No injuries, no failures, truly a perfect beautiful victory. How he also pushes Deku to keep getting better afterwards in his usual constipated-ass language too. Man I just love that battle to death.

Favorite interaction that character has with another - (me pulling out scenes that aren't bkdk centered here hahaha) - I fucking LOVED the Bakugou vs Ochako fight. It made me love Ochako so so much as a kid. I really wished we had a follow-up to that battle, and it genuinely changed my life. - I love how it really shows just how focused and rational he is in battle. How he truly respects his opponents, Ochako in this case, and the sports festival really establishes so much about him.

A character that I wish that character would interact with more - Speaking of which...OCHAKO VS BAKUGO 2 COME ONNNN - There is SO MUCH these two need to talk about. How to save people, who they want to save, who saved them, never underestimating each other, how they changed and grew. I just love these two characters to bits, that's why I need them to FIGHT AND TALK SO BADDDD - Additional: Also Toga (see my post on Toga right before this one lmao), Shoto (because I still don't really get their friendship but its hilarious, and I love Shoto)

Another character from another fandom that reminds me of that character - I legit cannot think of anything here...like for Toga...I am so sorry my brain is blanking T__T - It's hard to be a massive anger-issue filled, victory-focused, die for their lover (twice), amazing chef, all at once, kinda guy...you know?

A headcanon about that character - I am a believer in trans!fem Bakugo in the future. He's so ridiculously angry for some reason, voice always cracking, and just on-edge for some reason. Idk I just think its hilarious and satisfying if he transed his gender in the future and became happier and more comfortable.

A song that reminds of that character - I also have a Bkdk playlist in the making! Here's some bkg focused songs in character development order: - Boys will be Bugs, President Perfect, Top of my School, Oh No!, I'm Gonna Win, The Last of the Real Ones, Skyfall, Die For You, Set Fire to the Rain

An unpopular opinion about that character - Like Toga, he actually isn't possessive. I think he quite well understands and accepts that Izuku is a very loving person that many people are easily drawn to (I mean, he'd be a hypocrite if he didn't understand that). - He is protective instead of possessive. He keeps an eye out for anything and anyone who could possibly actually hurt Izuku, but he doesn't hold him back at all in hanging around with others, and when other people fall for Izuku either. - He is actually quite skinny, and doesn't have the big thick buff guy build. Those go to Izuku and Iida more imo.

Favorite picture - I never really thought of this much??? I love art of him being softer, more solemn, quiet and contemplative even. I guess I'll go pick out some favs right now...

Here they are! Hope you enjoy the post lmao

[s0dium]

𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐄𝐗

A/n: Almost kinktober guys ;) Synopsis: How many rounds can JJK men go for? Characters: Gojo Satoru, Toji Fushiguro, Geto Suguru, Choso, Sukuna Ryomen Warnings: Doggy, mating press, multiple orgasms, sub space, overstimulation, dub-con, photo taking, cock warming, nipple sucking, finger sucking, breeding, unprotected sex, virgin!Choso, mentions of masturbation, pussy drunk men

☆ Gojo Satoru: 3-4

The longest three rounds of your life

You think he can stop just cumming in you once? Hell no. The best part about sex is when he can see his cum oozing out of you with each push.

Also loves overstimulating himself until he is a groaning mess.

Unfortunately for you, Gojo Satoru is NOT a one-minute man.

"Awe come on don't go zoning out on me now~"

Gojo's voice is teasing, a low, melodic coo that slides into your ears as you struggle to focus. His grin is wide, almost predatory, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement as he leans in closer. You’re hazy, breathless, your mind clouded with pleasure, barely able to register the words.

"S'cant... feel too...” You mumbled and thrashed against Gojo's hold, forcing him to pin your wrists together above your head while he pistoned into you with brute force. Sure it's only the second round for him but for you, he's brought you over the edge more than your poor poor body can handle.

Your body feels completely spent, trembling with overstimulation as your legs, sore from the constant tightening and untightening, hang limp in Gojo's grip. He’s folded you in half, his hands pressing your legs against your chest, locking you in place with ease. The room feels heavy, a warm haze clouding your thoughts as you realize you’ve been drooling, too lost in the overwhelming pleasure to even care.

“Feel fucking amazing Jesus Christ.” Gojo manages to groan out between pants followed by a string of curses. Every time he leaves the clutch of your cunny, his cock is coated in a thick shiny sheen of creaminess, and when he snaps his hips back in, it settles right at the base of him, painting your puffy pussy lips as well. Gojo effortlessly lifts one of your legs over his shoulder, sinking even deeper into you with each forceful thrust. The new angle, paired with the relentless pace of his hips snapping against yours, sends you spiraling dangerously close to the edge. Your grip on the sheets falters, hands slipping as tears streak down your flushed cheeks. Your mouth hangs open, drool pooling beneath you, completely mind-fucked and overwhelmed by the pleasure that consumes every inch of your body.

Your limbs have no strength left to resist—no, you don’t want to. Every nerve in your body is thrumming, begging for more as you let him take control. His every movement draws out a fresh wave of sensation, each thrust sending you spiraling closer to that next high. You can’t stop it—there’s no chance to. Your body is his to use, to pull pleasure from again and again, and all you can do is surrender to the bliss as it builds, crashing over you uncontrollably.

"Come for me baby," Gojo coos. "I'll cum in you and if it spills we can start all over again."

~

☆ Toji Fushiguro: 6

First three you are riding him and doing all the work.

Then when your legs give out thats even he fucks you silly

He is so big :( Sometimes he has to let you cock warm him for a bit so you can catch your breath

This is it you where going to die.

You were going to be fucked to death.

"Shhh, stop crying would you? Yer' taking it like a champ I promise."

Two big hands come up to your face to wipe the hot tears streaming down your face. Your body is trembling uncontrollably, every muscle quivering as waves of pleasure leave you numb and overwhelmed. It’s like your senses have short-circuited, leaving you shaking, barely able to register anything beyond the intense, lingering sensation pulsing through you.

Even though Toji is unmoving inside you, your pussy cannot stop spasming from the pleasure of his fat tip pressed up against your g-spot. Even if he wanted to pull out right now, Toji doubts that your cunt would give up the vice grip on his cock. Coincidentally that meant that he was keeping you plugged with 3 loads of warm sticky cum in your tight walls.

"Fuck still so tight baby, you want me to fuck you more don't you?" Toji's voice is a low, teasing coo as his focus shifts to your breasts, his tongue flicking over each hardened nipple, tracing slow, lazy circles that send shivers down your spine. One hand squeezes your breast, kneading the soft flesh, while the other glides over your sides and stomach, his touch warm and deliberate, drawing out every sensation. With all the strength you can muster, you wrap your legs around his waist pulling him closer to you so that you can feel his cock push impossibly farther into you, and he moans into your breast, biting your nipple softly. 

Then, without releasing your nipple from his mouth, he begins the slow roll of his hips into your sloppy cunt. Toji's hips move in a slow, deliberate rhythm, each roll pressing him deeper into you with a tantalizing, unhurried pace. His movements are controlled, almost teasing, as he grinds against you, making you feel every inch, every pulse of his dick as he draws out your pleasure with each smooth thrust.

"Just take it m'kay? You can handle it."

~

☆ Geto Suguru: 4

Geto is a real fiend

The breaks between sex consist of him drinking water and kissing the water into your mouth. After that it's right back to fucking.

Loves taking photos of his cum oozing out of you. Looks at it when he is bored.

“So pretty….”

Drool dripped from your chin onto the pillow below, mixing with the tears streaming from your eyes, which were rolled back in bliss. Your breath hitched the moment Geto's hand tightened in your hair, pulling your head back just enough to catch his gaze out of the corner of your eye. As your eyes lock, a dark, knowing smirk curves on his lips, sending a shiver down your spine. You were finally getting used to the dizzying, mind-numbing pressure of his tip crashing into your cervix—but the bad news? Your legs were completely numb, trembling and useless beneath you.

 “Did you hear what I said doll?”

 Whatever was left of your mind tried to reign back its focus on the man pistoning into you from behind, but as it turned out, there wasn’t much. The friction of his cock dragging against you was unbearable, even with the syrupy cum soaking the walls of your quivering pussy. All you could do was dizzily nod, earning a chuckle from Geto while he eyes the way your hips instinctively raise so his cock can sink even deeper into you from behind. If you could only know the heaven your cunt you're putting his mind in, he is sure you'd be the one smirking. Geto even has to bite harshly on his lip to stop himself from whimpering every time your sticky pussy spasms from pleasure.

The euphoria came in waves of electric current that pulsed through your sloppy pussy and the only thing keeping you grounded his loads of warm sticky cum dripping down your thigh.  

 “Come on speak to me baby, I've only come two times, we've barely even started.”

 The wet sounds of Geto's dick slipping in and out of you filled the room and your senses. His cock filled you so much better than your hands ever could, hitting that gummy spot inside your walls over and over again perfectly, and you wondered how you were ever satisfied with the way you masturbated before you met him.

 “I’m a lucky man arent I? To have such an obedient baby with such a pretty pussy.” His hand comes to your face to caress your cheek, and you nestle into his touch while his thumb wipes away your tears. Your too busy immersing in the warmth of his palm to notice the flash of light and the sound of a shutter above you. Even when you turn your head back in curiosity, all you see is Geto staring at the screen of his phone with a lazy grin spread on his face.

~

☆ Choso: 2

Give this man a break! He's a half century old curse who has never fucked before!

You should be glad that he didn't cum by just slipping his tip in, because oh god lord he is seeing colors.

Choso swore he wasn't a whimpering man. Nothing that good could ever make him stumble over his words like a schoolboy. But Jesus Christ, he was not expecting you.

“F-fuck, you’re tight,” Choso groans hoarsely. You felt good? Try god-like, Choso's mind was in euphoria right now. His hand or a fleshlight could never compare to the way your gummy walls sucked him in and hugged his cock.

"M'feel good Cho~" You whine, head thrown back against the plush pillow. The stretch was delicious. It had you squirming and writhing and you couldn't help but tighten as your body tried to push out the large foreign intrusion. You gasped when you felt his tip smush against your cervix, little bolts of electricity being sent through your stomach as he pressed against you.

Choso was slow at first, wanting to still admire the way your cunt swallows him up, the fat of his head has a hard time popping out with how greedy your cunny is being. He whines at how hot you are on the inside, but he’s quick to change to a faster pace.

Choso’s voice comes out in a deep, breathless groan, his grip tightening as he leans closer, his words heavy with need. "W-wanna do this all the time. Every day, baby," he rasps, his eyes half-lidded in pleasure, completely lost in the sensation. Each thrust seems to pull the words from his lips as if he can’t hold back, his body trembling with how good it feels. The thought of having you like this, over and over, only spurs him on, his pace quickening as he grinds against you, desperate to make this moment last forever.

Unable to handle the sensation, your hands grab his shoulder and grip them for dear life. Choso doesn’t let up his pace, in fact he increases it, pounding your poor little cunt with no remorse. His mind is foggy, everything just feels and looks so so good, he’s not even thinking when he shoves his fingers in your mouth, digits pressing down on your tongue and swirling around in the spit.

“Your gonna let me use you when ever I want right? Gotta lot of time to make up for, you gonna be a good girl and always make me feel good right?”

~

☆ Sukuna Ryomen: Lord have mercy

It depends.

Its either the longest no-break sex marathon of your life or 6 even seven rounds with small breaks in between.

Unfortunately, Sukuna is a sadist, it's a headcanon that he might prioritize his pleasure over yours. Combine that with his godly stamina and you have an insane combo.

Kneeling helplessly, both your wrists pinned behind you by just one of Sukuna’s powerful arms, you can only brace yourself as he thrusts into you from behind, each powerful movement sending shockwaves through your body as he effortlessly controls your every breath, your every tremble.

"C-cant do this!" you cry, your voice breaking as Sukuna's grip tightens around your wrists, holding you firmly in place. Your legs are sore from this kneeling position and the angle that his cock hits you is so euphoric it's almost painful from the sheer collision. Sukuna chuckles darkly, his pace relentless as he leans in closer, his hot breath ghosting over your neck.

"Oh, but you will," he growls, each word dripping with wicked amusement, his hips driving into you harder. "You don’t have a choice."

You can only wail in response, the sound escaping your lips uncontrollably as the overwhelming pleasure consumes you. Every thrust sends a wave of heat surging through your body, your mind going blank as Sukuna fills you completely, each movement pushing you closer to the edge. The pressure builds with each deep, forceful stroke, your body trembling beneath him, and all you can do is surrender to the intense, all-encompassing bliss that threatens to pull you under.

"Such a good girl, you're a natural submissive, aren't you? Or maybe you just loved being fucked like the slut you are."

How much time has passed? You can’t even tell anymore—everything blurs together in a haze of pleasure and heat. The rhythm of Sukuna’s relentless pistoning becomes the only thing grounding you, your mind foggy and lost as your body responds to him instinctively. Each second feels stretched out, an eternity of raw sensation as you teeter on the brink, utterly consumed by the moment.

"Gonna fuck you like this till I’ve had my fill, got that?" Sukuna’s voice is a low, dangerous growl in your ear, the words sending a shiver down your spine as he presses deeper.

[webism]

pornstar!sukuna who has a niche for the dark and dangerous, he only accepts shoots that cater to his more… intense nature—ropes and chains and gags and rigs beyond the regular bedroom scenes.

pornstar!sukuna who works with many other actors and actresses. he's demeaned and degraded more people for a pay check than he can count, but his favourite is you. you’re not so easy to break, which he likes—plus, videos in which you bite back make double the profit.

pornstar!sukuna who is easy to agree when you call him one night asking for a favour. you were meant to do a camshow with another pornstar when he cancelled last minute—and you know people are excited for this one, if you don’t want to miss out on a paycheck you’d need to find a quick replacement.

pornstar!sukuna who is expecting a homemade bd/sm rig to greet him when he walks into your home that night.

pornstar!sukuna who isn’t expecting a bed with a pink duvet and matching fluffy pink handcuffs hanging from your headboard. it’s cute, he thinks—he can picture the scene, you laid out and fucked like a whore in pink. he’s eager, until you tell him the handcuffs aren’t for you, but for him.

pornstar!sukuna who is about ready to walk out, to tell you off for even assuming he’d do such things on camera, that he'd ruin his crafted image of this sadistic figurehead for a camshow of all things.

pornstar!sukuna who just can't say no and turn on his heels, not when you look up at him like that, your pretty eyes just too convincing. He's seen you fucked out and stupidly cockdrunk before, he knows what you look like when you submit wholly to him, and though it's a beautiful sight—one of his favourites—he can't deny that he's intrigued to know how you look through his eyes when they're glossed with desperate pleasure.

pornstar!sukuna, the notorious dominant, who loads up on thousands. of peoples screens handcuffed to a pink bed. Everything pink: the cuffs, the sheets, his mussed hair, the pretty blush that paints the bridge of his nose, the leaky tip of his cock as you stroke it, your nails painted pink to match.

pornstar!sukuna who growls when people start tipping each time he gets close to cumming. who looks so insanely out of place, big and imposing and so covered in tattoos that even his ridiculous length has been inked to an extent, all needy and growing all the more desperate as you keep denying him his orgasm. wrists chained to your wooden headboard, his muscles ache with the temptation of breaking free.

pornstar!sukuna who can't help but wonder if his life has been flipped on its head when you start praising him and he moans at your words alone. Who, for all his life has gotten off on inflicting the worst onto others, and can now feel the most powerful orgasm of his life cresting when those narcotic words spill from your lips. "doing so well for me, god you look good like this, sukuna."

pornstar!sukuna who can only hold on for so long before his taut-pulled patience snaps and burns on impact. so when he's watching himself through the display of your laptop, cock red and angry as it leaks in need at your denial of his orgasm again, he snaps.

pornstar!sukuna who breaks your handcuffs with one pull, and has you flipped over and taking his mean cock in less time than it takes you to process his movements. who is glad you were enjoying torturing him, because you're so wet that the stretch of his cock is only searingly painful and you're not pushed to tears... this time.

pornstar!sukuna who fucks you mindless for toying with him for so long. for airing out a side of him that is weak in the bones for you, and plastering it on the internet for anyone to see. he bullies his cock into you, mean and unrelenting—yet whispers the sweetest of nothings into your ear as he does so, low enough that your mic can't pick up on them—your ears only.

pornstar!sukuna who kisses you when he cums. his lip piercing cold against your lips, your legs shaking in desperate need for mercy as he paints your insides white.

pornstar!sukuna who laughs when you, in your cum-drunk haze, try to reach for your laptop to turn off the camshow.

pornstar!sukuna who promises your now-doubled viewer count that the stream won't end until you've come ten times on his cock—he's going to make an example out of you.

[teddybeartoji]

18+ mdni; gn!reader

toji is okay with you not making eye-contact with him during sex because he knows that you're just overwhelmed, right? it's because he simply loves to feel your lips against his skin when you hide your face in the crook of his neck because that's how he knows he's taking good care of you, right?

fuck no.

those are not the only reasons.

if you look toji in the eyes while he's fucking you, he will cream his pants like a fucking teenager who's just seen a pair of tits for the first time.

when he has you on your back with your heels digging into his lower back and with your hands clawing at your back, his own arms barely supporting his body as he sinks into you; you look beautiful like this – a layer of sweat covers your body and he thinks about licking it all up, your bitten lips are parted and the sounds that spill from you cloud toji's mind like a drug. you're writhing and you're squirming, squeezing around his cock so tight that he feels like he's about to pass out.

and then... your eyes.

eyebrows scrunched together, you stare up at him and toji thinks he's going to die instead. tears brim in the corners while your pupils are blown wide, a mix of pleasure and adoration swimming in the dark orbs as he brings you closer and closer to another high. oh, he thinks you look like a fucking painting. like you belong in a museum.

the way you're looking at him is making his cock twitch inside you and that in turn makes you blink at him. you flutter your eyelashes while pressing your heels deeper into his back, silently begging for more.

"f-fuck..."

toji's head falls as he squeezes his own eyes shut. he feels like he's on fire. he feels like he's about to fucking explode. he's going to cum just because you're looking at him with nothing else but love in your eyes. he feels stupid for it – a little embarrassed that such a simple thing is getting to him so easily, but when he feels your hand on his jaw, cradling him like he's something that could break – the shame fades.

the combination of meeting your gaze once again, the care in them, and the love you offer him, makes the knot in his belly snap.

you caress his cheek as you hold your eyes on him, eager to watch him unfold in front of you. a fucked out smile makes its way to your lips and toji's heart skips a beat at the sight. he's never felt weaker, he's never felt more loved. oh, you're something alright.

he also can't handle your eyes whenever you're giving him head. he simply cannot do it. he does love watching you, he really fucking loves it – how you screw your eyes shut, your eyebrows furrowing as you concentrate on your breathing. how the drool pools in the corners of your mouth and how it dribbles down your chin. how your whole body twitches when you gag around him. how small your hand looks on him, how you massage his heavy balls. how pretty you look while doing it all – he's obsessed.

but the second you open your eyes and look back up at him... he's throwing his head back and hiding behind his arm. and while the view of his neck does get you to rub your own thighs together in want – it's not enough.

you want more.

taking your lips off his cock and ignoring the line of spit that connects you to it, you patiently wait for him to look at you. you even stop jerking him off, just resting your hand around his base. his dick twitches and another glob of pre-cum trickles from his tip.

"toji?"

your voice is as sweet as ever and he knows it's a trap. he grumbles back at you in hopes of convincing you to continue, but he's wrong. merely giving his base a squeeze, you watch how the older man buck his hips into your fist.

"look at me."

he won't, he won't, he won't. you're evil, you're awful, you wish to torture him until he dies. this is how it all ends for him. he won't.

"please..."

his balls twitch and his his body burns. he needs to cum so fucking bad but he hates looking like an actual old man, who can't keep his shit together.

"look at me, baby."

it's more of a demand now and he can't resist you. he never has and he never will. whatever you say goes – if you tell him to jump off a damn cliff, he will do so. if you want to break him just like you're doing right this moment, then so be it. he's all yours.

his arm falls from in front of his face and his green eyes crack open to the most glorious sight in the world. you look completely fucked out and your hair is a mess, your lips and your chin are all covered in spit and he thinks of you as an angel of some sort.

you give him a smile and his hips buck into your fist again, but you don't tease him for it – you want him to feel good. so you press a kiss to his sticky tip as you hold his lust-filled gaze and it's enough for him to blow his load all over your gorgeous face.

you lap at his tip like a kitten, collecting the few drops that threaten to escape while still pumping him with your one hand and massaging his balls with the other. toji grips the sheets below with both his hands – his fingers tug at the material so hard that they almost rip but neither of you care.

you worshipping his cock, or better yet worshipping him, is baffling to him. but he's not complaining. you take him into your mouth again, eyes still on his, you wrap your lips wrap around his tip and push him into overstimulation.

curses tumble from his scarred lips like they're the only words he knows and you can't help but smile while still having him him in your mouth. you're covered in his cum and now you're fucking grinning up at him – he really does think he's about to pass away. there's no way this is real, that you're not something his mind conjured up to plague him with. your hands feel godly and your mouth feels so fucking warm. no, this is it – he's officially dying.

taking your lips off of him with a pop, your smile widens even more as you give him an 'ahhh!' as if you've just had the best meal of your life and toji doesn't waste a second before pushing off the bed.

"fuck, come here."

his knees hit the floor with a thud as he lunges at you like a starved beast. he grabs your cheeks and pulls you toward him, smashing his lips to yours in a desperate kiss. he needs to feel you, he needs to taste you. he needs to love you.

he needs to give you his all.

[fairy-angel222]

𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐨 ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

The latter opening his phone to a video of Gojo fucking you, one of his close friends and roommate, from behind. The camera capturing your tear filled eyes as you cried. “S-Satoruu— nnh, please.. please don’t show Suguru.” He couldn’t see you like this, especially when it was for his best friend. The one whose charms you promised him you wouldn’t fall for.

Gojo ignored you completely, and you let out a broken whimper when you took that as your answer. The camera now panning down to the recoil of your ass as Gojo hammered into you, using his hand to spread your cheeks before zooming in on the way your pussy stretched to take his thick cock.

“That’sss it. Look at that filthy fuckin’ cunt. So wet n noisy f’me. Pussy’s creamin’ all over my cock, shitt.” He groaned, palm landing meanly onto your ass as his pace sped. “Suguru’s gonna love this. He’s a lil pervert f’you baby.”

You mewled loudly, head fuzzy as you babbled out words of embarrassment. Attempting to hide your face in his sheets.

Geto was furious, his jaw clenching along with his fist as he watched Gojo taint his precious girl. That was supposed to be his job. Watching as Gojo’s hand twisted roughly in your hair to pull you up to his chest. Your eyes rolling back with the arch of your back as you let dumbed down cries consume your shaking frame.

Geto hated it. But he couldn’t stop watching. Beginning to stroke roughly at his cock to the sight of Gojo molding you around his cock. A loud groan vibrating in his chest when you started begging the white haired man to cum in you.

Gojo angled the phone to show your whiny face while forcing you to keep contact with your reflection. Teary eyes and drool filled lips staring back at you with a choked cry. A smirk on his face when he tilted it down to the lewd bouncing of your tits. "Bet Sugu’s gonna jerk off to this when he sees it baby.”

“Wonder if he likes hearing you beg for me to breed your cunt full. You think he likes it baby?” He faux cooed, lips ghosting over your ear with heavy breaths. The man putting himself in the frame to chuckle darkly before grinning. A shiver raking down your spine at the feeling of his teeth on your skin.

You could only whine with a hiccup as you blinked up at the camera. Your head spinning as you tried to looked away with a moan. You didn’t want Suguru to see you like this.

Gojo grip on your hair tightened, tugging harshly as you whimpered. “I’m fucking talking to you ya know, you were doing so well baby. Just had to screw it up, didn’t you?” Gojo scoffed, shoving your head into the bed below with his hand behind your neck. The mean snapping of his hips rocking you back and forth each time his cock kissed your cervix.

Gojo sighed, the camera now picking up his tensed abs as they glistened with sweat. His pelvis meeting your flesh faster than Geto could keep up with. “Your little slut needs a lesson or two on obedience Suguru.” He smiled lazily, “Guess someone’s gotta teach her huh.”

The video ended. And Geto was quick to press replay.

He groaned, still fisting his cock to the image of your face contorting into one of pure pleasure as you looked at the camera through your lashes.

Cursing himself as he reached into your bedside drawer to grab his favorite out of your panties. Pretty pink one with part lace and a bow in the middle. Using it to imagine that it was you bouncing on his cock, your tight cunt gripping him snug as you made a sticky mess on his thighs.

His pace quickened, breathing getting heavy as he panted. Ragged breaths falling past parted lips until he felt his cock twitch. Spilling thick spurts onto his clothed lap like the pervert Gojo said he was.

[rafeysbunny]

brother's bsf!rafe popping your cherry

there is absolutely nothing that rafe craves more than to fuck you, his best friend's little sister. he knows it is wrong, but he can't help himself when you're so fucking pretty, always wandering around in those cute little skirts and tops you like to wear, round tits almost spilling out of the thin fabric.

god, he's so obsessed with you.

you're always in his mind, all the fucking time, the thought of you haunting him every night when he goes to bed. and every single one of those nights, he ends up jerking off at the thought of you, like a bloody perv, to be able to finally fall asleep.

he knows topper'd kill him if he ever finds out about his massive crush on his baby sister, but that fact doesn't stop him from getting you alone in your guest bathroom as soon as the alcohol knocks your brother out cold on the couch. and now he has your gorgeous body pinned against the sink, the party still in full swing outside in your house while you two sloppily make out.

he's hard as a rock inside his slacks just by kissing you, the taste of your cherry chapstick lingering in your plump lips, as if you weren't just sweet enough already. it doesn't help his case the way you're whimpering so prettily into his mouth, your body arching against his as he grips your hips tightly, which has the silky fabric of your skirt all crumpled.

he tears his lips away from yours, panting heavily as he stares down at you with pure lust in his eyes. "fuck, you're so goddamn beautiful..." he reaches out and grabs your chin, forcing you to look up at him. "listen to me, baby."

you hum dumbly in response, not really paying attention to what he's saying, you just want his lips back on yours so, so bad. your small hands fist his expensive polo, bambi eyes staring shamelessly at his mouth as you watch him talk; his words not really registering.

"hey. hey, sweetheart, eyes up here..." he taps your chin with his finger. "i need you to tell me that you want this too, a'right?"

your dazed eyes dart up to meet his blue ones while you nod obediently, your thick, long lashes fluttering in his direction. "i want it, rafe," you mutter softly, pretty voice filling in the silence of the bathroom.

his eyes darken, pupils dilating when he hears the words he's been longing to hear for months now and the intensity of his gaze makes your skin prickle with goosebumps. "that's a good girl..."

before you know it, he has you bent over the countertop, skirt pulled up 'round your waist as he fucks your pussy with his thick fingers to stretch you out. you've got the tightest cunt he's ever put his digits into, which has his cock throbbing painfully in anticipation.

despite how bad he needs to sink into you, he forces himself to give you at least one orgasm with his fingers before he yanks his pants down and slowly pushes his dick inside your sopping hole, the feeling almost too good to be real. he thrusts into you one time, two, then three, your pussy squelching lewdly around him, and his whole body feels on fire.

is this what heaven feels like? yeah, it probably is.

he'd fuck you dumb, big hand shoving your pretty face against the cool marble as he pounds your pussy into oblivion until you're creaming all over his dick, flushed cheeks stained with tears.

"such a good girl f’me," he praises as he pulls out to finish on your plush ass, thick ropes of cum painting your smooth flesh.

more.

[cntloup]

Gojo Satoru x pregnant!reader

protective!Satoru, fluff, a lil angst, mention of feeling guilty, implied heavy symptoms experienced by the reader

"it's ok, baby. i've got it." Satoru says as he approaches your slouched form over the sink, washing the dishes as you try to get something done and make yourself useful.

you've been feeling guilty during the past month or so, feeling like you were a burden to him, thinking that you would never live up to his expectations. now he has to take care of you. and as time goes by, it will get even worse as your pregnancy progresses. but he's a busy man with heavy responsibilities. you'd be only holding him back. you torture yourself with these thoughts every day.

"oh, thanks. i'll go clean up the living room and do the laundry then." you respond with a forced smile, trying to mask the guilt that's been gnawing at you for a while as you try to keep yourself from falling over out of dizziness.

"what? no, wait! i'll do it after i wash the dishes. you go get some rest. you've done enough." he retorts while gently grabbing your arm, voice slightly raised to stop you immediately.

he is in utter disbelief at your behavior. you should be resting right now, tucked in beneath the soft sheets peacefully. you shouldn't worry your pretty little head about anything, he thinks.

"i haven't done anything all day." you utter in a faintly frustrated tone, mostly at yourself.

"and that's exactly how it should be." he replies with a nod, "now go to bed before i drag you there myself." he adds, maintaining a playful tone, a soft smile adorning his features as he drinks in your beauty. you're already glowing. but considering how observant he is, he senses your discomfort immediately like he can actually feel the gloom and sorrow you're feeling right now like a mother hen.

"what is it, baby? tell me." he murmurs as he walks up to you and pulls you into him by your hips, shining blue eyes staring at you as he awaits a response.

his hand rests on your side as the other cups your jaw, his thumb swiping over your cheek that could be dampened any moment now as you feel tears threatening to spill.

"i'm so sorry." you whisper breathily, voice slightly quivering with the lump in your throat as you look up into his glowing eyes.

"for what?" he asks, confusion evident on his features.

"for being weak. i'm so sorry to disappoint you." you finally spill out the words that have been weighing heavily on your chest as the tears cascade down your glossy eyes.

"disappoint me? i don't understand... why are you crying, love?" he mutters with a shake of his head, his confusion growing even more by your words as his fingers swipe over your cheeks to wipe away the stray tears.

"you're literally the strongest and you're stuck with me. i'm barely even showing yet and i'm feeling extreme fatigue. i've been sleeping all day for the past month cause i can't do anything. and because of the symptoms, i'll probably have to quit my job." you ramble about the thoughts that have been pulling you down all this time.

"wait, wait, wait! how long have you been feeling like this?" he questions with widened eyes baring into your soul.

"eversince we found out i was pregnant. i can't stop feeling guilty about disappointing you." you reply quietly, almost embarrassed to admit it. of course you know you're being irrational. it's all natural to be tired during this time and need help, but you just can't help it.

"you've been feeling like this all this time and you didn't tell me anything?" he blurts out almost too aggressively to his liking, "sorry. didn't mean it to come out that way." he quickly apologizes after witnessing the slight flinch on your part.

how could he not see it? you've been trying to do the chores like regular, pushing yourself to your limit both in the house and on your job until he swoops in and takes the weight off your shoulders. now he starts to blame himself for not finding out sooner and letting you wallow in your own sadness and guilt all alone.

"you're not weak, baby. you're doing the one thing that i can't possibly ever do. the one thing that the strongest can't do. and what does that make you? huh? you're literally the strongest of all, babe. i can't even fathom what you're going through and you're doing amazing-", "i'm barely functioning." you cut him off.

"i'm not done yet, babe." he says playfully before continuing, "you're doing amazing, honey. you sleep not because you can't do anything else but because you need it. you're carrying our child for fuck's sake. a literal human's life is growing inside you and of course it takes its toll on you. and i'm right here beside you every step of the way." he finishes his loving speech with a tender kiss on your forehead as his strong arms wrap around your now slightly shaking form as you sob, utterly moved by his words and also the hormones.

"thank you, Satoru. i really appreciate it. you always know what to say when i'm feeling down." your words are cut off by loud sobs but he patiently waits for you to finish as he rubs your back soothingly while nuzzling his face in your neck.

"any time, baby. i love you." he whispers in your ear, "i love you too, toru." you say back, continuing to sob in his arms for a while before you eventually calm down and he guides you to bed, encouraging you to take some much-needed rest.

"and don't worry about your job. you can take some time off or quit altogether. i have more than enough to pay for our family and the next generations to come-", "ok, stop bragging!" you chuckle, "i'm just saying, baby. i've been dying to spoil you. now's my chance. let me take care of you. you don't have to go through this alone. in fact, i won't even let you." he chuckles lightly and crashes his lips onto yours, pulling away with a loud smack as you both lay in bed, limbs tangled together, "you already spoil me." you mention with a slight pout, "and i'm gonna do it even more. you deserve it, baby. don't worry about anything. i've got it." he says while softly caressing your cheek, admiring your glowing beauty illuminated by the faint bedside light.

you slowly start to feel the sleep creeping in and drift away into a slumber as you mumble a quiet 'thank you', curling into Satoru's side as he holds you so lovingly while you think to yourself how you've been blessed with the best, most loving and supportive partner anyone could ever ask for.

[choslut]

˖ ࣪ ، ◞ せ⌇ BABY MOMMA. featuring k. nanami.

↻ there’s nothing nanami wants more in the world than to make you a mommy, and give you his beautiful kids.

tags : breeding kink, creampie, mommy kink (if you squint), messy sex, pet names, feral nanami, marathon sex, lactation + pregnancy (fantasized), ovulation cycle // wc. 0.9k

author’s note : sorry this one’s a lil late, i’ve been busy with theme changes and real life is throwing a million and one hurdles at me and i just can’t keep up 😞 you can't tell me that nanami wouldn't be a massive family man, so here i have him completely desperate to start a family with you and give you his babies. notes and reblogs are always appreciated, and check out my masterlist for non-event based works <3 !!

this work is NSFW. minors and ageless blogs DO NOT INTERACT.

it’s been hours. hours since nanami even proposed the idea of trying for kids, and now, it’s all he can fucking think about. 

it’s all you can think about too, given the fact that he’s fucked you out of your mind, legs numb from being in missionary for as long as you remember with nanami plunging in and out of you, the tip of his cock nudging your cervix with every single thrust. 

it’s repetitive. it’s addicting. 

“hah- kento, can’t take no more…” your voice is a sheepish babble, nails digging into his back as tears stream down your face. “ ‘s too much, ken, please–“

nanami grunts in your ear, hips never ceasing movement as he ruts into you. “g’na have to, sweetheart. this one’s gotta take.”

he said that about the last one, and the one before that, and the one before that… and fuck, you can’t keep up with how many times he’s said it because he’s been going at it for so long with only one goal in mind. 

he’s gonna give you kids. he’s gonna make you a mommy, and you’re gonna raise his kids with him as his wife. 

it’s all he’s ever wanted. it’s all he’s ever dreamed of, and when he watches you lounge around the house wearing nothing but a bra and his oversized dress shirt and a wedding ring fit snugly on your finger, he really can’t stop himself from imagining what you would look like with a swollen tummy, breasts spilling out of that same bra. 

“g’na give you my kids baby…” he’s rambling half out of his ass, his brain scrambled by pure need. “gonna make my girl a mommy. you’re gonna be a great mommy, aren't you?”

he’s brought up the topic before. it was never anything serious, just asking you what you would prefer and never really thinking of his own volition. you had always agreed with him wholeheartedly, and it would somehow lead to the two of you cooing over baby clothes and strollers but never anything more. 

nanami is fucking sick of it. he’s sick of fawning over the idea and not doing anything about it. sure, you’ve made love a couple of times, but it never held any true intent, focusing on the pure need to give each other pleasure. 

well, now, nanami needs more than pleasure. he needs to see you with that swollen tummy and those massive leaky tits, and there’s only one way to do that; fucking you within an inch of your life and cumming in your cunt until it finally takes. 

“kento–“ you seemingly haven’t gotten bored of it yet, despite having been at it for over two hours. your back still arches with every bump to your cervix, nails still raking down his back as his sweaty chest squashes your own. “this one’s gonna take, promise.”

“i can’t be sure of that,” he states matter-of-factly. “although your tracker says you’re ovulating, we can’t just trust that once or twice will be enough.” is he sure of this fact? no, but he is sure that you feel too damn good to stop, even though he’s already finished inside of you enough times to guarantee your pregnancy ten times over. 

you just look so beautiful beneath him. you wear the radiance of sex extremely well, eyes fogged over and mouth hanging open as your steamy pants echo in his ear. you’re borderline intoxicating, and that’s why nanami can’t stop, even though he knows you need him to before you pass out. 

“look at me, angel. i wanna see you.” you weakly turn your cheek away from the pillow and look up at him, lips stained a gorgeous red and swollen from his kisses. “you’re gonna be such a pretty momma.”

your eyelids flutter and your back arches weakly as you cum again for the final time, garbled moans of nanami’s name flooding from your throat. despite the longevity of your session, your cunt still manages to squeeze around him impossibly, and nanami groans deeply, arms sliding around your hips as you pulls you forward to meet his thrusts. 

“kentooo…”

“i know, baby, i know.” the sheets are soiled with your sweat and his, and the tight clampdown of your walls propels him to cum one final time, hips flush against your twitching clit as he pumps you full. 

you both stay like that for a beat, nanami folded over your twitching body before he finally pulls out slowly, and when he does, the sight he’s met with is so incredibly dirty that he can barely believe he was the one to reduce you to such a mess. “oh, angel…”

copious amounts of his release flood from your cunt, leaving a translucent pool on your sheets. whilst he absolutely loves the sight and wishes to brand it on the forefront of his brain, nanami’s goal is still clear as day. 

he leans down and kisses your overstimulated clit, fingers dancing around your twitchy hole and gathering up his release before pushing it back inside with a curl of his fingers that makes you want to scream. 

“can’t waste any, my dear, or it might not take, remember?” when he looks up at you from in between your trembling thighs, the look on his face is nothing short of depraved, blonde strands of hair sticking to his forehead and cheeks stained red with excitement. 

“can’t wait to see my girl become a mommy.”

PREVIOUS : THE COLOUR RED ft. yae miko NEXT : BLACKOUT ft. tartaglia

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© choslut 2024 — do not copy, repost or translate my works without permission.

[writersdrug]

Bartender!Simon accidentally running into Waitress!Reader while she’s carrying a bunch of drinks for a table, causing them to spill all over herself 👉🏻👈🏻

Even more bonus points if she’s dressed in a white shirt, iykyk 👀

You're onto something here

Also, combining this with the ask about reader snooping through Simon's flat on the 3rd floor

Warnings: NSFW, slight humiliation, Simon goes from gentleman to having nasty nasty thoughts

It's a busy night - when mid-September rolls in, the nights get colder, and people gravitate towards the warm lighting of the bar through the street-front window. You still have a couple of hours left on your shift, which means Ghost still has a while, too.

He can't remember how many beers he's poured tonight. The noise of the shaker is drowned out by the buzz in his head. Mack wants another PBR. Table eleven still needs their shots and two Martinis. He's in the zone, pouring liquor and juices and bitters with practiced skill. He catches every word from the patrons at the bar - at least, every order. He mumbles out a quick "step back, please" when a gaggle of girls tries to stand near the end of the bar, waiting for their drinks. The bar is completely seated, people stuffing themselves between chairs to place their orders. Somon's got half a mind to tell them to clear out and get the fuck back, but he has to be civil. It won't be this hellish for too much longer - Price texted Simon that he'd be there in a bit to help.

Simon's more concerned about you: you're running around, delivering food and drink, bringing condiments and refilling waters - you're weaving between tables, maneuvering around bodies with a quick "sorry" or "scuse me"... you're at one table, and in the blink of an eye, you're at another. Simon sometimes doesn't realize you went into the kitchen until you're busting the door open with plates of food. You're covered in a light sheen of sweat, your usual chipper attitude dampened by the Friday night rush. Simon doesn't miss the way you scowl when you hear a table calling for you, when both of your hands are full.

You push yourself through the crowd of girls hovering by the end of the bar. You huff, grabbing a tray and some glasses. "Is it national 'Go to a Bar' day?" You mumble, squeezing behind Simon and heading to the free soda gun.

He barely makes an effort to reply. "Must be." He grunts, pulling several bottles from the shelves and setting them on the counter. He's snatching this and that - you fill your glasses with water, sliding behind him and grabbing the various drinks on the end of the back and stacking them on your tray.

A man elbowed his way between the patrons at the bar. "Can I get another DogFish IPA?" He says, sticking his glass across the bar.

Simon groans internally, but he keeps a stoic face. He quickly leans to his left and reaches for the glass - right as you were picking up your tray, now stacked with drinks. You stumble back, not expecting Simon to be so close to you, and bump into one of the girls that crowds by the bar's entrance.

Simon feels his stomach drop when he sees each of the glasses topple over. You're instantly drenched, alcohol splashing across your eyes, which you have squeezed shut from the onslaught of fluids. Your shirt is absolutely soaked; a few of the glasses fall to the ground and shatter upon impact, alerting the entire bar and making their heads turn to you - the man who handed Simon the glass is ogling at you shamelessly, and the girl you'd bumped into turns around with a simple oh…

You're frozen, eyes wide and your entire front soaking. Your white shirt is practically see-through, clinging to your skin and providing little coverage for your pink, lacy bra. You look mortified and on the verge of tears. Your panicked stare drifts to Simon - you think he's going to yell at you, or worse: give you the silent treatment for the rest of the night because he's too frustrated to speak.

Simon is trying to keep his own staring under wraps – your tits look absolutely tantalizing, hugged so tightly by your wet shirt – but he snaps out of his daze when he sees your teary eyes. He drops everything - you're the most important person in the room right now. He quickly takes the tray from you and sets it aside.

"Here-" he shoves a fresh rag into your hands. "Cover up with that." He says, taking you by your shoulders and leaning down to your level. "Third floor, there's a dresser on th' left side, second drawer has shirts. Go dry off 'n get a new shirt, I'll clean this up."

You're too stunned to cry. You're angry, embarrassed, frustrated... there's so much happening around you, so many eyes staring at your fuck-up, but Simon's eyes keep you from losing control of your emotions. He doesn’t seem angry or irate – he’s worried about you. Shouldn't you help him clean up? It's your mess after all. "But-"

"Hush. Go on, luv - you're practically see-through." He quickly turns you around and gently shoves you into the crowd, and you hurry away to the stairwell without protest, holding the rag close to your chest.

Simon sighs. The pub slowly starts to return to normal, though people aren't trying as hard to get their drinks. A sense of shame seems to hang around everyone’s heads, though there was only one party at fault, here. He stares daggers at the girls who are still hovering by the bar. The one you ran into is gawking back in fear - she knows she messed up.

"Get the fuck back." Simon seethes, storming over to the POS. They all scramble away and press against the wall, afraid he might start swinging at them. "Finish ya drinks and leave. 'M closin' your tab. You're done."

They dissipate back into the crowd, right as Soap pops his head out of the kitchen. "Heard a crash, ye alright?"

"Fuckin' wankers can't understand simple orders." Simon grumbles, grabbing a broom from the corner and sweeping up the glass. "Slag couldn't get her ass out th' fuckin walkway and made bird spill a tray."

"Christ, she ok?"

"Upstairs. Changin'. Shirt nearly disappeared when it got wet."

"Need me tae check up on-"

"Got a fuckin' kitchen t' run, don't ya?"

Johnny scoffs and disappears back into the kitchen. Simon continues sweeping - he spots Price jogging up to the building throught he street front window, and he sighs in relief.

Upstairs, you do just as Simon instructed. You're topless, your bra still a bit damp after you tried to towel-dry it with he rag Simon gave you. You're sifting through his drawer, face scrunched as you shuffle through and inspect each shirt. You're a bit miffed at how many plain, black t shirts he has - has he ever stepped foot into an Old Navy? - but, eventually, you hit the jackpot.

You pull a shirt from the very bottom of the drawer. It's army green, a bit worn over the years, with a bit of a natural, masculine musk clinging to it. The right front chest has a skull, a sword, and wings, along with the table "Task Force 141". On the back, in large letters: "LT. RILEY".

A smile creeps its way onto your face. He never said which shirt... he said any shirt. And this is the one you want.

Your bra comes off quicky, the fabric still wet and uncomfortable. You toss it somewhere on the bed behind you – you’re sure Simon wouldn’t mind if you hung it over the back of his chair, right? Can’t be wearing a wet bra while you’re running around the restaurant; you’d have a bra-shaped water stain on your shirt. Or, worse – you’d get sick. And you know for a fact (though he’s never said it to you) that Simon would kick himself if you got sick on the job.

You quickly pull the shirt on - it swallows you, both in size and scent. It smells just like him - the bodywash you catch a whiff of when you pass him, the slight muskiness that surrounds you when he reaches above you to grab something - it's all there, just tenfold. You stand up and pull it down; it covers your thighs down to your shorts, almost making it look like you weren’t wearing any to an unassuming person.

You take a peek around the room: it’s quite cozy, even with a lack of real décor. The bed sits against the middle of the wall, with Carolina blue sheets and a grey comforter. The pillows look rather worn, but there’s at least three of them. There’s a television on the dresser that faces the bed, and a small bookshelf in the corner next to an antique-looking chair, except the shelf is filled with mostly keepsakes and memorabilia. Any books in the room are stacked on the edges of the two bay windows, embedded in the brick wall that faces the street. The only lighting comes from three lamps: one on the nightstand by his bed, a taller one next to the clothes rack near the bathroom, and a lantern-looking lamp that he’s somehow attached next to the door.

Curiosity gets the better of you – discovering anything about Simon that he hasn’t already told you is like striking oil. You pad over to the shelf, leaning down to inspect the various objects. A balaclava, rolled up and tucked behind a box. In said box is a medal, bronze and dull, with a fist tightly holding a blazing torch. A worn-down pair of sunglasses lay next to a ring. A green stone sits on a silver band, nestled between two ivy vines. There’s a picture of the four of them: Simon, Johnny, Price, and even Kyle – you had assumed they had met Kyle through the restaurant industry, but there they all were. Dressed in military uniforms, holding guns and posing with stern faces in front of a helicopter. Simon was wearing a rather terrifying skull mask, the rest of him completely covered by his uniform. You were only able to recognize Simon from his brown eyes, but the man in the photo looked entirely different from the bartender downstairs.

Fuck! You completely forgot that you were a waitress, sniffing around your manager’s office when you should be tending to your tables. You turned on your heel and left Simon’s room, running down the stairs two at a time.

Simon was still in the eye of the storm – barely a word had been passed between him and Price, other than a simple hello when he had first hopped behind the bar. Simon was keeping an eye on your tables, which were currently satisfied for the time being – but damn, what was taking you so long? Were you showcasing all of his shirts? The thought of that would’ve had him biting his cheek to prevent a boner, but he was too busy to be anything but concerned for you.

On cue, you come bounding down the stairs, throwing yourself back into the busy crowd as you tie your server apron around your waist. Simon pours a tap, barely able to make out your form flitting through the crowd, making sure your tables are well-off and happy. Price calls your name over the din of the crowd, and you squeeze yourself through the mass of people to collect the drinks sitting on the end of the bar.

“Sorry!” you exclaim, setting your drinks on a tray. “Had to mop myself up a bit with the rag. Did anyone order anything from my tables?” you ask, looking at Simon.

He’s… occupied. His eyes are trained on your shirt. His shirt. That army green that brought up so many old memories, ones he hadn’t thought of in a long time,..

His shirt. Covering your body – and, fucking Christ, you’re not wearing a bra. You’re completely naked under that shirt.

You’re confused. He’s staring at you with such a shocked, glassy pair of eyes that you wonder if you’ve shot him in the leg. You look down at what he’s staring at – oh, right. The shirt. A part of you heats up in embarrassment, and a part in… something else. Yes, I took your shirt. I’ve got your name on my back. If he’s thoroughly upset by this, he’s not expressing it. And if you’re mistaken in the thought that he looks aroused (you wouldn’t be surprised to find him drooling behind the mask – you know how delicious you look right now), you’ll give him the shirt back eventually and pretend this never happened.

“Thanks for earlier.” You spoke over the noisy chatter around you. “This, uh- I hope it’s ok, it was the first shirt I saw.”

Bullshit. He knows he buried that thing deep in his drawer. He did it on purpose. “’S fine.” He mumbles, still dazed.

You glance at him as you carefully balance the tray on your hand. The printer is dealing ticket after ticket of drinks as Price enters them – the man looks at Simon with a frustrated, tight-lipped glare, working double-time to push orders through.

“I’ll be back to grab the rest.” You say quickly. You scurry off, careful to avoid slamming into anyone this time. Simon nearly has a heart attack when he sees his last name across your back. You might as well have his bite mark branded onto the side of your neck.

This opens up a nasty can of worms for him. He’s a goner – he’s thinking about chasing you around the bar, after hours, while all you’re wearing is his shirt; snatching you up and slamming you down on the bar, shoving his face in between your thighs; what you sound like when he pumps you with his fingers; pounding you against the wall in the office, hips crashing into yours as he growls and grunts in your ear, “wanna wear my fuckin’ name, baby? hmm? wanna make sure everyone in this fuckin’ pub knows you’re mine? I’ll gladly fuckin’ help you, fuckin’ tease-“; god, he needs you, he needs to know what you feel like wrapped around his dick, what you sound like when he’s reaching those spots, he needs your nails in his back and your palm smacking him across his face and your teeth on his neck-

“Simon!”

John’s- no, Captain Price’s voice shuts off the movie playing in his mind. He looks at him, barely recognizing the growing frustration in his eyes – Simon’s fighting his own demons right now, and he isn’t even sure if his Captain’s wrath can save him.

“Stop thinkin’ with your Pork Sword and get your arse back on bar.” Price barks – a few of the regulars laugh at that, and Simon realizes he’d had an audience.

He clears his throat and grabs a ticket, quickly reading it and grabbing a glass. He forces himself to let go of the fantasy – he’ll have all night to think about it once he closes. That, or he’ll be hating himself for even thinking of you in that way, especially when the situation wasn’t in your favor. For now, though, he’s got a job to do. He continues to pour and stir and shake drinks left and right, occasionally stealing glances at you, prancing around with his title.

He knows one thing’s for certain – your bra is still somewhere in his room.