#when I don’t have the right to be that at all

[makismei]

cw: pleasure dom toji!!!, overstim, he’s sweet, squirting. 18+ content, penetration, little hint of anal play, fingering, oral f! receiving, established relationship

“baby, chill out,” he scolds, grabbing you by the hips and dragging you back. he knocks your legs open and you whimper, resisting.

“tojiii,” you whine, all drawn out and pretty, “please, it’s too much, i can’t cum.”

he scoffs, wet fingers rubbing against your pussy. your body locks up and he holds back a groan at the tears in your eyes. “it’s only too much because you can’t stay still. you did this to yourself, doll.”

you shake your head, stubborn as ever. “‘s not my fault! you just suck!”

eye twitching, toji presses two fingers inside without warning. “i think i’ve been too nice to you, baby.” he hums, scissoring his fingers and relishing in the way your back arches. “look at ya, talking back to me.”

he thrusts his digits, forcing your leg to open wider, while his thumb massages your clit. he presses down, applying pressure and making out little shapes.

you wriggle, tears pooling in your eyes like the drama queen you are. “no! not like thaaaat!”

“why, baby?” he questions, “you cum so quick when i have ya like this.”

you whine loudly, legs starting to shake. toji licks his lips, eyes training hungrily on your cunt. you’re almost there, but you’re fighting the urge to cum, knowing it pisses him off.

it makes him regret the fact he used to make you hold back your orgasms, only letting you cum if he said so—because now look, you’re using it against him.

but toji is competitive and he loves to win.

so he crooks his fingers just right, hooking onto that one spongey spot that guarantees his victory every. single. time.

“yeah,” he goads, watching your body suddenly lock up and wetness spew from your pussy like a geyser, “‘s what i thought.”

he rubs your pussy, just to make your squirt splash around. it’s humiliating, how he toys with your body and forces you into endless pleasure until you go stupid.

but you love it, despite the fact you like resisting, toji knows all too well that it’s just an act.

you turn onto your side, quivering from the aftershocks of your orgasm.

wordlessly, he manhandles you onto your knees, shoving your face into the mattress. you moan at the feeling of his tongue lapping at your pussy, muffling a scream when his lips latch onto your swollen clit and suck, his tongue playfully flicking your little bud.

he alternates between nibbling and sucking, reducing you to a babbling, incoherent disaster.

“cumming!” you warn, more squirt splashing shamelessly onto his face and all over the sheets. you fall forward, head turned to the side and panting.

“what a mess,” he chides, clicking his tongue. “aren’t ya ashamed?”

it’s teasing, but you’re so turned on. you hike up your knees again, wiggling your ass enticingly. you look over your shoulder, pouting. “‘m sorry, toji. didn’t mean to be messy.”

“sorry?” he asks, frantically you nod. burly hand slides up and down his cock, catching your slit and using your fluids as lube. his gaze flits to you momentarily, “yer really sorry?”

you nod again, squirming, “i am! m’ so sorry.”

toji grins, watching his cock disappear into your cunt, “then cum for me again, c’mon, hurry.”

you yell, arms unable to hold yourself up.

he plows into you mercilessly, fingers digging into the plush of your ass. your eyes widen when you feel his thumb on your other hole, rubbing it teasingly.

“what if i put my thumb in here, baby? what do you think will happen?” you feel a line of spit hit your ass, his thumb collecting it before returning to teasing your other hole. “remember your little treasure chest? swore i saw some plugs in there..”

weakly, you try to support yourself on shaky arms, moaning incoherently. “i— toji, i… ahh, mmph!”

you fall back down, face first, and he just laughs, “s’ okay, you don’t have’ta say anything. ya know why?” he goads, thrusting just a little bit harder, teasing you. “‘cause your little pussy is telling me all i need to know.”

toji groans and it’s loud, feeling your cunt squeeze down, trying to milk him for everything he’s worth. “that’s right,” draping himself over your back, his hand sneaks its way to flick your bud, relishing in your squeals and they way your body squirms.

“cum, pretty, c’mon,” he breathes, leaving spit-soaked kisses on your back, “need ya to feel good for me.”

he sings praises in your ear when he hears you gush all over the already damp sheets, moaning into your skin as his thrusts grow sloppy, before he’s dumping wads of hot cum into your battered pussy.

“fuck me,” he sighs, dragging his lips along your shoulder blades and nape, hips still pushing into your ass.

you’re whining, tears blurring your vision as you ride out the pleasure toji relentlessly gives. you’ve fallen into prone bone, too fucked out to utter words besides incoherent babbles.

his hands find purchase beside your head, dropping to his forearms, but refusing to pull out but littering your skin with feverish kisses, “did so good for me, sweets.”

he’s reassuring, knowing it’s intense for you. but toji has a mean streak that he likes to keep up, so naturally he’s teasing. “my baby, so fucked out, huh? it’s okay, you’re so cute like this. always so sweet after i dick you down enough.”

he pulls out, knocking your legs apart to watch his cum drool out of your slit. “mm, yer perfect, baby.”

you flop onto your back, pinching toji’s arm and refusing to look him in the eye. he grins, “what? you want a kiss?”

you nod slowly, cheeks burning. he just knows you too well.

but he complies, all too easily. it’s you, after all.

swallowing up your little moans, he devours your lips, pushing his tongue into your mouth. burly hands cup your face, opening his eyes to see yours squeezed shut. he grins, biting your lower lip when he pulls away.

rough thumbs wipe your teary cheeks. “there’s your kiss, baby. you happy?”

“yeah…” you mutter, eyelashes fluttering as you look up at him. “another one?”

he smiles and it’s warm and full of love, leaning down, toji brushes his lips against yours. “sure doll, anything you want.”

[moechies]

nanami who has you impaled deep on his cock, hands restraining your tiny, quivery wrists.

you’ve been a bad girl.

fussing over the smallest inconsistencies throughout your day spent with your dearest fiance — having taken a day off to spend with his darling girl. but you’re a brat — there’s no doubt about it. nonetheless, it’s kento’s responsibility to put you back in your place, turn you back into the pliant, nice, and smart woman he knows you to be.

so when you begin to act indifferent than your usual self, slamming cabinets with a mean force and glaring off at your fiancé at his feeble attempts to comfort and confront you, he knows you’re feeling off.

and he knows it’s not your fault — you’re big on emotions but hefty weak when it comes to communication. so, he’ll just have to force it out of you.

so that’s how he forced you here — mindlessly bouncing atop his cock with your arms confined and pressed roughly against the concave of your back. your consistency is mindless, allowing your little pussy and those weak thighs of yours to think for you as your mushed little head spits out scenarios in order to calm your fiancé.

“do it correctly. i know you can.” the man grumbles, sitting himself up against the soft pillows with a rough readjusting to your sore wrists. they ache — having being pressed against eachother for nearly an hour, and your fiancé having no intention to release them any time soon.

you writhe in his grip, crying out his name with a soft whine as a peace offer for mercy, any mercy.

“correct your posture and straighten your thighs. like i taught you many times before. don’t tell me you forgot, darling.” he eyes you condescendingly, sighing with a disappointed demeanor that has you whimpering.

“y—yhes.. yes sir!” and you do just as he says, straightening your back and stretching out your legs. it takes you a weak couple of grinds before you manage to find a suiting pace — although slow but kento deems it acceptable.

“well done. now,” kento grunts, “tell me what’s gotten you so fussy today. will you?”

you huff, shaking your head softly with an adorable pout, increasing the speed of your pace in hopes to lose the man in his thoughts with your hips.

“now now,” kento warns, his free hand, the right one coming up to squeeze at your cheeks, his calloused thumb jabbing into your right dimple, the rest of his hand laying tight against your left. “we’re not about to play the guessing game.”

you squeak in pain, eyes closing shut which forces the previously bubbling tears to spill over your lash line.

“speak up, darling, or you won’t be cumming anytime soon. i can promise you that.” he growls — which is his last and final warning, an assertion of dominance you’ve only seen once long before.

“i—i—“

nanami removes his grip from your face, a contradicting thumb that comes to wipe at your tears so sweetly you might just cry again.

“wa—wan’ you to put a baby in m—me already,” you hiccup, “wan’a have your kids, k—ken.” finally, you crack.

nanami cums.

you squeak inevitably, not expecting the sudden fill in your womb, thick ropes of spent painting your walls white and filling your tummy. “o—oh shhh—shit.” nanami whines, cursing himself when he feels it leak against his tummy. your hips slow, meaning to stop, “no.. don’t stop. keeping going, l—love. until you can’t, for me.”

you nod shakily, hiccuping softly when you hear the man chuckle, leaning back against the headboard with a weary stare. “that’s it, doll? you’ve been so fussy, so mean all day just because you wanted me to breed this little w—womb? aw.” nanami coos, and you can’t help but feel the slightest bit embarrassed. you’re quick to pout again at his teasing, but your ploy is quickly shocked to failure when he presses harshly against the chub of your tummy — directly atop your womb.

“darling, you must communicate. how would i have known you’d ask of s—something so simple?”nanami stutters when you drop onto his lap, situating yourself tiredly onto him. “i just— ‘s-s embarrassing.” you whimper in response, lifting your head to receive a gentle kiss from the man.

kento’s quick to flip you over, quick enough that you don’t even notice your hot body against the cool sheets with your fiancés cock still impaled deep into you. “no worries now, it’s all done.” nanami grins, “now all i’ve got left to do is make my woman feel good, isn’t that right?”

[catchastarorten]

—One more game.

Pairing: the salesman (gong yoo) x winner!fem!reader

Summary: a year after winning your games, an unexpected guest shows up at your door, offering to play one more game of ddakji with you, just for the fun of it, and because you're his favorite winner.

Warnings: mentions of trauma, mentions of blood and gore, violence (basically just you smacking him a lot lol), masochism (<- on him, if you squint really hard?), English isn’t my first language, mistakes should be present, sorry!

Word count: ~ 1k

You almost didn’t answer the door.

It was late—the kind of late where the silence pressed in too close and left you too alone for your thoughts. The rain tapped against the windows felt louder than it should. You hadn’t been expecting anyone. Not anymore, anyways.

Your thoughts drifted to that moment. When you stood on that playground that reflected a childish innocence, yet your hands were trembling, blood drying beneath your nails and painted across your teal uniform, the sound of the final breath and the plea that the other player let out before you swung down the knife with a cold precision that pierced him right through the head. It was over. You won. But it never felt like you were the winner.

The knock had been deliberate, sharp. Three steady raps, not the kind delivered by accident or from someone who might go away if ignored, it broke you out of your haze.

You told yourself you weren’t afraid as you approached, but your heartbeat felt too loud in your ears. Your fingers curled around the lock, hesitating for just a second. Then, you opened it.

And there he was.

The salesman.

You hadn’t seen him since the same rainy day where he found you in the subway station, drenched and cold, in debt—out of money, when he offered to play a simple game of ddakji with you. Not since he handed you a card with a number on the back and disappeared without a trace.

Yet here he stood, wearing the same tailored suit, sharp as ever. His face was unchanged—calm, composed, as if this was just another evening, another game. But it wasn’t.

You could tell by the way his eyes softened the moment they met yours.

He didn’t speak right away. His gaze swept over your face, tracing every detail, as if cataloging how you’d changed. Or maybe searching for the cracks left behind.

Then, his hand lifted.

The red and blue ddakji were already there, pinched between his fingers as though they’d never left. Worn slightly at the edges, but still bold in color. Waiting.

“Care for another game?” His voice was smooth, calm. Too calm.

Your stomach twisted.

The paper. The slap. The start of everything that seemed to haunt you.

It all came back too easily—how the game had started with that simple challenge, the humiliating sting of his palm every time you lost. Until you hadn’t. Until you’d proven you could be a winner, until he handed you that card as a congratulations.

“No.” Your voice came out flat. You started to close the door.

His foot shifted forward, not blocking but close enough that the message was clear: not yet.

“You don’t seem so sure.” His gaze lingered, voice quieter now. More dangerous in its softness. “You’ve played before.”

You swallowed, hating how he made it sound like a compliment. Like something to be proud of.

“I don’t play anymore,” you said, sharper this time.

His lips parted like he might argue, but then—he smiled. It wasn’t smug. Not mocking. Something else entirely. You hated how it made your skin prickle.

His head tilted slightly, fingers flexing around the ddakji. “You won, though. You survived. Out of all of them… you were quite ruthless.”

You shouldn’t have let him say that. But it was too late. Something inside you cracked.

Your hand shot out before you fully registered the movement. A sharp, stinging crack as your palm met his cheek, the impact louder than you expected in the quiet.

He barely moved.

He just stood there, lips parted slightly in surprise. And then—he smiled again, slower this time, his head tipping back, exposing the faint pink blooming across his cheekbone in the dim lights.

It felt less satisfying that he just let the pain settle there.

“There’s that fire,” he said, his voice taunting. “The same fire that got you through the games, that made you kill all those people, hm? I always knew you had it.”

Another slap, harder this time. His head jerked slightly with the force of it, his cheek flushing a deeper red. He exhaled softly, just a breath, but it sounded too much like a gasp, like something he’d been holding back.

And when his eyes met yours again— no smile. Not this time. Just a flicker of something you couldn't understand.

His hand shifted between you, lifting the ddakji slightly as if to remind you why he was here.

“You’ll have to win first,” he said, voice hoarse but playful. “Before you keep doing that.”

The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife, the air too still.

You snatched the red ddakji from his hand, the paper crinkling slightly as your fingers curled around it.

The game began like it had before. The slap of paper against the floor. The silence between rounds, broken only by breath and the occasional hiss when a piece landed just wrong.

But it wasn’t like before, not really.

Because you felt his presence too closely now—the way he watched you, not just your hands but your face, your mouth, your eyes. As if he was searching for cracks in your mask.

So you played harder. Sharper.

And then you won.

The blue ddakji flipped with a sharp slap, the smooth side landing face up, and you felt the victory surge in your chest—not just from the game, but because of him.

Your eyes met his, he didn’t speak, didn’t flinch when your palm connected with his face a third time, but this time—his breath hitched. A subtle, almost imperceptible sound, but it was there.

And his gaze? It was the same as before. The same as that first night when he watched you fight for your life with nothing but paper and desperation.

He took a step back, finally breaking the moment. Rain whispered against the window, the only sound in the room now.

He bent down and picked up the red and blue ddakji, stuffing them into his pockets as his smile returned, and you could've sworn you saw a hint of pride in his eyes.

“Still a fighter,” he hummed.

[greengoblinswifey]

Little Do You Know—Player 001/Hwang In Ho x Fem!Reader

summary—after making a passing remark on the possibility of the front man being attractive, your crush on young-il who unbeknownst to you is the front man, boils over. based on this request.

warnings�� flirting, oral(f&m receiving), praising, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie.

The group sat gathered around with a small meal, the kind of makeshift dinner that felt comforting despite the bleak circumstances. Gi-hun leaned back, his arms crossed, recounting some story about the Front Man. “I’m telling you, he has cameras everywhere. He probably sees and hears everything we’re saying.”

The mood was tense, as it often was when the Front Man became the topic of conversation. But your lips twitched upward, a thought making you suppress a giggle.

Dae-ho, ever the curious one, caught it immediately. “What’s so funny?” he asked, narrowing his eyes in your direction.

You waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, nothing. It’s silly. Forget it.”

Young-il, sitting across from you, tilted his head slightly, his expression soft. “Come on,” he said gently, his voice soothing in a way that made you feel oddly safe. “Anything you have to say, we’ll appreciate. Don’t hold back.”

Encouraged by his tone, you hesitated for just a moment before shrugging. “Alright, but don’t judge me.” You exhaled a breathy laugh, looking down at your lap for a second before glancing back up. “What if the Front Man is, like—really hot?”

The reaction was instant. Dae-ho choked on his milk, sputtering, while Jun-Hee’s eyes widened slightly before she went back to eating as if she hadn’t heard you. Even Jung-Bae, usually laid back, looked at you like you’d just grown a second head.

“Seriously?” Gi-hun said, shaking his head in disbelief. “That’s what you’re concerned about?”

“What?” you asked defensively, your shoulders lifting in mock innocence. “I’m just saying. It’s possible!”

Gi-hun groaned, covering his face with his hands. “We’re talking about a guy who might be orchestrating all this madness, and you’re worried if he’s good-looking?”

Before you could respond, your eyes flicked to Young-il. Everyone else was either laughing awkwardly or shaking their heads, but Young-il wasn’t saying a word. Instead, a subtle smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, almost imperceptible to anyone else. Almost.

Your gaze stayed on him for a moment, your brow quirking as you tilted your head slightly in return, a silent question hanging between the two of you. His smirk deepened just enough for you to catch the meaning, amusement, maybe even intrigue, but he quickly smoothed his expression before anyone else noticed. He was hot too, you thought.

Gi-hun, still shaking his head, muttered, “Out of everything you could be thinking about.”

“Well, excuse me for lightening the mood,” you shot back playfully, rolling your eyes. “It’s not like I said I wanted to marry him or something. Geez.”

As the group moved on, you couldn’t help but replay the moment in your head. Maybe you were overthinking it, but wasn’t Young-il’s smirk a little too knowing? Or maybe it was just your ridiculous crush on him twisting your perception. You’d never admit it out loud, but you found yourself drawn to his quiet confidence, the calm authority he exuded even in casual moments like this.

It was ironic, really, here you were crushing on Young-il while joking about the Front Man. Little did you know, the very man you were teasing about might as well have been sitting right in front of you, wearing the mask in plain sight.

You shook the thought off with a small laugh. Overthinking, as usual. Still, when Young-il glanced your way again, his gaze warm and unreadable, you couldn’t stop your stomach from fluttering.

The night had settled into a familiar stillness, broken only by the occasional shuffle of someone shifting in their sleep. You couldn’t sleep, your earlier exchange with Young-il replaying in your mind. That smirk, so brief, had lodged itself in your thoughts.

You were still awake when he appeared, his footsteps quiet as he approached where you lay, tucked into a dim corner of the quarters. He didn’t say anything at first, just crouched down beside you, his dark eyes searching yours.

“Can’t sleep either?” he asked softly.

“Guess not,” you replied.

He tilted his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Still thinking about the Front Man being hot?”

“I didn’t mean to make it weird,” you said laughing and flustered.

“You didn’t,” he assured you. “But if I didn’t know better, I’d say you might have a type.”

Your cheeks warmed under his words, and you rolled your eyes, trying to deflect. “Oh, come on. I was joking.”

“Were you?” he teased, his smile widening just a bit.

You were about to retort, but something in his expression stopped you. His hand, warm and steady, brushed against your cheek, lingering for just a moment before he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“You know,” he said, his tone teasing, “if you wanted to get something off your chest, now’s the time.”

Your breath hitched. “What are you trying to say, Young-il?”

“Just that I’m here,” he replied, “If there’s something you want.”

His words sent a jolt through you, and before you could second guess yourself, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his. The kiss started slow, testing the waters, but quickly deepened as his hand came up to cradle your face.

The thought of the games seemed to fall away as you lost yourself in the way his lips moved against yours. His hands were firm but gentle, holding your face as the kiss turned hungrier, more insistent. His fingers found their way into your hair, tugging slightly, drawing a low moan from him that you quickly stifled.

“Quiet,” he murmured against your lips, a teasing smirk playing on his face as his thumb brushed over your cheek. “We wouldn’t want to wake anyone, would we?”

Your heart raced as his lips moved to your neck, his hands on your waist as he guided you back against the small bed. He trailed kisses down your chest, his kisses slow and savoring every moment.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

A soft gasp escaped your lips as his kisses grew bolder, trailing lower. He pulled off your bottoms and your lace panties, tongue licking from your hole to your clit. The way he did it so suddenly, so smoothly, made your pussy throb. You instinctively bit down on your lip, your hands fisting the fabric beneath you as you fought to keep your composure.

“Relax,” he whispered. “Let me taste you.”

His hands slid down your thighs, spreading them open as he adjusted your position. He glanced up at you, his dark eyes meeting yours with a glimmer of mischief and tenderness. You pressed your lips together tightly, his skilled tongue flicking your clit then moving to your leaking hole.

“Don’t hold back too much,” he murmured, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “I want to hear those pretty moans, just a little.”

Your cheeks warmed at his words, his tone leaving you breathless. You felt the warmth of his fingertips on your thighs and the tenderness of his kisses on your pussy, and his praises were a quiet balm to the storm of emotions swirling inside you because of the game.

“You taste so fucking good,” he whispered. “You’re perfect.”

Your fingers gripped his shoulders as he continued ravishing your pussy, mouth engulfing you and sucking as though the meal from earlier wasn’t enough. He was attentive to your pleasure, fingers pumping steadily inside your pussy as sucked and flicked your clit with precision. The precision you expected and appreciated in an older man. No one had ever made you feel this good. The pleasure was otherworldly and your legs shook from it all.

The coil in your abdomen and euphoria built with every passing second and you had to clamp a hand over your mouth to keep quiet. His words and actions blurred together, creating a warmth that left you trembling. When his tongue brought you to your peak, you bit down on your lip to stifle a cry, your entire body shuddering as he pressed a soft kiss to your clit.

“You did amazing,” he said softly, his lips brushing against your ear as he leaned closer.

You gently nudged Young-il to lie back, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “My turn,” you murmured, your fingers grazing the waistband of his bottoms.

He raised an eyebrow, a chuckle escaping him, but there was no mistaking the lust in his gaze. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you interrupted softly.

Slowly, you slid his bottoms down, taking in the sight of his, long, thick cock with a mixture of nervousness and determination. He was big, but you could take him. His sharp inhale was audible as your lips wrapped around the head, his hand instinctively brushing against your cheek as you went down.

“You’re too good to me,” he whispered, his voice low and tinged with awe.

Your fingers wrapped around his girth, careful and deliberate, and you began to stroke as you sucked with a rhythm that earned a quiet moan from him. The sound sent a shiver down your spine, but you focused, letting his quiet praises guide you.

“Just like that,” he murmured, his fingers threading in your curls. “You’re doing so well.”

You glanced up at him, mouth full, eyes watering and saliva mixed with pre cum dripping down your chin. Your cheeks warmed from his words and the darkness of his gaze. The way he looked at you like you were the most beautiful little thing in the world as you took him down your throat made your heart race. You bobbed your head faster, using as much tongue as you could on his thick shaft, your actions conveying what words couldn’t.

The effect was immediate. His head fell back against the pillow, a low moan escaping him as his free hand gripped the fabric beneath him.

“God, you’re incredible,” he said, his voice rough. “That pretty face of yours, how will I last?”

You couldn’t help but smile with his cock buried in your throat, your movements continued, now slower and purposeful as you went up and down. His breathing grew heavier, and his hand in your hair tightened slightly as he struggled to maintain composure.

“You’re too good,” he managed, his voice breaking slightly. “I—”

Before he could finish, the coil in him snapped, and his praises were replaced with a low, drawn out moan of relief. You swallowed the ropes of hot cum, watching as he tried to catch his breath, his gaze locking with yours almost immediately.

“You’re perfect,” he said, his tone full of affection and disbelief. He reached out to cup your face, pulling you closer until his lips pressed against yours, savoring the taste of himself on your lips.

Your confidence emboldened by the way he looked at you with dazed, lust filled eyes. His hands still rested on your waist, fingers brushing your skin as you leaned into him, your voice soft but teasing.

“Can I ride you?” you asked, pussy aching for him.

His lips curved into a smile, his thumbs drawing slow circles on your hips. “Anything you want, princess,” he murmured.

You bit your lip as you shifted, settling over his hard cock with a nervous laugh that he silenced by cupping your cheek. “Take your time,” he said.

When you finally sank down onto his length, his hands gripped your hips firmly, guiding you with a steady rhythm that sent shivers down your spine. The quiet moan he let out made you even wetter, and you instinctively leaned forward, resting your hands on his chest for balance.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice rough but filled with admiration. “You ride me so well, just like that.”

His praises made you bolder, and you bounced on his cock with more confidence, your breathing shallow as he let his hands roam, one sliding up to gently cup your tits. The warmth of his touch made you bite back a moan and his eyes darkened as he noticed.

“You’ve got to be quiet pretty girl,” he whispered, his hands still steadying you. “Think you can do that?”

You nodded quickly, though the feeling building inside you made it harder with every moment. His grip on your hips tightened, and he thrusted up into you, the two of you finding a rhythm that made it impossible to focus on anything but how he stretched your pussy. He was so big, your pussy was sure to remember the shape of his cock after you were done.

“I want to cum with you,” you admitted breathlessly, leaning down so your lips were close to his ear. “Inside me.”

Young-il’s breath hitched, his eyes meeting yours with pure lust. A slow smirk spread across his face. “Beg for it,” he whispered.

Your cheeks burned, but the desire in his gaze made you bold. “Please,” you murmured, leaning closer. “I want you to cum with me. Please.”

He groaned softly, his hands gripping your hips even tighter. “Good girl,” he praised, his voice unsteady. “Just hold on to me.”

The pleasure between you reached its peak as his praises and your whispered pleas filled the air. When the release finally came, it was almost overwhelming, and you buried your face against his neck to stifle the moan that threatened to escape. His hands held you firmly in place as he came with you, cum spurting inside you while you soaked his cock, his breaths ragged but filled with relief.

“You’re amazing,” he murmured after a long pause, brushing stray strands of hair from your face. His gaze softened as he pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You couldn’t help but smile, your heart racing as you settled against him. “So are you,” you whispered back, letting the moment linger in the quiet comfort of his embrace.

[mostly-imagines]

You knew Damian would take his time getting adjusting to your presence. Of course he would. He’s even slower to warm up than Jason, you knew it before you’d even met him. So you’d had no idea you were even within a five year shot of him even liking you, let alone trusting you.

In spite of it nearing one in the morning, you laid atop your bed covers, watching your shows with passing interest. You’re waiting up for Jason like you usually do, you have a hard time sleeping not knowing if he’s okay or not. He hates it when you do, he says just because he has to be up all night doesn’t mean you do. Unfortunately for him, you’re nothing if not stubborn.

A clatter from the living room has you perking up—Jason’s back. It’s a little early for him to be home already though, and he’s not usually so loud upon re entry unless he’s hurt.

You stand quickly, tossing the book aside, and mentally prepare yourself to tend to injuries.

You open the door to the dark room, the only light available coming from the dim lamp in the kitchen and the moonlight through the open window.

It takes your eyes a moment to adjust, scanning the room only to find a figure much, much smaller than expected.

“Damian?”

He looks at you through the darkness, silent. You approach him slowly.

“Hey. Are you hurt?” You ask, getting a bit concerned. Of all Jason’s brothers, Damian is the least likely to drop in, especially unharmed.

“No.” Damian’s always standoff-ish, but he’s exhibiting a particularly strange energy right now. You wonder if he needs something Jason could help with.

“Jason’s not here,” you tell him, watching him closely for any sign of what’s going on.

“I know.” His words are short, measured.

If he knows, that means he was with him tonight. Then why would he come here?

“Is everything okay?”

He says nothing. His gaze is lasered onto a panel of wood among the floorboards, jaw clenched.

You tilt your head. “Do you want to stay here tonight?”

He hesitates to answer but it seems like he does want to stay. You don’t know Damian anywhere near as well as Jason does, but you can’t imagine he’s ever seen or shown much vulnerability before.

He seems to decide on biting the bullet and nodding, yes. You make your way around the couch and sit down, looking to him.

Slowly, he does the same, in absolute silence. He sits stiff. His shoulders are hunched up and his body is tightly pressed into the smallest space possible. The way his posture curls in on him makes him look even tinier.

You’ve never seen him anywhere close to upset before, not like this. Most of the time you see him he’s an angry upset, but this…it’s a sad upset. Almost scared.

You fold your legs onto the couch, pulling a blanket off from the ledge behind you. You drape it over Damians shoulders, enveloping him in warmth to contrast the icy bite of the night. He remains still.

You slowly move your hand up to his hair, treading carefully. He’s watching you out of the corner of his eye, though he makes no moves to stop you. You take that as the closest to a blessing you’re going to get from him, so you continue on.

You brush his hair back lightly, fingers threading through his hair with a loving gentleness.

“Damian,” You whisper.

He doesn’t look at you. Even in the dark, you can see his breathing labored and his eyes starting to well over.

You turn to face him and shift a little closer, taking his hand in yours. His chin lowers and his stare hardens, trying desperately not to cry.

You bring your free hand to the far side of his head, gently nudging him your way. He folds immediately, turning to you and throwing himself into your chest, tears flowing violently.

He struggles to breathe right, choking on his sobs as he hugs you tight. You hold his head against you, stroking his hair as he weeps.

You hold him like that for almost half an hour, allowing him as much time to cry as he needs.

He ends up curled up on your lap at an awkward angle, head resting on your thigh. The shaking of his body slows over time, his eyes fluttering shut from the ache of the tears. Not long after, his breathing levels out and his body completely relaxes into sleep.

You continue petting his head, mind wandering around to what could’ve happened. Jason had told you once that the only thing Damian seems to hold in high regard is Bruce, and his mood can easily sway Damian’s.

It’s almost three am when Jason slides in through the window, landing gracefully into a kneel. He tugs off his helmet before looking up and noticing you on the couch.

A split second of a smile before he glances down and sees Damian asleep on your lap, his arms still wrapped around your waist. His mouth drops and his brows furrows as he stands, examining his brother.

“What the hell?” He says quietly, looking back up to you.

You shake your head and shrug your shoulders, “I don’t know. Did something happen on patrol?”

Jason’s eyes drift down to Damian again. “I mean Bruce kind of yelled at him, so.”

“That’ll do it.”

He nods, coming to sit on the opposite side of the couch, careful not to wake him. He observes his brother's vice grip around your middle and your much more gentle hold around his.

“He let you hug him?”

“He hugged me.”

“He what?”

[webism]

You make a spur-of-the-moment detour to your exes house on his birthday.

ex!Toji Fushiguro x afab reader. 4.2k. read on ao3

cw: a little bit o' angst, some drinking, oral (reader receiving), unprotected sex, toji doesnt wash his sheets i know it.

One dark night cursed with rain is all it takes to bring you back to Toji’s front door. Knuckles rapping on wood despite your own mind— it’s the warmest night of the week, humidity seeps into your bones. 

Toji opens his door and greets you with silence. You stand, a vision of something desperate. The man who had once loved you so tenderly watches you with stale eyes. You feel sick for remembering it’s his birthday. You also feel sick knowing he’s spent it in this damn house.

Not a word is shared, sweet nor acidic. Oh your Toji, stoic and silent. Not a thing has changed. 

He steps to the side, offering you refuge from the dreary weather. His eyes are on his driveway, left empty: you walked here. It’s apparent in the way your hair shines wet with rain. 

He used to lecture you for having wet hair in late hours like this, even when it’s warm. His mother used to tell him, hand gentle on the side of his face, ‘Toji, you’ll get a cold.’ 

He’s silent still as you walk past him, and cross the threshold into the house you used to waste away in. You don’t bother to take your shoes off: maybe in an attempt to convince yourself not to stay long. Though you do feel hauntingly warm trapped within such cold walls. 

The door clicks shut. Twelve seconds of silence ensue— you count. 

His first word, “Wine?” 

You ponder the butterfly effect. What total disaster will occur as a result of playing into this fever you’ve been having? How many casualties will you be accountable for? Will blood stain your hands? An ugly pit settles in your stomach. 

You nod regardless, there’s nothing in this house that can’t be nursed with a drink. Toji nods and god have you missed those eyes that soften just a little at the corners when he looks at you.

He only has the cheap stuff, and he has to shuffle through a few empty bottles to find it. Red. It pours smooth, Toji’s hands tight on the neck of the bottle as he bleeds it for you. The rain outside gets heavier: you think of it as a sign you left at the right time. Though, if you hadn’t left at all you’d still be dry. 

It’s been months since your last drink. You down the glass in two sips, you hate the taste but accept when Toji offers you another. What’s a night like this without relapse?

A step forward. 

“This place hasn’t changed,” you note, watching as Toji walks from kitchen to living room, steps heavy and haunting. He stands a few feet from you, back pressed against the wall. “You should move into something more comfortable.”

“A townhouse?” He teases you.

Yes. A townhouse like you. Yours, maybe— or the one across the road that’s just gone up for sale. It has a privacy screen you know he’d love and no broken tiles and no bad memories. You could walk the hot pavement to ask for some sugar when you’re out, and he could tell you he doesn’t have any, because why would he have sugar? And when you would go home deflated, he would run out to buy a bag of sugar, two— one white and one brown because you never specified— and leave them at your front door. Yes. A townhouse. 

“No,” you look down. “You’re not a townhouse type of man.”

Toji exhales. He asks you, in a tone laced with something dark, what type of man he is. 

You gesture around you, the wallpaper is beginning to peel. He’s this type of man.

Toji looks at you, and he asks ‘why are you here? it’s been a year and your life is finally stable again,’ but he asks with his eyes, because those words would never leave his lips. You hate that you can still read him. You wonder if you’ll speak his language forever. 

“Happy birthday,” you say. “I didn’t get you anything.”

Silence, and then– “good.”

You could have emptied your wallet for him with ease. You know he needs things: new socks, a watch that isn't broken, a new beginning. Toji has never taken anything from you though, not gifts or favours or cuddles after sex. You hate that about him: always a provider, never being cared for. Such a shell of a happy man, you count yourself special for having seen him smile. Such gifts have always been your favourite.

“How's…” he trails off, a frail attempt at not suffocating you in the silence he knows you hate. The words don't meet his lips, though: how's your new life? Finally on a comfortable wage? And how are the neighbours? Are they noisy like mine are? Do you stay up laughing at their awkward sex noises like we did? Do you fuck a warm body to drown them out just like us? Do you live trying to recreate domestic life with me? Do you miss the filth? The broken sleep? Were you ever happy? Why are you here?

Toji  bites his tongue. “More wine?”

“No, thanks.”

The rain continues. Despite the roof over your head, you feel heavy with water: something uneasy settles inside of you, and Toji steps closer. He’s wearing black, as usual, and his sleeves are short so you're able to notice he’s added onto his tattoos. Your initial still sits untouched just by his elbow, he’s held onto at least some of you.

Maybe words don’t need to be shared. You step forward. He follows suit.

Before you can stop yourself, you are standing toe-to-toe with Toji Fushiguro. You can watch his shoulders raise with each deep breath he takes, and as you lift your gaze, you look death in the eyes. Sorcerer killer. As beautiful as ever. 

You feel small and powerless, without purpose or justification. Must you always think for yourself? You’re tired of wrestling with that mind of yours. In the cold house you once shared with him, you suddenly forget how to make good decisions. You raise your hands, and touch his lip with your fingertips. He has a new scar, one that runs from the corner of his mouth downwards. You want to kiss it away. You wonder if he pays it much attention in the mirror, is the memory of getting it as bad as the memory of you?

“You shouldn't be here,” Toji slips his large hands to your waist. You feel at home. “Left for a better life.”

“Yeah.”

“I can walk you home.”

“Shut up, Toji. It’s your birthday.”

Relapse: god it tastes good. Toji kisses you like it’s his first and last taste of you. It's deep and yearning and laced with lust and anger and an awful fear of loss. But at the same time, he kisses you like it’s a tuesday evening, and he's just now home from work and you’ve been busy all day with the house, which is quaint and clean and not run-down like his. Maybe a townhouse.

His tongue slips into your mouth, and he kisses you like he had once planned to on your wedding night: your back hits the wall, but his hand is behind your head to cushion it. A tear slips down your face, overwhelmed by the presence of who has haunted so many of your dreams. You want more of him, you want to indulge yourself on the forbidden: what a taboo his touch has become.

“Please,” you speak against his lips. 

“On the bed.”

Toji steps away from you, and nods down the hall. You know your way, you know this house like it's built from your own bones. Memories flash through your mind with each step you take towards his bedroom, the one that used to be yours, too. You let yourself smile, remembering being carried to bed after a drink too many, or spending hours curled up under the sheets waiting for your love to return home. Eating breakfast in bed together, the sex that would follow.

His footsteps are heavy against the wood behind you, he shadows you as you walk into his room, once yours too. The bed has moved, it’s pushed against the wall now— you suppose there isn’t need for someone else to have room to get in on the other side. You wonder how many people he’s fucked to forget about you in the sheets that used to smell like you. 

You can only worry so much, jealousy doesn’t do one well when it’s barely justified. You sit on the edge of the mattress, running your fingers along the soft covers and try not to think of all the times you've been here before. You used to sit and watch him get dressed, the troublesome time it would take to get his clothes on worth the sight of his bare skin covered to remain for your eyes alone. You’d daydream sometimes of watching him dress for different circumstances; maybe in another life you’d sit in the master bedroom of a townhouse and watch your Toji dress for the picket-fence desk job dream rather than for murder.

And yet, the bed seems to swallow you whole. This room, even after you left, remains half yours. A cursory glance to the wardrobe shows it still half empty, dust laden over the dresser your perfumes once sat atop. The curtains covering his window are the same ones you had picked out on sale in the spirit of making a house a home. You still linger. 

Toji leans against the wall by the window, his toned arms crossed over his chest as he watches you look around. His lips part slowly, but he closes his mouth and clears his throat when you lean back on your elbows. You stare ahead at nothing in particular, thinking of all those nights where you laid awake, watching him in his sleep, worrying about whether he’d come home in a box the following week. You never stopped worrying, really.

With every passing second you feel more and more guilty. Selfish for imposing on Toji's life without you, estranged for leaving a townhouse nine blocks over to return to the home you had left so long ago.

“I miss you,” you say softly.

Toji doesn’t move, doesn’t speak— you can hear the rain worsen outside. You think you’ve fucked things up—ruined the relapse—when Toji pushes himself off the wall and reaches you in two long steps. He looks down at you, large frame towering over your body in a way that makes you feel both small and seen at the same time. You sit in his shadow, under his punitive gaze, looking up at the man you had once promised a forever to. 

Toji leans down, meets you in height and kisses you once again. This time, the kiss is slow, languid and gentle in a way you remember once hating. You’d always yearn for the rough, mean side of Toji that could make you see stars in seconds. You used to want the Zenin to come out and settle your hunger. But now, with the gentle way in which Toji takes your lips between his, you couldn’t imagine wanting anyone but him.

He kisses you like a man home from war which, in a way, he always will be. When his hands come to rest on your waist, you’re confronted by the memories of his touch: soft on your skin, tender and caring despite the roughness of his very being. When he draws your thighs apart and kneels between them, you hate yourself for ever leaving. How cruel you were. 

Toji sets his fingers under the waistband of your pants and pulls them down, panties too, in one swift movement aided only by the raising of your hips. He looks at you, bare and desperate, and his throat goes dry. He tries desperately to clear his mind of all the memories that start like this, with you spread out and laid back in wait of him. He pressed a gentle his to your thigh, then sinks his teeth into your flesh—anything to leave a mark on you again.

“Ow,” you whine, buck your hips up a little in hopes of pleasure to chase the pain. Toji doesn’t relent, he bites your thigh again, this time a little higher. “Toji.”

“Don’t say my name like that,” he growls, catches your skin between his teeth and moves upwards. “Like you’re still used to this. Like we’re fucking for the third time this week. That’s gone.”

You take a breath in and close your eyes. You can feel yourself deflate a little, his words are sharp and poking but his lips are gentle as they kiss over the indentations left by his teeth. Another kiss, even higher, and he’s soon pressing his lips to your clit in something you can only describe as reunion.

It can’t all be gone, because he darts his tongue out to circle around your clit in a way he’s done so much before it’s now muscle memory. As is the way your hips buck upwards just to be caught and pinned by his strong hands. You’re held down and ravaged by your Toji, who dips his tongue down through your folds before latching onto your clit like he’s trying to find comfort in your taste. Maybe he finds it, because he lets out a sigh and presses his forehead to your pelvis as he takes a breath.

“You taste the same,” he mumbles, dipping forward again to practically make out with your cunt. He’s always been messy—hungry. You can feel his scar against you, it’s new and not something you attach to him just yet, but maybe that's a good thing. Your fingers curl into the silk sheets you brought on sale two years ago. 

“Your tongues the same, always fucking teasing.”

“Deal with it.”

You try again to buck your hips up in protest, but his grip on your waist is too wrought. He’s mean, holding you down and denying you the chance to chase pleasure, but he’s always been this way—Toji will do anything to hold control. He returns his attention to your needy clit and eats you out at a pace you can only call familiar: too fucking slow. You want to protest, to whine and beg for more in the hopes his ego will take the buff and make you cum on his tongue, but before you can even part your lips to speak, he’s mumbling against your pussy.

“Just let me savour this.”

Oh and who are you to deny him after so long, after the withdrawals of losing his tongue you’re eager to end it so soon? No, you’re driven by lust and not giving your heart a moment to voice whims. You tighten your grip on the sheets, feel the slow coil in your stomach pull further, and let out a breath. You feel him wholly, each flick of his tongue over your sensitive achey clit, the dig of his thick fingers into your waist, his breath against your skin as he moans into his ministries. 

You’re close before you can start entirely savouring it. “Toji,” you try—but he knows you, he feels it already.

“I know, ma, you can take some more. Know you can, always been a fuckin’ slut for my mouth”

You can’t—you both know it. Toji wants to feel you unravel against his lips and give himself reason to punish you for it. He pushes two fingers into your fluttering cunt and curls them upwards just to torture you further. You’d chide him if you weren’t choking on your moans already, practically begging him with your sweet noises for that oh-so-wanted relief.

And he obliges, of course, because your orgasm is a rarity he used to taste daily. Something he missed, the taste of your relief, the way you’d shake under his touch and let him kiss you better afterwards. He doesn’t deserve you, but he’s been good enough of a man to deserve this, at least once more. 

Your orgasm wracks through you like a wave would a desolate beach in a storm. Emotional. Restorative in a way. Sobering. You half expect your eyes to open and find yourself back at home in the comforts of your new bed with your hand down your pants and your fingers soaked at the thought of your Toji, as so many nights go. But no: he’s here and lapping up your release like a starving man would. 

He stills by your pussy for a few moments, and you know he’s trying to will his erection down even just a little bit. His pants are strained and even friction against the mattress doesn’t do much for him—still, he doesn’t know if you want to take all of him again. He’d be okay with just your taste, but every second that passes without him being inside of you feels somewhat torturous–debilitating. You pick up on his struggles and tug at the strands of black hair you used to shampoo each evening.

“Toji,” you hum. “Want you inside of me. Need to feel it again.”

Your ex lover, though calling him such leaves a horrid taste in your mouth, climbs over you and takes both of your wrists to pin the above your head with one hand. He looks down at you with something in his gaze that you can’t quite pinpoint: anger? Hurt? Heat?

Regardless, he used his free hand to line up with your sopping entrance and push forward. Catching your lips between his in a kiss as he does so, Toji moans into the gasp you let out as he stretches you open. This is hauntingly familiar, the burn of his first thrust—so big that you can’t  completely get used to him no matter how often he’s working you open on his cock. You love it, you’d call yourself an addict if it were appropriate. 

He bottoms out, buries himself to the hilt inside of you and rests his forehead against yours. You half expect him to be mean. He used to fuck you rough when you were together and he was particularly stressed: he’s wrap a strong hand around your throat or push your face into the pillows and fuck you so hard he had to carry you to the shower to clean off. 

But Toji isn’t rough, even with his cock splitting you open and the anger of your leaving, he isn’t rough. He lets your wrists go and moves his hand to cup your face and just stare for a moment. You know the look in his eyes too well, something overwhelming washes over him, and you swear you can see a slight tremble to his lips. He’s beyond beautiful, eyes darting all over your face in hopes of memorising your every feature—as if you’re not already burnt into his mind. Like you’re not what he sees whenever he closes his eyes. 

“Too much?” you ask, feeling the tremor in his hands. 

Toji looks down at you and, with a dry mouth, manages a small “yeah.”

Your hand finds his face, thumb tracing over the scar on his lip in gentle strokes. Something soothing, you hope, for a man far from finding comfort. “You wanna stop?”

“God no,” Toji shakes his head. “Do you want to, uh—”

“Flip us over, Fushiguro.”

With his length still hidden inside of you, Toji swiftly flips the both of you over so that his back hits the mattress and you’re sat on his cock and staring down at him for once. His hands find your hips, still with a slight tremor to his grip but a little more comfort than before. Gravity helps you take Toji a little deeper than you had, so you lean forward a little and rest your hands on his chest. His heart thrums beneath your touch, not quite pounding but fast enough to make you smile.

“Let me take care of you,” you roll your hips a little. “It’s your birthday, after all.”

Toji looks almost like he’s going to protest, but ultimately takes his bottom lip between his teeth and nods; letting you slide up on his cock just to drop yourself back down. “Fuck, I–” 

He trails off, eyes screwed chut, and you lean forward to kiss the subtle curve of his nose. “You what?”

“I missed you,” his eyes are glossed when he opens them again to meet yours. You only get a glimpse of them before you’re pressing your lips to his in lieu of a million things you want to say to him. “Fucking missed you.”

Pulling away, you lift your hips up, feel the drag of his cock leaving you empty before you drop back down again and make the both of you moan in tandem with each other. Your eyes lock, his start to pool with tears. You can’t tell if he’s overwhelmed or upset or starting to be fucked so dumb he’s gone soft on you—but regardless, it’s a sight that tightens your beating heart.

You quicken your pace, revel in the way he fills you up: how he completes you. Your knees dig into the spring-loaded mattress as you ride his cock like you used to all that time ago. Every squeeze of your cunt around him makes the poor man choke a little on his breath, though you don’t slow down, not even when the tears start to fall. His cheekbones are painted glossy with his tears and, in favour of wiping them away, you dip down and lick a long strip up his cheek to taste the salt of his emotions on his tongue. It’s only fair, your taste still lingers on his. 

“I don’t like seeing you cry,” you whisper, kissing gently at his wet lashline. He grounds himself with his hands on your hips and takes a shaky breath in at the kisses you press across his tear-streaked face. He doesn’t try to hide his vulnerability—he knows there’s no point around you. Not when you’ve seen every broken part of him and still kissed him with a gentleness that stung more than any injury could.

“Can’t help it,” he murmurs as you ride him. “You do this to me.”

You slow your movements just enough to offer a reprieve, the steady roll of your hips becoming languid, deliberate. “I don’t mean to,” you reply softly, your lips brushing against his as you speak. 

Toji huffs out something between a laugh and a sob. “Liar. You always know what you’re doing.”

You let out a small breathy laugh and lean in to kiss the corner of his mouth. You start your pace up again, even faster than before: your thighs burn with the effort, but it’s worth it to see him unravel beneath you.

His head falls back against the pillow, exposing the column of his neck, and a low, desperate moan slips past his lips. He grips your thighs, but there’s no force behind his touch—only a trembling need as he lets you take control.

“You’re so good like this, letting me take care of you.”

His breath hitches, and his hands tighten on your thighs. “I—fuck, I can’t—” He’s rambling now, his words slurring as his breath becomes laboured and his hips start to thrust skywards into you. “Please—don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

“Shh,” you soothe, your hands sliding down to lace your fingers with his, pinning them to the mattress on either side of his head. “I’ve got you. Just let go, Toji.”

Wholly at your mercy, Toji screws his beautiful eyes shut and nods. Each heave from his chest stokes the flames that coil in your stomach  in desperate hopes of a release. He’s first to teeter over the edge of pleasure, with a wild thrust up into you and a very raw moan, or sob, that rips straight from his throat, he cums. He fills you up and, for only a moment, you’re thrown back a year into the past and this is any other night spent together. The heat of him, the sheer force of his climax, pushes you to your own precipice.

You follow him into oblivion soon after, your back arching and your head falling back as your orgasm crashes through you. The muscles of your core tighten around him, drawing out his pleasure even as yours consumes you in wave after wave of white-hot ecstasy. You milk him for all he has, every last drop of release that you’re greedy enough to take within you.

When the storm passes, you collapse onto his chest. The both of you are sheened with sweat and the cum that leaks from your cunt around his cock and it’s messy and sticky and domestic in a way you can’t explain. The rain outside starts to taper off, but you’ll use the weather as an excuse to stay the night regardless. You doubt Toji would let you leave even if you tried. 

“I love you,” he says. 

“I love you.” you reply. 

You don’t know what will happen come morning. The two of you are from two very different worlds now, but Toji’s hand comes up to cradle the back of your head. You can feel his heart beat, you can hear each intake of breath, you’re connected to him physically and, in a way, spiritually as well. 

You’re in his bed, the one that was once also yours. You’re safe, feeling nostalgic, and Toji Fushiguro is warm. Much warmer than any insulated townhouse.

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[rodolfoparras]

18+ MDNI 18+

Thinking about playfully wrestling with your boyfriend while he makes mindless comments about your strength “oh you’re so strong, don’t think I’d be able to escape even if I wanted,” he says in wonder, eyes practically shining as he squeezes your biceps, “you ought to be careful never know when I can break” he says jokingly while doing a half hearted attempt to try and escape your embrace.

Slowly but surely you start getting more and more rough with him: squeezing and pressing down onto spots, not enough to hurt but enough to make him uncomfortable. “You know what? You’re right. I don’t think you’d be able to get away if someone like me were to attack you.” The relaxed look on his face swiftly turns into one of concern and you can see the way he slowly attempts to back away from you.

But it’s to no avail, he’s trapped in your embrace, with you steadily inching closer to his face, a big sharp grin painted on your own face. “I mean what are you supposed to do? Can’t even push them away,” you say referring to his futile attempts at trying to push you away from him. “Guess you’d just have to stay and take whatever they’re willing to give you,” you continue, proving your point when you easily spread his legs wide and ground your cock up against his ass, all while he can’t do anything but helplessly watch as you twist and turn his body as if he were a ragdoll “Bet there’s plenty of things they would love to do to a pretty boy like you. Don’t you think?”

“Oh god- don’t -dont say that,” he gasps out, head falling into the crook of your neck as if he’s horrified. But you can feel his fully hard cock from where your hand is resting against his thighs , can hear the muffled whines and whimpers as he grinds himself up against you, can see it on him how he he’s torn between pushing you away and completely stopping this little game or pulling you closer to him to see how far you’ll take this.

What a sick little thing you got at your hands.

“How about this?” You say, hand yanking ahold of his hair to bring his ear closer to you “You try to run and we’ll see if I can catch you. Does that sound alright?”

This time you don’t get a verbal response. Instead you can see it on his face what he’s trying to say: and what happens if you catch me?

The silence is swiftly broken with a soft thud as you release your hold on him.”Run, quick,”

He doesn’t waste a second scrambling up the stairs, practically tripping over his feet as he turns corners. He looks and sounds absolute terrified and you can’t help but love that, cock growing harder as you follow him up.

With each step you take you can hear his rapid breaths getting louder and louder , can feel his own thudding steps as you walk down the narrow hallway, can practically smell him - not some cheap cologne nor any deodorant but rather a mix of sickly sweet vanilla and sugar- something that’s just so him - something you’d want to sink your teeth in and drain completely. You follow that very scent all the way to your shared bedroom.

And there he stands, looking like a deer caught in the headlights, or rather like a animal that’s bleeding out on the side of the road, with his cock still painfully hard and with a suspicious dark spot on his sweatpants.

“Oh sweetheart,” you coo, voice dripping with faux concern, while slowly walking up to him like he was an injured animal of some sort. “Why do you look so scared hmm? You know I won’t actually hurt you,” you continue, watching in amusement as he swiftly backs up til his back is flushed with the bedroom wall.

You’re quick to press yourself flush against his chest, once again trapping him in your embrace.“Come on. You wound me. I really wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. You know that,” You say eyes once again flicking up to the wet spot on his pants “Look, got yourself all worked up and for what?” You ask, as you cup the wet bulge over his pants.

“Stop - ah don’t” he cries out, sounding and looking absolutely horrified as he tries to push your hand away but once again it’s to no avail and he has to stand there as you freely grope him. However it doesn’t take much before he’s bucking up into your touch, head lolling back against the wall as whines and whimpers freely pour past his tongue “fuck- so good mph,”

“See sweetheart, I just want to take care of you, wouldn’t dream of hurting you,”you say with a soft smile as you continue to rub him through his pants. The man only furiously nods, begs and please of more more more, continuously rolling off of his tongue as he practically humps the palm of your hand.

“Unless you want me to, that is,” suddenly you’re flipping him around, hand rough as ever as you shove him up against the wall before slotting your leg between his thighs.

The poor thing squeaks in suprise, tears freely spilling from his eyes ,as incoherent words start pouring from his mouth.

“Come on now sweetheart,” you groan out , hand once again yanking at his hair and successfully pulling a hiss from him “you know that need you to use your words. Now tell em what you want yeah?”

Once again he’s fumbling over his words, too overwhelmed with emotions to form a coherent sentence. However you won’t take that for answer, hand once again yanking at his hair till he finally responds to you.

“Want- ah want you to touch me sir ah- please do anything touch me- hah fuck me - hurt me just anything please please-“

“Well who am I to say no when you ask so nicely?”

[strange-aeons]

hi strange i’ve been enjoying yr videos for about four years thank u for giving me giggles for so long. however i am writing as i am not totally sure who else to ask…

my boyfriend had a traumatic pneumothorax last week and about 80% of his right lung collapsed. i don’t really know anything about pneumothorax (although i have learned so much recently lol) aside from hearing you mention it and as such i don’t know how to help him :(

i know it’s a shot in the dark but i was wondering if there are any comforts or ways to alleviate pain you could share? thank you so much strange you are super tough btw to have gone through this several times this Sucks big time

many good wishes to you and your sweet hairless babies in the new year!

If it happened one week ago he’s already gotten through the worst part! I’m assuming he’s still hospitalized with a chest tube in right now??

When I was in that situation it helped a lot having frequent visits from my partner and family. Especially when they brought snacks!!!!!! Hospital meals can be borderline inedible and there’s no way of escaping to the food court when you have a chest tube in (unless you plan to deceive multiple nurses and risk life threatening infection through the OPEN HOLE IN YOUR CHEST. Don’t do that).

Good food can be a relief in an otherwise horrible time, so finding out what he really wants to eat and brining it will definitely help. If he has no appetite then things like smoothies or drinkable soup can be very helpful. I often live off booster juice and Tim Hortona chicken noodle soup when hospitalized.

Finding the right media to keep sane is also very important!!! Your sleep schedule disintegrates entirely when laying on your back full of tube for multiple days. 2AM listening to alarms go off and 6AM getting woken up for x-rays and 1pm having the lunch slop delivered and 3pm being woken up for x-rays and 9pm visit from your surgeon all become basically indistinguishable, especially if you have no windows. Podcasts were ideal for me because it can be very hard to find a comfortable position with a chest tube / pneumothorax and looking at a screen was often too much of a hassle. Queer as fact and fall of civilizations are both excellent if you want non fiction btw. Old gods of Appalachia or welcome to nightvale if you want fiction.

There’s not a lot that you as a loved one can do about his physical pain, but I will share some of my pneumothorax expertise with you and anyone else who might go through this.

There’s no nerve endings in the lungs so all the pain/ discomfort related to a pneumothorax has to do with pressure in the chest cavity.

The pain is the absolute worst when your lung is actively collapsing so when that feeling starts SHOVE SOME EXTRA STRENGTH ADVIL OR TYLENOL DOWN YOUR THROAT, then lay down and wait for it to finish collapsing. It may seem tempting to rush to the hospital as fast as possible (or rush your loved one who’s lung is collapsing to the hospital) but trust me the last thing you want to do with a lung that is actively deflating like a sad balloon is exert yourself (this is how I collapsed my lung the full 100% and could not move my upper body for an hour. Quirky). Give it at least 30 minutes of floor time before you try to move. You will have a way better time getting to the hospital.

Wait sorry I lied lung re-inflation hurts sometimes more than the initial collapse. The sometimes are the times when ER nurses do not know how to do it properly. Immediately after they put the chest tube in, they attach it to a suction machine to suck out the excess air in your chest cavity. I do not know if these machines are the same internationally (I’m Canadian) but if you’re dealing with one where the settings are percentages, the one you want is 20% suction. NOT 100%!!! that just causes unnecessary excruciating pain without being more effective. I have had to fight numerous nurses while in the worst pain of my life to TURN THE PAIN MACHINE DOWN. fuck the pain machine. Anyway. After the pain machine they leave the tube in for a few more days to make sure the lung stays inflated. Nearing the end of that process, most of the discomfort is caused by the tube itself, so as horrible disgusting the worst getting that thing ripped out is, just know you will feel so much better after.

Throughout the healing process (and in the case of small pneumothoraxes not requiring chest tubes — I’ve had over 10 of those ones) I’ve noticed that heightened discomfort lasting a few minutes results from going from laying down to standing up or vice verse, or from bending over. This is why I have pioneered the sophisticated technique know as the pneumothorax squat. It is just as cool and hot as you’re imagining.

This post was supposed to be about how to support a loved one with a pneumothorax what the heck am I even talking about now.

Most of what he’s going to need will seem boring or insignificant. Companionship. Food. Medication. Toiletries. COMPANIONSHIP. podcast recommendations. But it absolutely is not insignificant. Abruptly losing mobility, independence, and bodily autonomy as a young person is really fucked up and I cannot fathom doing it without my family and my partner, even if most days that consisted of talking to me and bringing me smoothies and underwear.

Wishing a quick recovery to your boyfriend! Good luck with everything!!

[itsmeairix]

Bruce: All right, team. The last mission didn’t go as smoothly as planned. Let’s review what went wrong.

Dick[Smiling nervously]: I think we can all agree it wasn’t my fault.

Jason: Oh, I don’t know Dick, you did somersault directly into a trap, A very obvious trap.

Dick: It was a distraction tactic! I was buying time for the team.

Tim: Yeah, except the team was already there and didn't need time.

Jason: You’re like a golden retriever that ran face-first into a glass door.

Dick[Offended]: I’d rather be a golden retriever than a street cat who hisses at everything.

Jason: Oh, you did not just call me a street cat.

Damian: If the metaphor fits, Todd.

Bruce[Pinching the bridge of his nose]: Can we focus? The mission failed because no one stuck to the plan.

Jason: No, the mission failed because your plan was “split up and hope for the best”

Dick: To be fair, that’s how most of his plans go.

Tim: Yeah, I have data. We have a 37% success rate when Bruce says “just improvise”

Bruce: That’s not accurate.

Tim: I have spreadsheets, Want me to pull them up?

Bruce: Moving on.

[ifwdominicfike]

matt loves when you overstimulate him

── .✦. ──

“c’mon sweet boy, you can do one more right?” your hips coming to a halt, letting him gather his thoughts and try to speak up with something other than whines and babbles. “yes, yes mama! p-please don’ stop” his hands tightened on your hips to move you while he desperately bucks his hips up into you.

you giggle at his neediness and start bouncing up and down faster once again, hearing the hisses and moans under you only makes you go faster. all while under you he continues to slur his words while trying his hardest not to come, not without your permission of course.

“look at you, my big boy—“ your thighs starting to burn from the constant movement as you point to the prominent bulge on your stomach, your hand goes to neck — gripping softly. “i said look matt, or y’want me to stop?” he hisses at his real name being used, he whines at your vulgar tone and shakes his head no. “no! no please don’t stop- no” his eyes shooting open, looking up at you with a pleading look.

“then look sweetheart, y’so big for mommy — filling me up so well, yeah?” your grin makes his eyes roll as he groans and throwing his head all while muttering nonsense. “y-yes m’fuck! m’so big for you mommy, c-can i come..?” his heavy breathing and teary eyes almost make you give it to him, but you wanted to make him suffer just a little longer. you had been spoiling him all night with orgasm after orgasm, you wanted to have some fun now.

“no baby, you can come after mama, ‘kay?” your thumb caressing his bottom lip, trying to soothe him. “o-okay, i-i’ll be good f’you” you then slip your thumb between his lips, watching him eagerly take it into his mouth and toy with it. “good boy, always so eager to please hm?” he nods quickly and starts to buck his hips up harder, feeling you coming closer and closer to finishing.

your moans are getting mixed up with his as you reach your peak, trying to muffle them into his neck all while praising him. “yes- yes! oh — my precious boy, you’re so g-good, so perfect-“ he interrupts you with begs and cries to let him cum, all while he’s on the verge of tears.

all it took was a simple yes to have him crumbling underneath you, as he wraps his arms around you and fills you up. “m-mama, mmm” he could barely understand what he was saying, before he could get another word out you shush him, placing a finger over his lips. “just calm down baby, i know, i know.” all while stroking his messy hair as his eyes fluttered shut.

- avery’s note ˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡-

first time writing mommy kink… I LOVE SUB MATT. I NEED SUB MATT. i chant loudly, ANYWAY! im so sorry for being lazy with putting stuff out, i literally wanna delete all my fics so bad. (also this wasnt really an “overstimulating” fic i kinda went off BUT WHO CARES.)

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - @ellaapsworld @chrissv4mp @jetaimevous @mattsbrowser @submattenthusiast @flouvela @sturniolosiphone @chrislova @sophand4n4 @mattsfavoritestar @mattslolita @y3sterdaysproblem @strnilolover @cayleeuhithinknott @cherrynflowergarden @sturnsmia @slut4chris888 @marrykisskilled @chaossturns @emely9274 @sturn777

[covenofagatha]

hey!! can you do one where you run into professor agatha at the library while doing homework and it ends with her making you sit on her cock without moving while you study and you're impatient and she ends up fucking you right there in thar secluded corner (with lots of overstimulation and daddy kink if you're comfortable with that?)

Inspiration struck for this one today so hope everyone enjoys

I just started a new semester so probably won't be posting as much but I will do my best to keep writing and putting stuff out regularly. Also will be pausing any Agathario x reader fics for the moment

Learning to focus

When you run into Professor Harkness at the local library while you're supposed to be working on a project for her history class, you find yourself distracted by her (again)

Word count: 4.3k

Warnings: public sex, GP Agatha, fingering, cockwarming, daddy kink, overstimulation, it really was agatha all along, slight humiliation?, hints of degradation

The Westview University campus library is always packed, so you usually opt for the local library about twenty minutes away from the school. 

Much quieter and way less crowded. 

And you don’t have to worry about running into any failed situationships or crazy roommates from past years. 

Plus it’s a really nice library, two stories with long glass windows stretching from the ceiling to the floor. Even when you don’t have school work, you often enjoy coming here just to read or play on your computer. It’s a peaceful place, a place that lets you just relax and forget about the outside world and all the stress you feel. 

Stress mainly from one class. Your history class. 

Professor Agatha Harkness was the only one who taught U.S. History when your schedule could allow it, which meant you had to ignore all the bad reviews on RateMyProfessor.com, because you had no other option. 

On the first day, you could see exactly where they came from. 

One boy had shown up five minutes late, practically a miracle on the first day of classes, stammering an excuse about how bad traffic was, Professor Harkness had fixed him with a glare and told him that he better drop the class. 

You were just thankful that you had a class before hers, otherwise you would’ve been late, too. 

She was just as mean and ruthless and cold as everyone said she’d be. Her assignments were almost outrageous and she graded them so harshly it was honestly impressive you weren’t failing yet. 

But the one thing the reviews forgot to mention was how attractive she is. Her long, dark hair that she’d often keep back in a ponytail. Her sharp blue eyes that reminded you of the ocean on a dark night. Her high cheekbones, her pointed nose, her wicked smirk, honestly, everything about her. 

You suppose the more impressive thing is that you aren’t failing with how often you get distracted by the way her fingers on her left hand tighten around the dry-erase marker when she’s drawing time-lines on the board. When she sways her hips and flexes her knuckles which tightens her veins, you feel a tugging in your gut and you have to bite your lip. 

And you definitely should not be noticing the bulge in her pants when she sits back with her legs spread in her chair while the class is taking an exam. 

You have an optimal seat, all the way to the right of her desk and in the front row, so you can take her in without her noticing you too much. 

If anyone looked too closely at you, they’d assume you were sweating because of the forty-five multiple choice and five written questions you had to answer in only a little over an hour. 

That wasn’t it. 

You swore she saw you looking one time, one particular day when she was wearing a blue flannel and loose fitting cargo pants. You were staring, so completely distracted when you should’ve been taking notes that you didn’t even notice she had dismissed the class. 

It wasn’t until you finally realized that she was stalking toward you that you had fucked up. You had swallowed roughly and moved to shove your stuff into your bag when she had put her hands on your desk and leaned in, causing you to completely forget how to breathe. 

“You seemed a little preoccupied there,” she murmured in a low voice, her hint of cologne tickling your nose. “Try to pay better attention next time. Don’t want to have to teach you a lesson.”

You had promptly nodded and almost ran to your dorm to fuck yourself to the thought of her teaching you a very different kind of lesson. 

Professor Harkness is in your head, and you can’t get her out no matter how hard you try. Except right now, you really need to focus, because the end-of-semester project is due in a week and you haven’t started. 

Did she give you the entire four months of the course to complete it? Yes. But you have never been good at working ahead or at time management. 

She had assigned a ten page paper along with a hand-drawn timeline about something that had happened in the history of the United States. You had picked the Salem Witch Trials, and Professor Harkness had winked when you got the topic approved by her. 

So you’re about to spend the next probably five hours in the library trying to make some headway on this project. The timeline should be easy, but it’s the paper you’re worried about. 

You go up the stairs and wind through the aisles of books on the second floor until you get to your secluded corner, the one you always go to, the one with a small table and two chairs hidden by bookshelves and gasp. 

Your favorite spot has been taken by none other than Professor Harkness. She’s sitting in the chair you usually sit in, pen between her teeth, staring at papers. 

When she looks up, she doesn’t even seem surprised to see you and a slow grin spreads over her face. 

“Professor, what are you doing here?” You ask, fiddling with the straps on your tote bag. Should you go somewhere else?

She chuckles. “In a public library in the town where I live?” 

Your cheeks burn. “Right. Um, I’ve just never seen you here before.” And then you inwardly kick yourself because now it sounds like you’ve been on the lookout. 

“Wanted to get out of the house,” she shrugs. “Have some papers to grade for that project due next week. How’s yours coming?” 

“Oh, really good,” you lie, shifting your weight and trying to think of a quick way to get out of this conversation. “Almost done. Well, I don’t want to bother–” 

She interrupts you by sliding the chair out next to her and patting it. “Why don’t you come show me what you have? I can give you some help, free of charge.” She winks, a glint in her eyes, and it makes your stomach twist. 

“Oh, Professor, that’s not necessary,” you say nervously but she tsks and waves dismissively. 

“Please, call me Agatha. It’s the weekend and we’re off campus. Now, come sit.” She makes it clear it’s an order and you gulp before taking the seat. Even being this close to her is affecting your body and you know there’s absolutely no way you’re getting anything done. 

She’s currently grading a paper about the Boston Massacre and it’s drenched in red ink. You’re not sure which you feel more of: annoyance at your over-achieving classmates or absolute dread for how Agatha is going to react when she finds out that you haven’t even started and, even worse, lied about it. 

You take a shaky breath, feeling her intense gaze on you. “So, the thing is…” You trail off, reaching down to pull out your laptop. You set it on the table and slowly open it, silently begging for the floor underneath you to open up and swallow you whole. 

Anything would be better than this humiliation. 

“Yeah?” Agatha breathes, suddenly much closer to you. You will your eyes to not look away from the computer screen and type in your password, praying that you didn’t leave anything that embarrassing up. 

It opens up to the blank document titled Salem Witch Trials, just so it’s clear to Agatha what exactly this page was supposed to be. 

You’d rather it have been porn. 

Your professor chuckles slowly next to you. “Thought you were almost done?” She simpers in that gruff voice that drives you wild. “Did you get distracted again?” 

Agatha leans forwards, resting her elbow on the table, and perching her head in her hand so she can peer at you. Your eyes glance over to meet hers and then back to your computer, but in your peripheral vision, you can see her body tilt toward yours and her legs open just the slightest. 

Your mouth runs dry and you make a pointed effort not to look between them. 

“What’s gotten you so preoccupied, babygirl?” She asks and you clench around nothing at the shift in tone and the pet name. Holy fuck. “I’ve seen you staring in class, you know. You’re not very subtle at all.” 

Forget being swallowed by the floor, you might just combust out of pure embarrassment. 

You try to stammer out something, an apology maybe, sorry for wanting to fuck you, Professor, but no sounds come out of your mouth. Her other hand comes up and teases a lock of your hair and you finally work up the courage to look at her. 

Agatha’s eyes are heated and dark, all the blue practically gone, and her lips are parted just so. And then you flick your eyes down to between her legs involuntarily and you have to bite back a whimper because she’s fucking hard. 

You can see her length through her navy pants and your brain short-circuits. Agatha likes this. Agatha likes you. 

“Is that what gets you all hot and bothered? Can’t focus because you’re too busy staring at me?” Agatha asks, hand dropping to palm herself. She gives her dick a quick stroke and lets out a tight sigh and you have to hold onto the table to steady yourself. 

Heat rushes through your body in an almost unbearable way. “Yes,” you whisper hoarsely. 

Agatha takes her hand off herself and taps a finger to her lips. “Hmm,” she draws out thoughtfully. You can feel a puddle growing in your underwear. “You know, I’m used to the crushes. Doesn’t even phase me anymore, usually it’s college girls who are just so desperate for attention. Not getting it anywhere else and they think that their fifty year old professor will be into them.” 

Your jaw clenches. Is this the part where she rejects you? 

But Agatha smirks and looks you up and down, takes in your squirming body in the chair. “And I never have even considered it. Until you. None of them have been as delicious as you, pet.” 

And it makes your head spin. It’s almost as if you’re in a trance when your hand grabs onto her thigh and Agatha lets out a low moan. 

“Please,” you say, desperation in your voice. What are you asking for? You don’t even think you know. 

Agatha tuts. “Do you really think you deserve anything? This paper is due in a week and you haven’t even started. Doesn’t seem like you should get a reward for procrastinating, does it?” 

“It’s not my fault,” you whine before you can even think about it. There’s something about this side of Agatha specifically that makes your mind turn to mush. 

She raises an eyebrow like she’s daring you to say that again. “I think you need to learn how to keep that pretty head of yours focused.” She nods to the computer screen. “Make an outline.”

You swallow roughly and straighten up, putting your hands on the keyboard. You’ve just switched tabs and begun googling “Salem Witch Trials” when Agatha’s hand lands on your upper thigh. 

You freeze and glance at her out of the corner of your eye to find her scribbling another note on the paper in front of her. You don’t know how she’s so calm and collected when you feel like your entire body is on fire. 

“Focus,” she tells you in that deep voice of hers and you click on the first result that comes up as her fingers begin to toy with the hem of your skirt. 

You try, you really do try, but it’s so fucking hard to read the words on the screen when she’s inching closer and closer to your underwear, which you can feel is absolutely drenched. 

And soon enough, she’s going to feel it, too. You can almost hear her dark laugh already when she realizes just how affected you are. 

Her fingertips brush against you and instead of laughing, she gasps. “Oh, pet, no wonder you never pay attention in class,” she coos and a thrill runs through you despite how embarrassed you are. She effortlessly finds your clit through the fabric and rubs it and you have to sink your teeth into your bottom lip so you don’t make a sound. 

“Agatha,” you say under your breath and you can practically hear her smirking. Why is it so hot that she is still grading the paper as she starts to run her fingers up and down your pussy over your underwear? She dips in at your entrance and a muffled groan tears itself out of your mouth. 

“Is this what you’re like while I’m teaching, too?” She muses conversationally, but you look down just in time to see her cock twitch in her pants. It makes you feel even more exhilarated, knowing she’s just as affected. But then she moves your panties to the side and slides her fingers through your folds and you forget any train of thought you had. You really hope your wetness isn’t as loud as it sounds. “Dripping for me like a little slut? Getting yourself all worked up when I’m talking about the Declaration of Independence? It’s pathetic.” 

You whimper, maybe in agreement, maybe at how good it feels when she pushes a finger into you, but her eyes slightly glaze over at the feeling of your warm walls around her. 

“God, Agatha,” you moan, your own hand coming down to wrap around her wrist when she starts moving. You can feel her flexing with each thrust and your tongue presses against your cheek as you breathe heavily, leaning toward her. 

She presses a quick kiss to your head and scrapes her teeth against your ear before hotly whispering, “Better be quiet, babygirl. And focus. Or I’ll stop.”

You manage to type out three bullet points worth of information when she slips another finger into you and you clamp a hand over your mouth before you moan obscenely. 

Agatha leans over to read what you have so far. “Who was the first woman to be executed for witchcraft?” She asks and you realize that you never finished that sentence. 

“Bridget Bishop,” you gasp, and she swipes at your clit as a reward, sending a jolt of pleasure up your spine. 

You continue to type, hoping it’s making sense because you can’t even comprehend the words, while Agatha continues to twist her fingers inside you roughly and rub your clit. You can feel your orgasm slowly building, and it only makes it worse every time Agatha hums right into your ear at something you’ve written. Your walls are clenching around her, trying to draw her even further into you, and she can tell you’re getting close, you’re going to cum so quickly around her fingers. 

“There we go pet, such a good girl for Daddy,” she says into your ear and you spasm all around her, the name sending you right over the edge. 

Who knew you’d like that so much? 

Apparently Agatha did, who grins like a cat getting her cream as she fucks you through your orgasm with her fingers, keeping a steady rhythm on your clit. You taste blood from biting your lip so hard but you manage to keep quiet and you finally come down from your high. 

But it’s not enough, you need more, and judging by the straining of Agatha’s cock against her pants, she needs more, too. 

You move to touch her but she slaps your hand away. “Not yet,” she growls and it sends another blast of heat through you. You think there might be a wet spot on the chair underneath you. 

It only makes it worse when she reaches down and undoes her own belt, fiddles with the button exasperatedly, and finally unzips her pants. She reaches inside and your jaw drops open when she pulls out her hard and leaking cock. It’s big, big enough to make your mouth water, and it almost looks painful. Agatha gives herself a few strokes, hips jumping, and she hisses when she rubs her thumb over the tip. 

“Think you can focus while you sit on Daddy’s cock, babygirl?” She taunts. You’ve never felt so empty in your life, you need her so bad, and she’s right there. 

You almost want to bend down and take her into your mouth, taste her hard cock. 

“I asked you a question,” she reminds you roughly, slapping your thigh to get your attention. The sting makes you jump. “God, you really do get distracted easily.” 

You mumble an apology, cheeks flushing. “I can focus, I promise,” you say, trying to sound convincing, but neither of you believe it. Regardless, she smirks and pats her legs and you do a cautious sweep of the surrounding area. This is incredibly dangerous and if you get caught, you both will get in serious trouble. 

But for some reason, the thrill of getting caught only turns you on more. 

So you stand up and straddle her and sit down, taking her cock in one fell swoop. She goes in easy with how wet you are and you bottom out in her lap, the both of you groaning quietly with restraint. 

“Fuck, babygirl,” you hear Agatha huff and you squeeze your walls around her in response. It makes her thrust up and you inhale sharply at the feeling. She is so big and you can feel her throbbing inside you. “Better keep working.” 

You lean forward slowly to move your laptop closer, the stretch absolutely delicious and she chuckles when you gasp as you settle back onto her. Agatha wraps her arms around your waist and you really do try to be good and focus, but every so often, she shifts beneath you and it hits that spot so deep inside you and you can’t help but squirm to try and get more. 

Would she notice if you slowly start moving? Most likely, but it’s worth the risk. You give the gentlest roll of your hips and Agatha moans low into your ear before her fingernails dig into your hips through your skirt to still you. “Don’t even think about it,” she whispers dangerously so you’re forced to sit without moving on her cock that is filling you up better than anything ever has before. 

It’s sweet torture and you write a few more sentences before you can feel your wetness dripping down her cock and out of you. Every so often, you’ll clench around her, too, completely involuntarily, of course, and she’ll buck into you like she can’t help it while breathing suddenly. You’re not sure how much longer of this you can take, the ache spreading everywhere in your body and absolutely ruining you. 

“Agatha,” you whine again, begging, starting to move despite her death-like grip on your waist. 

She moves your hair to the side and nips at your neck. “Yes, babygirl?” 

“Can you please–” you begin, frustration leaking into your voice, tears pricking in your eyes. “Can you please move? Please, I need it so bad. I’m trying so hard to focus, please, can you fuck me? Daddy–”

Turns out, all you needed to convince her was to call her that, because she finally breaks and starts thrusting her hips up and pounding her cock into you. Your hand flies over your mouth and you bite onto a finger to stop yourself from crying out and you wish you weren’t in a library right now, rather be in the comfort of Agatha’s bed or car or office or anywhere but here, so you could be as loud as you want. 

“Let’s see if you’re still distracted after Daddy fucks all the thoughts out of your head,” she snaps and fuck, you’re already so close after cockwarming her for those few minutes. She reaches around you with a hand to circle your clit, which is already sensitive from your previous orgasm and a muffled sound escapes you. Agatha laughs breathlessly and you strain your ears to hear if anyone is coming near you – not that you could do anything about it now – but there’s nothing. 

Thank god this is a relatively empty library, especially at this time of the day, and that the two of you are tucked away in the back where it’s hard to see normally. 

Agatha’s thrusts are getting so powerful that you’re forced to put your hands out on the table for balance which means it gets a lot harder to control your noises. But your professor, ever the problem-solver, comes up with a solution. 

She slides two fingers into your mouth so you can suck on them and so your moans are stifled. Agatha presses her fingers against your tongue, scrapes her nails against it, and draws them out before shoving them back in, effectively fucking both your mouth and your pussy. 

“You feel so good, babygirl, so fucking tight,” she pants into your ear and you gag when she pushes her fingers down your throat. 

It’s so much, so much stimulation from her cock and her fingers and the fact that you’re being fucked in a public library where anyone could see that your orgasm hits you out of nowhere and it’s explosive. You sink your teeth into her skin and she moans, almost being louder before she remembers to control herself. 

You need a moment to collect yourself, but she doesn’t give it to you; instead, she shoves you off her lap and stands up right behind you without her cock ever leaving your body. 

Agatha bends you over the table, hand pressing against your back, and you have just enough awareness to move your laptop out of the way before she sets a bruising pace. The table must be bolted down to the floor or something, because it thankfully doesn’t move. 

Agatha grunts softly with each thrust and you can feel her twitching inside you even though it feels like every single one of your nerves is on fire. 

“Daddy, I don’t know if I can again,” you quietly sob, the pleasure fraying your mind, the sensitivity of your clit making you gasp when she rubs it. You feel like you’re drifting away from your body, dizziness swarming your head. “Too much,” you babble. 

But she doesn’t slow down. If anything, she picks up her speed and tears fall from your eyes. “You can, babygirl, I know you can. You can take it – fuck, you feel so good around me.” 

Agatha losing her composure because of you, just knowing you have that kind of affect on someone usually so cold and unaffected, is starting to build your orgasm back up. 

“Daddy,” you whine, trying to be as quiet as you can. Her rhythm is starting to falter, she’s throbbing and twitching and cursing, fingers scrambling for purchase on your hips, and you know she’s getting close. 

“So perfect, babygirl,” she mutters and you know she’s refraining from being louder, too. “I’ve wanted you for so long, ever since the first day when you walked into my classroom wearing that short skirt.” 

The confession makes you clench and a gasp escapes your lips. You’re climbing closer and closer to the edge and Agatha isn’t far behind. 

“Knew I had to have you,” she keeps going and your body is practically vibrating. 

She’s pounding into you so deep, filling you so good, her cock dragging against your walls in the best way. Her ragged words are getting to her, too; you can tell in the way her thrusts become shallower and shorter like she can’t do anything more. 

You’d make a quip about her being distracted but you can’t form a sentence right now. Every thought in your head is gone. 

“Daddy knows you come here,” she continues and your eyes roll back into your head. You don’t even think you can understand her. You’re close, so close. “Knew you hadn’t started on the project. Knew you’d be here – fuck, babygirl.” She breaks off with a sharp inhale as you squeeze around her at her words. 

This whole thing was planned. She’s wanted you just as badly as you’ve wanted her. And now she’s fucking you against a table in a library because of it. 

She reaches around and rubs your clit and that’s it. 

You cum all over her cock, walls convulsing around her, and she quickly follows, pumping her cum into you. You feel her warmth spreading through you and it makes you gasp. 

Thankfully she pulls out because you truly can’t take anymore and she slides your underwear back into place before her cum can drip down your legs. She turns you around after zipping her pants back up and tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. 

“You okay?” She murmurs and you weakly nod. “Is that pretty head of yours clear now? Think you can focus?” 

The question makes you laugh. There are no thoughts left in your head whatsoever. “You do know that I’m only going to be thinking about this in your classes right? You just made the problem ten times worse.” 

Agatha smirks and taps under your chin. “Tell you what, pet. For each day early you turn this project in, that’s one more reward you’ll get.” 

And even though you’re completely worn out, your clit pulses at the thought of more. 

“Think you’ll be able to focus now?” Agatha asks sweetly. You nod eagerly, your brain suddenly able to piece together how you’re going to structure your paragraphs, and she chuckles. “It’s all about finding the right motivation. I look forward to seeing your final project.” She winks, packs up her stuff, and then walks away. 

You sit down in the chair, making a mental note to clean that and the table before you leave, and open your laptop back up. 

Cracking your knuckles, you get to work, suddenly able to focus so much better now. 

[cameronsprincess]

i understand that reqs r closed and u completely don’t have to fulfill this but i thought you’d do a BANGER job at this prompt: u and rafe r married but are getting divorced and u threw a divorce party… only to end the night going home with him… a little bit of angst with some smut?? idk make it ur own 💗

zyaaaa<3 i love you for this, and thank you for trusting ME with your request!!!

CW: 18+ only! slight angst, more fluff than i intended, divorce, smut, male receiving oral, piv sex.

note: yeah yeah reader went out w her friends but left w rafe and none of them tried to stop her. in my head none of them noticed their interaction/her leaving with him. let’s pretend they’re blowing up her phone while she’s gettin’ the best dick down of her lifeee. also, i suck at endings, its my biggest flaw so yeah sorry if the ending is bad.

“here’s to finally being free of the most toxic marriage to the most toxic man!” you say joyfully, clinking your glass with three of your closest friends.

your friends all giggle, bringing the champagne flutes to their lips and taking small sips. you glance around your house, a weight seemingly lifted off your shoulders as you take in how freeing it feels to finally have your divorce finalized. you’d been married for three years, and while it was good at first, somewhere during the marriage your— now ex— husband had become cold and indifferent toward you. you couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it happened, nor could you give a reason why, but all you knew was enough was enough. you were too young and too beautiful to spend the rest of your life in a loveless marriage to a man who treated you like shit.

your friends voice rips you from your thoughts. “earth to y/n.. you okay babe?”

you squeeze your eyes shut, giving your friend a big smile before nodding your head. “yeah i’m fine,” pausing, you down the rest of your champagne, setting the glass onto your coffee table and rising from your spot on the couch. “let’s go out tonight.”

your friends all share slightly concerned looks with one another before their attention lands on you. nicole clears her throat, awkwardly shifting before she finally speaks, “i mean.. yeah sure, but are you sure you wanna put yourself out there like that right now?”

you roll your eyes, sighing. “yes i’m sure. i just spent the last year of my life going through a messy divorce process, so i’d like to go out with my girls, have some drinks, dance a little, and maybe, just maybe, find some hot guy to bring home. i’m not going out to find my next husband, jesus.”

and that’s exactly what you did, but little did you know… the man you’d go home with was your ex husband.

—

“another shot of patrón please? thank you!” you shout to the bartender, giving him a flirty half-drunken smile.

the bartender nods, moving to pour your drink before sliding it across the bar to you. you smile, grabbing the glass and downing it before setting it back on the bars top.

“a pretty woman like you shouldn’t be buying her own drinks.” a low, raspy voice says from behind you.

you bite at your bottom lip, smiling to yourself before turning to face the mystery man. your eyes widen in shock when you see rafe, standing so close to you that you could smell the whiskey on his breath.

“rafe.. what the fuck are you doing here?”

he smiles down at you, taking a step closer, backing you into the bar. “i could ask you the same question. the divorce only finalized today, trying to forget me so soon, sweetheart?”

“i’m not your fucking sweetheart, rafe. now leave me alo-”

rafe grips at your hips, pulling your body into his. he dips his head down, inhaling the scent of your shampoo, groaning as he rests his forehead on your shoulder. “i miss you. do you miss me?”

your pussy pulses from his words, the smell of him so intoxicating it had your head spinning more than it already was. you did love him, and you hated that he pushed you to file for divorce, but it’s how things were. you couldn’t mess up everything you’d fought for, not now, not ever.

you try and shove him back, but his hands tighten on your waist, not allowing you to move. “baby, stop. m’sorry, for everything. i know the divorce finalized today, but that doesn’t mean we can’t still fuck.. maybe try and just be friends, date, see where life takes us, right?”

he was trying to manipulate your drunk mind, and you couldn’t let him win. you refused to let him win. it was done. you were free of him, so why was he here and trying to reel you back in? he didn’t miss you, he missed the comfort you brought him, he missed how you’d always try and calm his mind, how you’d forgive him every time he fucked up. he didn’t miss you.

“rafe please, stop. i’m too drunk for this argument. you don’t fucking miss me, you miss the way i was for you,” you pause, your half-lidded eyes looking up and finding rafe’s beautiful blue eyes. “i can’t do this, please.”

you tear your eyes off his, knowing if you looked into them for too long, you’d be a goner. you’d go home with him, let him have his way with you, and wake up regretting it in the morning, because you and rafe could never work out. not as friends, not as a couple, not as anything.

rafe slides his left hand up your sides, reaching your face and cupping your cheek in his hand. his thumb slowly strokes the skin before he hooks his thumb and index finger under your chin, forcing your head up.

“baby.. i do miss you. please, just— just let me prove to you how much i fucking miss you.”

his words tug at your heartstrings, your body melting into his touch like it always did. tears well in your eyes, your chin wobbling as you look into his eyes, eyes that used to make your heart stop and made you feel safe and at home.

sighing, you nod your head once. “okay.. okay fine. just one night, we can look at it as… goodbye sex. right?”

a smile takes over rafe’s lips, “whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart. let’s go.”

he quickly grabs your hand, pulling you across the dance floor and out the doors of the club you were in. the warm, mid-summer air hits your skin, the light breeze sending goosebumps up your arms. rafe drags you across the parking lot, eagerly reaching his truck and unlocking it, opening the passenger door for you. you raise a brow at him, “someone’s really trying tonight, isn’t he? you stopped opening my door for me years ago.”

rafe chuckles. “i’m sorry for that… truly.”

you roll your eyes, giving him a small smile before lifting yourself into his truck, pulling on your seatbelt as he shuts the door for you. he rounds the front of his truck, hopping into the driver seat and starting the truck, putting it into reverse and speeding out of the clubs parking lot.

the ride back to rafe’s house is comfortably silent, and the second you two arrive, rafe is killing the engine and hopping out to help you out and into his house.

you barely make it through the front door before rafe’s lips are on yours. he grips your hips in his hands, squeezing tightly as his lips devour yours. he bites at your bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth before releasing it softly. he rests his forehead against yours, the sound of both your heavy breathing filling the small entryway of his house.

“fuck i missed you, i missed you so fucking much sweetheart.” rafe breathes out, his hands slowly running up and down your sides.

he runs his hands down to your ass, squeezing at it softly before running them down further, his fingers playing with the hem of your dress. he begins slowly pulling the dress up your body, exposing your black lace thong, sucking in a sharp breath, “fuck.”

your cheeks heat up under his intense gaze, “rafe.. please? ‘m so horny, just need to feel you tonight, okay? just make me forget why we split up.”

rafe bites his bottom lip hard, nodding his head furiously. he pulls your dress off completely, tossing it behind you. he dips his head down again, his lips attacking the length of your neck with sloppy, open mouthed kisses. your knees grow weak, slightly shaking when he sucks softly at the skin of your neck, pulling back and groaning as he admires the deep purple bruise he’d marked you with.

“so beautiful,”

you drop to your knees, fingers fumbling with the buckle of his belt, finally pulling it free from the loops of his khakis and tossing it to the floor before working his button and zipper. rafe is quick to shove his khakis and boxers down, letting his hard cock spring free. you moan at the sight of him, hands reaching out hesitantly to grip at his thick shaft.

a low groan spills from rafe’s lips the second your hands wrap around him, giving slow and deliberate strokes. “always looked so pretty on your knees f’me, never wanna lose this, baby.”

you dart out your tongue, licking up the precum that had leaked from his tip. you moan at the taste of him on your tongue. you missed him, and this is definitely a huge step backward, but you’d deal with the consequences later. tonight, you wanted to soak up having him be attentive and loving with you again, he hadn’t been this way in so long.

“c’mon baby, suck my cock, need to feel those pretty lips wrapped ‘round me.”

you obey, wrapping your lips around his swollen tip and sucking at it lightly, your hands still slowly stroking at his shaft. rafe groans, his head thrown back in pleasure as his cock twitches in your hands. you slowly push more of him into your mouth, sucking him down your throat until he’s buried deep, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat. you hold him there, breathing in deep through your nose, while your tongue works at the vein on the underside of his cock.

you pull your head back, leaving only the tip in your mouth. you tease him, sucking at his head before pulling him out completely, giving quick strokes with your hands, your lips leaving soft kisses up and down his length.

rafe wraps his hand in your hair, tugging harshly at your messy locks as he groans in frustration. “baby, please? you wanna hear me beg? i’m not beneath begging, not with you at least.”

you shift on your knees, your clit pulsing at how desperate he was for you. this is what you wanted, for rafe to be desperate for your touch and attention. not wasting another second, you push him back into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you begin bobbing your head up and down, taking him all the way down your throat before slowly sliding him back out. rafe’s grip on your hair loosens, but he quickly tightens it back, yanking at your hair harshly as he holds you in place. he begins thrusting his hip, fucking himself down your throat at a quick pace, taking away your air with each push of his hips.

tears roll down your face, your throat already sore from how hard he was fucking it. you gag and moan around him, feeling him twitch in your mouth, the vein on the bottom of his shaft throbbing. you work your tongue against him, helping push him toward his release. rafe’s cock swells, low curses falling from his lips. he yanks your head back by your hair, his cock slipping from your lips, “goddamn… forgot how good you take a throat fucking, baby.. but i wanna cum somewhere else tonight.”

your tear-filled, bloodshot eyes meet his and he extends his hand out for you to grab. you hesitantly place your smaller hand in his, letting him pull you up off your knees. his lips are on yours in seconds, tongue slipping into your mouth, tongues swirling and teeth clashing. rafe listen you off the ground, pulling you into his arms as your legs wrap around his waist. he walks you into the large living room, his lips never leaving yours. he finally breaks the kiss, gently dropping you onto his couch, the cool leather chilling your hot skin.

rafe drops to his knees, his fingers digging into the waistband of your panties, slowly pulling them down your legs and tossing them onto the coffee table behind him. his eyes flit down to your dripping pussy, the bright blue of his eyes drowned out by his blown pupils. he grips your thighs in his hands, roughly spreading them further apart, “you’re soaked, sweetheart. i knew you fuckin’ missed me.”

you whimper, rolling your hips in a silent plea for him to touch you. rafe chuckles, his right hand releasing your thigh and moving to cup your pussy. he slides two fingers through your slick folds, coating them in your arousal before bringing them to his lips, “mmm.. still so sweet.” he rasps.

rafe stands to his full height, lifting you off the couch and turning, sitting himself down with you in his lap. you grind yourself against his hard cock, moaning at the delicious pressure on your clit as you did. rafe lets his head fall back, his hands tightly gripping at your ass as he helped you slide yourself against his throbbing cock. you lift yourself onto your feet, hovering over him as you grasp his shaft in one hand, lining him with your entrance. rafe’s eyes find yours, his bottom lip sucked between his teeth as he waited to finally feel your pussy wrapped around him.

you slowly sink yourself down on his cock, the two of you moaning in unison. you sit yourself all the way down, burying him to the hilt, both of your hands flying to his shoulders, your nails digging into the soft skin. rafe hisses in a breath, his cock pulsing inside you, “can i move? please baby? wanna fuck this perfect fucking pussy.”

you whimper when he bucks his hips, the swollen head of his cock hitting at your sweet spot. “yes. please, rafe. please fuck me.”

that’s all rafe needed to hear. his hands make purchase on your hips, lifting you up off his cock, leaving only the tip inside before he slams himself back in. you cry out his name, leaning forward and burying your face in his neck. rafe lifts your hips slightly, allowing himself just enough room to quickly pound himself into you. your walls clench around him, tears rolling down your cheeks from the pleasure he was giving you but also because you knew, you couldn’t let him go again after this.

you lift your face from his neck, resting your forehead against his, the two of you staring into each others eyes as rafe continues to fuck himself inside you. rafe pulls his right hand off your hip, his thrusts slowing as he reaches up and swipes a tear from your cheek. “don’t cry, baby.”

you sniffle, “just feels so… fuck— so good, rafe.”

rafe slowly moves his hips, his thrusts slow and sensual. you cup his face in your hands, your eyes scanning his perfect face before falling to his lips. rafe leans forward, capturing your lips with his as the two of you move your hips in sync. you moan against his lips, your walls fluttering around his cock, “rafe.. ‘m so close… please..”

“i know baby… i know,” rafe lets out his out pleasure filled moan, his voice cracking as the next words leave his mouth, “i love you… fuck i love you, this is all about you, let it out, be my good girl and cum f’me, yeah?”

you let out a choked sob, the three small words that left his mouth pulling your heart in more ways than one. your mind is reeling, does he mean it? was losing you what he needed to realize he truly loves you and needs you? do you forgive him? your pussy clenches around rafe’s dick, your lower belly tightening as rafe’s slow strokes push you toward the edge. you sink your teeth into rafe’s shoulder, muffling your cries as you come undone around him, tears uncontrollably rolling down your face.

rafe groans, his thrusts slow and sloppy. his dick twitches inside you, a choked “i love you,” escaping him as he pushes in deep one final time, holding himself inside you as he fills your pussy with his cum.

the two of you are holding onto one another, coming down from your shared highs. heavy breathing fills the room, and when you fully come down from your bliss, you’re pulling yourself off of him, scrambling to find your panties, ignoring the wetness between your thighs and his cum seeping out of you. you’re quick to throw your panties on, turning to rush and find your dress, but rafe grabs your wrist, pulling you back into him.

you can’t look at him, “hey.. baby, look at me, please.”

a tear falls down your face, but you force yourself to look into his eyes, noticing that his are filled with his own unshed tears.

“this was a mistake.” you whisper, but rafe heard you anyways.

his brows furrow, “how can you say that?”

you try and push off of him, but he tightens his arms around you.

“rafe, please. we got a divorce. you made your bed, you chose to treat me like shit and lose me. we can’t work. we don’t work.”

rafe sighs, “listen. i meant everything i said, i’m fucking sorry. i love you, i just… goddamnit, i just suck at showing my emotions. i suck at letting people in, and because of that, i pushed you away and lost the best fucking thing that ever happened to me,” you laugh, rolling your eyes but rafe’s face never falters. “i’m not fucking joking. i fucking love you, okay? okay, y/n? i fucking love you, and i need you.”

you don’t know what to think. your divorce was just finalized, you can’t possibly go back… can you? you do love him, and never wanted this in the first place. what if you take him back and things go back to shit? you’ll look like an idiot.

rafe cups your face in his hands, his blue eyes shining as he stares back at you. “i see you overthinking this, and i understand. i do. but hear me out, please?”

“o—okay..”

rafe blows out a breath. “thank you. i know how i feel. i fucked up, and i want to prove to you that i can be better… for you. please, just, stay with me tonight, let me try and get a start on proving to you how much i need you back,” he pauses, swallowing harshly before he continues, “and if after tonight, you still feel the same.. you can leave and i’ll never bother you again.”

you think over his words, knowing that you would do anything to receive the love you once did from him again. you squeeze your eyes shut, running a hand through your hair as you let out a shaky breath. “rafe, i— fuck.. okay. fine. but if i do choose to take you back, you cannot go back to how things were. i can’t go through this again, i can’t look like the idiot who went running back just because her ex husband spewed a few sweet words after sex..”

rafe smiles hopefully, “i understand, i promise, i mean everything. i will prove to you how much i fucking love you,” he leaves a soft kiss to your lips, standing from the couch with you in his arms bridal style. “now, let’s get your upstairs and cleaned up, then we’ll lay in bed and we can talk about anything, whatever you want, tonight’s all about you, and i’m here to listen and do whatever i can to fix us.”

tagging some moots: @starkeysbabygirl @rafesthroatbaby @rafesheaven @rafesbabygirlx @sarahsangelicdoll @nemesyaaa @cherryobx @httpsdrewstarkey @rafeyscurtainbangs @oceandriveab

[geneviveleocardius]

dad’s got it covered

feat. simon riley

the soft clatter of pots and pans fills the kitchen as you stir the bubbling pot of pasta sauce. the warm aroma of garlic and herbs drifts through the house, mingling with the faint sound of the tv playing in the living room. amidst it all, your toddler’s tiny voice breaks through, high-pitched and filled with excitement.

“mummy, i want the braid! the one rapunzel has!” she calls from the couch, holding a toy brush in her small hands.

you glance over your shoulder, a small smile tugging at your lips. “later, sweetheart,” you say, your voice gentle but distracted. “mummy’s making dinner right now.”

there’s a pause, and then the sound of her humming to herself, followed by the occasional soft giggle. it’s enough to make you peek out of the kitchen, curiosity getting the better of you. what you see stops you in your tracks.

simon, your husband—your hulking, stoic husband—sits on the floor behind your daughter. his large hands, so used to wielding weapons and carrying the weight of the world, now work with a surprising delicacy. he’s carefully braiding her fine hair, his expression one of focused determination. your daughter is practically glowing, a radiant grin on her face as she chatters away, oblivious to how tender the moment is.

your heart softens, warmth blooming in your chest as you lean against the doorway, watching them. simon glances up briefly, catching your eye. there’s a flicker of something in his gaze—a mixture of pride and amusement.

“you’re lucky she doesn’t want the full rapunzel treatment,” he murmurs, his deep voice laced with dry humor. “i’d need a ladder.”

you laugh softly, shaking your head. “you’re doing great, love,” you say, meaning every word.

years pass in the blink of an eye. your little girl is no longer so little, and the house feels quieter, the once-constant chaos of toddler life now replaced by the rhythm of a teenager’s world. tonight, your daughter has a party to attend. she’d asked you earlier to iron her hair, a request you’d readily agreed to.

but somewhere between the dishes and the laundry, exhaustion crept in. you’d sat down for just a moment and fallen asleep. when you wake with a start, panic surges through you. you glance at the clock, your heart sinking as you realize how much time has passed.

“oh no,” you mutter, scrambling to your feet. “her hair—”

you rush out of the room, searching for her, guilt already gnawing at you. when you find her, the sight that greets you makes you stop short.

she’s sitting in front of the vanity in her room, scrolling casually through her phone. behind her stands simon, a flat iron in one hand and a comb in the other. his movements are slow and precise as he smooths out her hair, section by section.

your daughter barely looks up from her phone, her trust in her father’s meticulousness evident. but you can see it—the care in simon’s touch, the way he handles her hair like it’s the most delicate thing in the world. his expression is the same as it was all those years ago, when he braided her hair for the first time: focused, patient, and filled with an unspoken love.

your heart melts at the sight, the guilt dissolving into something softer, sweeter. leaning against the doorway, you smile to yourself, the memory of a tiny girl and a father’s careful hands blending seamlessly with the present.

“you’re amazing, you know that?” you say softly, your voice breaking the quiet.

simon glances at you, one corner of his mouth twitching up into a faint smirk. “just don’t expect me to start charging for haircuts,” he murmurs, his voice teasing but warm.

your daughter, still focused on her phone, rolls her eyes with a groan. “dad, you’re so lame.”

you laugh quietly, your heart full to bursting. watching them, you realize some things never change—and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[leahwllmsn]

tell me I'm the number one girl in your eyes

alexia putellas x reader

word count: 2.5k

You thought that Alexia was the only person in the world who could never hurt you.

You thought about a lot of things. About how Alexia was going to be the one to propose. How your wedding was going to be an intimate one in your and Alexia’s hometown, by the vineyard. How you would have a maximum of two children, no doubt one of which was going to follow in Alexia’s footsteps.

Your life with Alexia was set. It was predictable, really. From the moment you met her back in Mollet del Vallès when you were children, to your first kiss in her backyard, to the day you moved to the city together.

Childhood best friends who fell in love along the way—it couldn’t get anymore perfect than that. Your families were neighbours, it was practically one big family. Everyone was looking forward to your wedding, and by everyone that included you too.

You had been dating for fifteen years (well, you were on and off at some point, but that didn’t count), so it wasn’t far-fetched that you were expecting a proposal soon. You and Alexia talked about getting married, it wasn’t a new subject for the two of you.

The only problem was that the proposal wasn’t coming and for the first time ever, you had a feeling that it wasn’t going to come. Ever.

You couldn’t pinpoint when Alexia changed, when Alexia stopped buying you flowers just because and when the conversations between you felt forced. Maybe it was after Alexia went back defeated from the Olympics. Or maybe it was after Barcelona won the Champions League and Alexia was everywhere but your home.

The distance between you grew and grew until you were left to beg for Alexia’s attention as if you were another fan and not her girlfriend, the person Alexia claimed she loved more than anything.

“I have meetings with investors tonight, for Eleven.” Alexia’s voice broke the silence in your apartment. “Might go on until late.”

“Okay,” was all you could say.

Another excuse, you figured. Another reason to avoid coming home to you. It had been going on for some time. You couldn’t remember the last time you went to bed at the same time anymore. 

Alexia’s figure appeared in the kitchen, she went straight to the fridge and took out her box of orange juice. Gone were the arms around your waist, the gentle kisses to your neck as you read the morning news. Her laughter would ring around the space as she claimed “only old people read newspapers these days, amor!”

“Are we still on for tomorrow though?” You hated that your voice was hopeful. Too hopeful.

Alexia finally looked at you, her brows furrowed. You weren’t surprised anymore that she’d forgotten. It was laughable at this point because it seemed that you were the only one still present in this relationship.

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Dinner.” You tried to act nonchalant about it, as if it didn’t hurt that your own girlfriend forgot about your birthday.

Alexia stared at you for a few seconds, then nodded. “Of course. You know I finish training at four. Dinner is at seven, right?”

“Six.” And I thought you have a day off tomorrow, you wanted to argue. But you kept your mouth shut and let it go. 

Alexia finished her orange juice and grabbed her bag, stepping close to you to press a quick kiss to your cheek. “Don’t wait up.”

And just like that she was gone.

“I love you too.” You whispered to the empty apartment. It felt humiliating at times, to be the only one left in a relationship.

You wondered if Alexia still loved you. You couldn’t remember the last time she said those three words to you. You had a feeling that she stopped, that must be why she never said it anymore.

You wanted to confront her about it, to ask her why you weren’t worth her time anymore, but you didn’t think you were ready to face the fallout. You would be devastated when Alexia decided it was time to leave you. It wasn’t an if, but a when, because you knew it was inevitable. It could be tomorrow, or in a few weeks or even months.

Selfishly, you wanted to keep Alexia to yourself a little bit longer. Even though Alexia didn’t feel like yours anymore. 

You could pretend that you didn’t die every time Alexia’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. You could pretend that it was fine that Alexia never held your hand as you walked through the streets of Barcelona anymore.

You could pretend that Alexia still loved you, and that you were still the greatest thing the universe had ever given her—her words, a few years ago.

Tomorrow, you knew Alexia would go through her day as if it was just another regular day. If you were lucky, she’d remember that it was your birthday. If you were extra lucky, she’d even give you flowers.

Above everything though, you just hoped that she would show up to dinner.

You didn’t think you had any fight left in you if she didn’t.

—

The sun was shining against your face the moment you opened your eyes. Out of habit, your hands reached out to the other side. You couldn’t help the disappointed sigh that left your lips when you were met with empty sheets. You relished in the mornings when Alexia wasn’t awake and you could hold her, even though you had to pretend to be asleep as she gently lifted your hand and slipped out of bed when she woke. You missed when she would turn around and peppered your face with kisses to wake you up. She loved being the first thing you see in the morning.

Usually on your birthday, Alexia would treat you to breakfast in bed. It was tradition, one that she started ever since the two of you moved to Barcelona about a decade ago.

For a brief second, you had a dangerous glimmer of hope that Alexia was just in the kitchen. But with how quiet your apartment felt, you knew she left.

Alexia forgot. Or maybe she remembered, but she didn’t care anymore. You didn’t know which one was worse.

With a sigh and an ache so deep in your chest, you got ready for the day. You went through your usual routine: shower, breakfast, tidying any mess around your apartment that was out of place. 

It wasn’t until an hour later that the doorbell rang. A part of you hoped that it was Alexia, but the thought disappeared as fast. Your girlfriend wouldn’t need to knock on her own door.

It was a delivery man. Surprisingly, with flowers in his arms. Your heart leaped to the faint hope that they were from Alexia.

“Y/N?”

“That’s me.”

“Must be a special day,” he gave a kind smile, handing the flowers over to you. “Delivery for you from… Alba.”

The tinge of disappointment couldn’t help but creep into your chest. Still, you gave him the best smile you could muster and thanked him.

Alba remembered your birthday. Scrolling through your phone, you saw more people who remembered it was your birthday, even people you weren’t that close with.

It was radio silence from the person who mattered the most to you though.

Sitting alone on your sofa, you realized that you had nothing to do. You cleared your schedule out, and Alexia would usually take the lead. It was tradition to spend your birthdays just the two of you.

You dragged yourself to Mercadona, wanting to buy yourself a small cake and some candles. Before blowing the candles out, you wished for the impossible; birthday wishes were supposed to be powerful, weren’t they?

I wish things go back to the way they were before

Most importantly… I wish my girlfriend still wants me

—

You arrived at your favorite restaurant at exactly six o’clock. You ordered a bottle of wine and finished two glasses when thirty minutes had passed and your girlfriend was still nowhere to be seen.

The need to cry was overwhelming, you felt the tears pooling in your eyes already, waiting for the right time to fall. But you swallowed the ache and forced yourself to think of something happy, because crying whilst being alone at a table clearly meant for two was pathetic.

Your texts and calls went unanswered. An hour in and your last resort was to call Mapi and ask her if she’d seen or heard from Alexia.

“¡Hola, cumpleañera!”

“Maps, hey,” you tried to keep your voice steady, but they were futile. You were truly going to sound pathetic with your question. “Have you… Is Ale with you?”

“Qué? Alexia? Is she not with you?” Mapi sounded concerned. She sounded like she was ready to fight her best friend for you. The fact brought a slight smile to your face.

“No,” you took a deep breath. You couldn’t believe this was how your relationship had come to be. “She’s supposed to be here an hour ago.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, chica. She left a few hours ago, I don’t know where she went.”

“That’s okay.” You stared at your empty glass and contemplated on whether you should pour yourself another. You’d finish the whole bottle by yourself at this rate.

“Do you… do you want me and Ingrid to come over?”

The offer was sweet, your heart swell at the reinforcement that there were still people who cared about you. But you didn’t think you could go through conversations without breaking down.

So you politely declined Mapi’s offer and poured yourself another glass of wine. You were finishing this bottle, you decided.

It was a strange feeling. To feel abandoned. Alexia had never made you feel that way before.

Alexia was your safe space. She made you feel loved and made you feel that you mattered.

That Alexia felt like a lifetime ago, like she belonged to another, better version of you—one worthy of her time and effort.

—

The apartment was dark when you got home, but you knew Alexia was here. Her car keys were on the hook, and the shoes she wore earlier were haphazardly placed by the front door.

“Ale?” You let out a wince as you took off your heels, you could feel a blister coming.

As you entered your living room, you found your girlfriend still in her Barcelona sweatshirt passed out on the couch. She looked so at peace that you couldn’t help but pressed a kiss to her forehead.

As much as you hated how she’d been treating you, a part of you still had so much love for her. You knew you deserved better than this version of Alexia, but you didn’t think you had it in you to let her go.

Alexia stirred, not even a guilty look when she opened her eyes and saw you standing there. “Hey, what time is it?”

“Late,” you muttered, walking back to your bedroom. You heard faint footsteps behind you, telling you Alexia was following you. You knew she was watching you, you in your fitted black dress that stopped just above your thigh. It was Alexia’s favourite dress on you, hence why you decided to wear it tonight.

“I… fell asleep,” Alexia’s voice broke the silence. She must’ve realized her mistake then. A part of you broke when she said nothing else, not even an apology.

“That’s fine,” you shrugged. You stripped off your dress and changed into a t-shirt. When you realized it was an old, faded one which belonged to Alexia, you angrily took it off and tossed it aside. This was supposed to be your side of the closet, but over the years, your clothes and Alexia’s have blended together.

“Amor…”

You couldn’t remember the last time Alexia called you that. It used to bring you warmth, but now it only made you feel mocked.

“What, Alexia?” You turned around and the sight of her finally in front of you, of her finally looking at you, made you snap. “It’s not like I waited hours for you, looking like a complete idiota as the waiter kept on checking if I was okay.”

“I didn’t—”

You put a hand up, signaling your girlfriend to stop talking. “Save it, Alexia. You know, I wasn’t even surprised that you didn’t show up. But I thought that your girlfriend’s birthday must count as a special occasion, right? I guess I really do mean nothing to you.”

“Your birthday?” Alexia’s eyes went impossibly wide. 

You laughed, that evil laughter you hear from villains in movies. There wasn’t anything funny. You just felt so pathetic to the point that there wasn’t anything else you could do but laugh at the situation.

Alexia looked like she was close to tears, but you forced yourself to not feel bad for her. She made you feel so much worse these past few weeks.

“I don’t know what I did wrong, Alexia,” you sighed. You knew you were going to lose her after this. There wasn’t going back. “I’ve done nothing but love you unconditionally, but even that seems like it’s not enough for you anymore. It used to be though, so tell me, Alexia, what changed? What did I do to make you stop loving me? We used to be so good.”

The tears were flowing freely down your face. You looked terrible. Your heart was in pieces. It wasn’t a birthday you wanted to remember.

“Ale… If you don’t want me around anymore, the least you could do is tell me. Tell me so I don’t have to wait for you to notice me again. Tell me so I can pack up my bags and leave you alone.”

“It’s not like that,” Alexia finally spoke up, her voice barely a whisper.

“Then what? I feel like I don’t matter to you anymore. You’ve done a great job of showing me that. Forgetting that it’s my birthday is the cherry on top.”

Alexia was crying too, but you didn’t know why she was crying. Guilt, maybe? But this had been going on for some time, why feel guilty now?

“I don’t think I can do this anymore,” you decided, having to force the words out of your mouth. “I know you don’t want to be the one to end things, so I’ll do you a favour.”

This wasn’t what you wanted. You wanted Alexia to fight for you, to prove you wrong. You wanted Alexia to tell you that she was sorry and that she didn’t realize she had been neglecting you. You wanted Alexia to pull you into her arms and not let go. You wanted her to convince you that you were still the love of her life and that she still loved you more than anything.

But Alexia said nothing else and that was all you needed to know.

[isaadore]

JACKED AND KIND NICO HISCHIER

‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ pairing nico hischier x reader

SUMMARY you convince nico to do a tiktok trend, even if it’s a little out of his comfort zone. word count 0.7k

warnings pure fluff, fem!reader, use of y/n

note i hope you guys know what trend i'm referring too 😇

MAIN MASTERLIST NH13 MASTERLIST

IT STARTED WITH a lazy morning and the familiar routine of scrolling through TikTok. One particular trend kept popping up: boyfriends effortlessly lifting their girlfriends while Sabrina Carpenter’s “Slim Pickings” played at the line, “Jacked and kind.” It was sweet and oddly endearing.

You couldn’t stop thinking about how perfect that would be with Nico.

It wasn’t like the world didn’t already know about your relationship. Between games, post-practice dates, and subtle Instagram posts, it was all out there. A quick, harmless TikTok would be a fun way to keep things interesting.

You walked into the kitchen, still in your pyjamas. You were immediately hit with the smell of coffee and pancakes. Nico was standing at the counter in his sweats, carefully stirring sugar into his mug. His hair was messy from sleep, and his movements were slow and relaxed.

“Morning, liebe (love),” he greeted, glancing over his shoulder with a soft smile.

“Morning,” you replied, leaning against the doorframe. For a moment, you debated whether to bring up your idea. Nico was still half-asleep and probably enjoying the peace of a rare day off. Did you really want to disrupt that?

Then again, Nico always had a hard time saying no to you.

“So,” you started, dragging out the word as you stepped closer.

He turned, raising an eyebrow at you with a knowing look already on his face. “What’s that tone?”

“There’s this TikTok trend,” you explained, trying to sound casual.

He groaned softly, though his smile didn’t waver. “Of course, there is.”

“You’d just have to pick me up. Literally for two seconds,” you added quickly, holding up your hands like you were presenting a deal. “No weird costumes or anything. Just you being, you know, jacked and kind.”

Nico paused, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the counter. “And why do I feel like this will end with me looking like an idiot?”

“Because you’re dramatic,” you said playfully. “Come on, it’ll be cute!”

He sighed, shaking his head. “You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”

“Pretty much.” You grinned, batting your eyelashes for good measure.

“Fine,” he relented, setting his mug down with a resigned laugh. “But only because I know you’ll keep bugging me until I say yes.”

“Thank you!” you exclaimed, already setting up your phone on the counter.

After breakfast, Nico followed through with the plan, though he grumbled a bit.

“You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?” he asked, running a hand through his hair as you positioned him in front of the camera.

“Obviously,” you replied, stepping back to check the angle. “Okay, so when I point, you just pick me up. Nice and smooth, like it’s nothing.”

“I’m a professional athlete, Y/N,” he said, smirking. “I think I can handle lifting my girlfriend.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the warmth spreading across your cheeks. “Alright, Captain Confidence. Let’s see if you can back that up.”

The music started and the familiar beat of Sabrina Carpenter’s “Slim Pickings” filled the kitchen. You pointed right on cue, and before you could blink, Nico’s arms were around you. With a single motion, he lifted you off the ground like it was the easiest thing in the world, holding you securely on his shoulder.

“Jacked and kind,” you whispered, half-laughing as you wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

“Was that it?” he asked, his grin smug but soft. “That’s all you needed?”

You nodded, laughing. “Yup! Perfect! Put me down before I ruin it.”

He lowered you carefully, his hands lingering. “That’s it?” he repeated, tilting his head. “You were stressing about that?”

“It’s not about me. It���s about the aesthetic,” you shot back, picking up your phone to check the video.

The result was flawless. Nico looked effortlessly strong, the timing was perfect, and your quiet laugh at the end made it even better.

“See?” you said, holding the phone up for him to see. “Jacked and kind. TikTok is going to lose it.”

He shook his head, his cheeks faintly pink, but he was smiling. “As long as you’re happy, that’s what matters.”

“Always,” you teased, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

Though Nico pretended to roll his eyes, you knew he’d secretly check the comments later to see what fans were saying.

‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ MAIN MASTERLIST ✷ NH13 MASTERLIST

[reignpage]

Working Hard

“Stay still, ma,” Toji demands again. 

He’s holding himself up above you, bare chested, muscles pronounced and flexing, and a slight sheen of sweat coating his toned body. His hair is all mussed up and you can’t resist running your hand through it, clearing his vision of you. 

With one corner of his lips pulled up, he winks at you and asks, “Gonna lie there and be good for me?”

“I’ll behave, Scout’s honour.” You giggle. 

Rolling his eyes, he bends his arms, biceps bulging delectably, and nears your face. He does it with ease, in one simple move, no hesitation, no creak or friction. So effortlessly, agile and powerful — you feel heat in your cheeks. 

This big, strong man is all yours. 

And he knows it. 

“That’s fifty now, doll. Ya know the drill,” he reminds you. 

Breath fanning across your face, his nose brushes against yours and all you can see is him. Just him. And it’s all you ever want to see for the rest of your life — Toji chasing your lips with every push up, carrying his weight so he won’t crush you, couldn’t bear to do it. Would rather die than bruise your body in ways you wouldn’t like. 

You kiss him on the lips, tasting the salt there and going back for seconds. Tongue tracing the crease of his lips, you push in, desperate to deepen the kiss, to have more. 

He tuts, arms suddenly extending to full height. “Ya said you’ll behave; ya promised.”

“But, Toji,” you begin, pouting, “you’re taking forever to get to one hundred. I don’t want to just peck you every time. I literally cannot wait until one hundred for a proper kiss.”

You reach out, arms outstretched to wrap your hands around his clammy neck, making pitiful attempts to pull him back down. He scrapes his teeth against your wrist, a playful warning. 

“That’s too damn bad, ma. We made a deal and y’r gonna have to honour it, yeah?” 

“Whatever.”

He snorts. “Atta girl.”

And then he’s bending back down, grunting on his way. You swivel your head to the side with a huff, cheek grazing his jutted out lips. 

“Now y’r just being mean,” he snickers, soft lips skimming your jaw, a deep inhale rumbling through his chest. “Come on, ma. I need my reward, don’t I? Y’r not gonna make me beg for it, are ya?”

Toji’s flexing up, body pushing itself higher and higher above you, slowly, testing you. You’re weak; you cave. 

Arms wrapping around him again, you bring down with a grunt. He teases you with part of his weight, pinning you to the ground. Your legs curl around him too until there’s no space existing between you. 

You smother his cheeks in wet, sloppy kisses, giggling as he makes groans of complaint, rolling on the mat until you’re cradled on his chest, still attacking wherever you can with pecks. 

“Knew you’d be a distraction; can never work when you’re here,” he sasses. 

With one final smooch right on his nose — he crinkles it, in fake disgust you hope — you rest your chin on his chest, and suggest, “If it’s cardio you want to do, why not do something more fun, Toji baby?”

He makes another noise of complaint, about the term of endearment but he’s lazily grinning at you, huge hands tightening their grip around your back. 

“Alright, ya win.” He rolls his eyes and smacks your ass. “Pants off and get on my face, ma.”

Working out is fun if it’s with Toji.