daydreamsareallineed

[daydreamsareallineed]

chapter four.

pairing: snow leopard hybrid!gojo x bunny hybrid!femreader

keep up here

a/n: this ones a big one so buckle up!

the first two days of your heat are torture, and you don’t stay long in satoru’s room.

the first couple of hours were spent with your face buried in his pillows and sheets, grinding your bare pussy against his comforter until the scent of him and the friction of the fabric soaked into your skin like sin. you were feral, mind fogged and drooling, leaving the soft material wet and sticky as orgasm after orgasm rolled over you. you didn’t even recognize your own voice anymore—just muffled sobs and gasps of his name.

it was like your body had been hijacked.

like something bigger than you had taken over, reducing you to a panting, dripping mess desperate for your snow leopard roommate.

visions flickered behind your eyelids like a reel on repeat. satoru, snarling as he pinned your hips down with brute strength, his thick body pressing you into the mattress as he fucked the breath out of you.

or worse—him teasing you. cruel and smiling, leaning close to whisper filth in your twitching ears while his fingers just barely grazed your inner thighs. dragging it out. watching your sweet little tail tremble as you begged for him to do something—anything.

would he slam into you with a growl, stretch you open all at once, or sink in slow, dragging every inch out like torture?

you sobbed, practically feeling the veins on his cock. you could see it. taste it. your cunt clenched around nothing, throbbing with need.

there was no way he wasn’t packing something unreal. you knew it. there was too much muscle, too much confidence, too much raw, snowy predator in him.

you lost count of your orgasms somewhere around the fourth. the next thing you remembered was blinking awake hours later in the dying amber light of sunset, thighs sticky and sore.

day one was already over.

and all you’d done was rub yourself raw across satoru’s bed.

embarrassment crept up your flushed neck. you whimpered, forcing your trembling limbs to peel off the sheets. you stumbled into the shower, cranked the dial to cold, and stood there shivering, trying to scrub away the heat.

it helped—for about twenty minutes.

you guzzled four bottles of water straight from the fridge, pressing the plastic against your cheeks as your body simmered with renewed arousal.

but the fire in your belly was back, and this time it was worse.

you didn’t go back to his room.

you limped to your own and tried to be strong.

day two was hell.

you were armed with every toy in your arsenal. vibrators, dildos, lube (thought you really didn't need any). but nothing filled the aching void the way his room had. the way his scent had.

the vibrator felt like a whisper. the dildo, no matter how deep, was too soft. too plastic. too fake. your body wanted real weight. real heat. real cum.

you cried through another pitiful orgasm, shaking on your sheets, a silicone toy buried in your dripping hole as your arm went numb from overuse. your thighs trembled from repeatedly bouncing yourself onto it, slick squelching in the air.

you didn’t want to do the work. you didn’t want to move.

you wanted to be split open and held down.

you wanted someone to grip your hips so tight the bruises stayed for weeks, and fuck their cum so deep inside you it ached.

that was the cruelest part of this all.

every hybrid’s instinct during their cycle was the same: breed or be bred. and it was worse for rabbit hybrids. your biology screamed for it. marking. claiming. ownership.

that milky, messy release was more than physical. it was symbolic.

you cried out as another aftershock hit you, your plush bunny tail twitching against your sheets. you could barely keep your thighs apart. could barely stay conscious.

would satoru cum in slow, burning strokes that stretched your insides, or in fast, desperate spurts while gripping your ears tight?

you wanted to know. you needed to know.

⊹ ࣪ ˖

across the hall, satoru was losing his damn mind.

he paced nanami’s apartment like a caged animal, ears flicking, tail puffed and swinging erratically behind him. his breathing was uneven, and he looked wrecked.

“she had my shirt,” he muttered for the sixth time.

nanami sighed, not bothering to look up from the book he’d been pretending to read. “it’s natural for someone going through their heat to need comfort from the opposite sex. scent helps.”

“but that’s, like... for people who are together, right?” satoru was near spiraling now. “you don’t just... grab someone’s clothes unless—unless it means something!”

“you two live together,” nanami said flatly. “i doubt her brain is worried about the semantics of your relationship right now.”

satoru stared at the wall like it owed him answers. his pants were getting tight.

he hated this.

he hated pretending to be normal in someone else’s apartment while you were across the hall, dripping and needy and probably still crying.

he couldn’t jerk off here—nanami would smell it. and he’d die of shame. and probably get murdered.

and work? forget it. he couldn’t even think straight, much less function while on the clock.

so the only time he allowed himself any relief was in sketchy public restrooms scattered across the city.

and every time, he felt a little like a creep.

but your scent haunted him.

nanami said he couldn’t smell it, but satoru could. the sweet, dizzying tang of your arousal had soaked into his clothes, lingered in his brain.

he knew you’d been in his room. he knew what you were doing.

were you in one of his shirts, thighs spread, fingers deep inside yourself while you bit down on his pillow?

fuck, what would his bed smell like when he finally went back?

half of him prayed you’d washed the sheets.

the other half hoped they still reeked of your slick.

because if they did—if they still smelled like you—he didn’t know what he’d do.

satoru groaned into his bowl of ice cream like it personally wronged him, sexually and emotionally frustrated and one dumb thought away from exploding. this was the longest he’d gone without seeing you.

he missed your sarcasm. the way your cute nose would twitch when you were annoyed with him. the way you’d pull at your ears when you vented about work like you didn’t even notice you were doing it. god, he missed you. you. not just your body—though that too, holy shit—but your voice, your presence, your everything.

“do you have feelings for her?” nanami asked flatly, prepping yakitori like it was just another wednesday.

“what—no, obviously not,” satoru shot back instantly. too fast. “it’s just…”

he trailed off. couldn’t finish it. couldn’t lie, but couldn’t say what was actually going on in his chest, either. at first, it might’ve been a heat thing. biological. animal shit. but now?

now he wasn’t so sure it was just that.

nanami didn’t let up either.

“she has options, you know. could’ve spent her heat with someone else. a friend. someone from home.”

satoru’s fur bristled before he could stop it. his pupils narrowed into slits.

“why the fuck would she do that?” he growled, something guttural and angry rising from his gut like smoke.

nanami raised an eyebrow and turned back to the stove, like that answer told him everything.

satoru didn’t want to think about it. he tried not to think about it. but that was impossible when you were literally across the goddamn hall. a few hundred feet away. going through that. in your bed. with no one.

the thought made him shift uncomfortably, cock twitching. he eyed his phone.

still nothing from you. it had been days. no texts. no passive aggressive post-it notes. no sarcastic remarks about the way he chews gum too loud. just—silence.

you had to be nearing the end of your heat, right? probably. maybe. hopefully.

his thumb hovered over your contact before he could stop himself. he didn’t think. he just typed:

u ok?

and then he stared at the screen like it owed him something. a read receipt. a reply. a goddamn sign from the universe. something ugly and anxious crawled up his throat, tightening.

a minute passed. then two.

nothing.

he scowled and shoved his chair back, dragging himself toward the sink to wash his bowl—

ding!

his head snapped around like he’d been shot.

no.

just that. one word.

his heart skipped. no? no, you weren’t okay? no, you were still in heat? no, you didn’t want to be alone?

or maybe the apartment was on fire. could be. wouldn’t be the first time.

but it didn’t matter. because you texted back. and if you were in trouble—or if you weren’t and just wanted to talk—he had to check. had to see you.

he was already halfway to the front door when nanami appeared in his path, arms crossed and expression tight.

“where are you going?”

“geez, mom, what—can’t i step outside for some air?” satoru chuckled a little too nervously.

nanami sighed. “i don’t care where you go, gojo. but if you’re heading back to your apartment, i feel responsible to tell you it’s probably not a good idea.”

satoru rolled his eyes and patted nanami on the shoulder as he breezed past him. “relax, man. i’m just making sure there’s not, like, a gas leak or something.”

nanami made a face, but let him go.

the second satoru opened his front door, he froze.

the scent.

it hit him like a truck, thick and wet in the air, so heavy it curled around his tongue and lungs like smoke. his knees almost buckled. he slapped a hand over his nose and mouth, but it was too late. his entire body responded.

you weren’t even in the same room, and his cock was already hardening against the front of his pants, needy and twitching.

he stumbled forward, teeth clenched. it was dizzying, intoxicating, like walking through a cloud of your need. the primal part of his brain roared awake, hungry and starving and possessive.

your scent was everywhere.

he moved carefully down the hall toward your room, covering his face and trying—failing—to keep it together. he raised a hand and knocked.

nothing.

even with his hybrid hearing, he couldn’t catch a single sound.

he was just about to turn and check his room—fuck, if you were in his bed he might actually lose it—when—

creeaak.

your door cracked open.

and there you were.

eyes hazy. lips swollen. skin flushed and glowing. your entire body radiating heat and scent and desperation.

you looked like a fucking mess.

“s-satoru? what’re you doing here?” you whispered, your eyes were widened looking up at him. 

“i-you said you werent okay,” satoru whispered back, his voice a little muffled behind his hand.

you shifted from one foot to another, nails curling into your palms.

“i—i didn’t think you’d actually come,” you said quietly.

satoru let out a shaky breath, still covering half his face with his hand like that might somehow protect him. like he wasn’t already drowning in the scent of you—sweet and sharp, like something ripe and forbidden. his body ached in places he didn’t want to admit.

“yeah, well… you said you weren’t okay,” he mumbled. “i couldn’t just ignore that.”

you blinked, lashes fluttering. you looked exhausted. there were beads of sweat along your temples, your lips parted as if breathing was hard. you weren’t wearing much—just a tank top clinging damply to your skin and a pair of sleep shorts that might as well have been nonexistent. satoru swallowed hard and looked away.

“i’m fine,” you said, weakly. “or—i will be. you should go.”

“right,” he said, stepping back a little. “yeah. you’re right. i shouldn’t be here.”

but neither of you moved.

seconds ticked by, both of you breathing too hard, the air between you heavy and humid. your scent was practically curling around his limbs, dragging him deeper into some dangerous headspace.

“unless…” you said suddenly, barely audible. “unless you—have, like, any tips? for getting through this. i’ve tried everything.”

satoru let out a sharp laugh, rubbing a hand down his face. “yeah, well, trust me, if i had a tip that didn’t involve either of us doing something really fucking stupid, i would’ve given it to you already.”

you made a frustrated noise and slumped back against the doorframe, head thudding against the wood.

“it’s so bad this time, satoru,” you whispered. “i think my body’s reacting to yours. to you being gone.”

that word—yours—sent a jolt through him. he clenched his jaw.

“you’re not wrong,” he muttered. “it’s been hell on my end too.”

you both stood there for a moment, like you were toeing the edge of something you couldn’t walk back from.

“i can’t fuck you,” he said suddenly, voice tight. “you know that, right? i can’t—not when you’re like this.”

your eyes snapped up to his, wide and glassy. “i didn’t ask you to.”

“i know,” he said. “i’m just saying it so i don’t forget.”

another pause.

“but,” he added, stepping forward just slightly, “i could maybe… help. a little. not—not with sex. but something.”

you blinked up at him, heat crackling in the air between you.

“what kind of help?”

he swallowed.

“let me use my mouth,” he said, and it came out as more of a plea than he meant it to. “just that. you can stop me whenever. but i can smell how much it hurts. you’re not gonna make it through another day like this.”

you hesitated—really hesitated. you were stubborn. you didn’t like feeling weak. you didn’t want to give in.

but your thighs were trembling uncontrollably, and your eyes were full of desperation, and his scent—his stupidly delicious, snow-wild scent—was making you lightheaded. he smelled like something you wanted to bury your nose into. like comfort and cold air and mate.

“okay,” you whispered. “just… just your mouth.”

“just my mouth,” he agreed, voice pitched low, careful, like approaching a skittish animal. “that’s it.”

his fingers brushed your waist.

your breath caught—then broke—and your whole body seized, thighs trembling. it was like the dam shattered. a pulse of molten heat shot through your core, raw and punishing, and your knees buckled like your bones just gave up. you sobbed into his shirt, your whole body seizing up just from the feel of him—solid, warm, here. finally, finally—

he caught you before you hit the floor, arms wrapping tight around your waist and chest like he knew you were about to fall apart.

his purr rumbled in his chest, a low, steady hum meant to soothe—but it only cracked you open more. like your heat recognized him and screamed mine.

“let me help you, bun,” he murmured against your ear, his breath hot and shivery. the sound of his voice alone made your spine arch.

you nodded, dazed. desperate.

satoru eased you onto the bed, your sheets already tangled and soaked with your scent. your body twitched when he touched the mattress—like it knew what was coming. like it had been waiting for this.

he laid you back gently, but there was tension in every movement. urgency simmering under his skin. his tail twitched like a whip behind him, lashing sharp and fast.

he started slow—kissing down your thighs, dragging his nails over overheated skin. his nose twitched. the scent of your slick filled the room, thick and sharp and feral.

you couldn’t stop squirming. your legs shook even though he hadn’t even touched you where you needed it. your body was starving.

when he pulled your shorts down, his breath hitched audibly.

“fuck,” he breathed, eyes locked between your legs. “bunny, you’re soaking wet.”

he spread you wider, and slick dripped onto the mattress.

his pupils dilated—wide, round, blown black.

“is this because of me?” he asked, voice all rough edges, something wrecked leaking through.

you whimpered, arm thrown over your face, too embarrassed to look at him—but you nodded, trembling. “p-please, satoru…”

he didn’t wait.

he devoured.

his tongue dragged through your folds like he was starving. your back arched off the bed so hard it nearly snapped, your fingers flying into his hair, grabbing fistfuls, scratching behind his ears like you were trying to ground yourself in something.

but you couldn’t. you were already gone.

he growled low in his throat when your hips bucked against his face. it was possessive. primal. the sound of a man who liked being overwhelmed by you. his claws dug into the plush of your thighs to hold you open—keep you open—for him.

his lips latched onto your clit and sucked, groaning into you like it fed him.

you screamed, grabbing the sheets like they could help.

then—fuck—two of his fingers slid inside you and you lost it. your whole body bowed off the bed. the sound of your slick, the way it squelched loud and messy—it would’ve made you flush if you weren’t already delirious.

he curled his fingers just right, dragging along that devastating spongy spot inside you until your ears rang.

“shit—” you gasped, tugging his hair, eyes rolling back. “satoru—ohmygod—satoru—please—”

he didn’t answer. just kept licking, sucking, slurping, tongue lapping at you like you were his only damn source of water. your thighs clamped around his head—he shoved them back open.

“stay open,” he growled suddenly, voice rough. one of your legs had instinctively tried to close around his head, and he shoved it back down. “you want my help or not?”

“i am—i’m trying—” you sobbed, brain barely forming words. your body was burning, clenching around nothing, twitching every time his tongue circled your entrance like a cruel little tease.

he shoved his fingers in again—crooked them with surgical precision—and you wailed.

“yeah,” he muttered to himself, more animal than man. “this heat’s got you soaked, bunny. dripping.”

you couldn’t even care. your thighs were shaking, your hips jerking up like you were chasing something you didn’t know how to ask for.

“more,” you begged, voice cracked and wrecked. “please—i need more—i can’t—I need you, satoru—please—”

“what, this?” he murmured, flicking your clit with his tongue until you cried out. “or this?” another finger. another stretch. another wave of unbearable heat.

you clawed at his shoulders, panting, writhing beneath him. “you—i want you. your cock—i need you inside me—please, i’ve been waiting—i’ve needed it for days, i’m gonna die—”

he froze.

his head snapped up. his eyes locked onto yours—wild, glassy, dangerous.

his chest was rising in shallow, ragged bursts.

“you don’t get it,” he said, low and hoarse. “i fuck you right now, i’m not gonna stop.”

“then don’t,” you whispered, voice shaking. your thighs trembled against his arms. your whole body screamed yes.

he let out a strangled, half-wrecked laugh. something in him snapped.

but he didn’t give you what you wanted. not yet.

he went back down—hungry now, tongue ruthless, fingers fucking into you faster, harder, chasing your orgasm like he needed it.

“satoru—satoru—satoru—” it was all you could say. your name for him and his name for you. your whole world collapsed down to his mouth and your heat and this endless, endless ache.

his purr deepened.

he sealed his lips around your clit and sucked, hard, over and over, until your body clenched so tight around his fingers it forced your orgasm to tear out of you like a scream.

you didn’t even feel it build.

you just shattered.

you were crying again. couldn't stop.

your hips rocked, overstimulated and burning, but you didn’t push him away. you couldn’t. you needed it—needed him—like air. like life.

he pulled back only to lick you slower, gentler now—but still desperate, still not done.

and then, he pulled out—fingers gone, tongue gone, mouth lifting as his hand gripped his cock rough and fast.

“no—n-no, please—” you whined, hips stuttering forward, chasing his mouth.

he groaned low and long, and came hard—thick ropes splashing across your belly while you trembled underneath him, twitching and empty.

you blinked up at him, dazed and tear-streaked, chest heaving.

you lay there, ruined. limp. belly sticky. cunt clenching around nothing, still pulsing with need that wouldn’t fully die down. the heat was finally fading, but your body still ached for him.

satoru dropped beside you a moment later, arm flopped over his eyes, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon. neither of you spoke. the only sound in the room was the slow, exhausted drag of your breathing, and the echo of everything unsaid.

your hand was sticky. his thigh brushed yours. he didn’t move away.

silence.

then, after a long, long pause—barely above a whisper, like he regretted it halfway through asking:

“…uh. is my room clean?”

you blinked at the ceiling.

then laughed. breathless. hysterical. maybe on the verge of tears.

he groaned into his arm.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹

[daydreamsareallineed]

chapter three.

pairing: snow leopard hybrid!gojo x bunny hybrid!femreader

keep up here

the days leading up to your heat have been nothing short of torture. you’re hot—constantly. even with the apartment’s a/c blasting like it’s mid-winter, you keep swiping sweat from your hairline and upper lip, burning from the inside out. your fur-lined ears twitch in irritation, and your fluffy tail keeps flicking like it’s trying to shake off the tension simmering under your skin.

the worst part? satoru offered to stay over at nanami’s earlier than planned.

“y’know, i don’t mind crashing with nanamin if you want some time… alone.”

alone.

you both knew "alone" meant you, probably failing miserably, trying not to hump everything in sight.

neither of you has brought up what happened after the grocery trip. not the quiet tension. not the way you’d shuffled off to bed and turned on your vibrator like you weren’t absolutely feral. but he knew. his ears were massive—fluffy snow-leopard things that twitched at the slightest sound. and with the way he kept sneaking glances at you the next morning? yeah. he definitely knew.

at least he didn’t know that he was the one on your mind during it. and you intended to keep it that way.

“it’s okay,” you huffed, waving off his offer. “i’ll be fine.”

satoru just nodded and dove back into his rare ribeye steak like it was the most natural thing in the world.

and that was that.

to say it’s been tense between you two would be a criminal understatement. you're constantly tiptoeing around each other—him, surprisingly, not wanting to cross any lines, and you desperately trying not to pounce. your instincts are going haywire. bunny brain going brrrrr. you’re practically vibrating.

not that you’re attracted to him. no. definitely not.

…it’s just that your brain goes rogue when heat’s coming. all you can see is a tall—very tall—muscular predator hybrid who oozes sex appeal even when he’s sweaty and half-asleep. especially when he’s sweaty and half-asleep.

and the way he refuses to wear real clothes at home isn’t helping.

you were getting ready for work one morning when he wandered out of his room, freshly woken, arms stretching high over his head. your gaze trailed along the fuzzy white happy trail that peeked out above his pajama pants—and you nearly buckled from the sheer wave of arousal that hit.

your ears shot straight up. tail twitched. whole body stiff.

satoru noticed. of course he did. his own snowy ears gave the slightest flick—like a radar catching prey movement.

he didn’t say anything, but you know he was dying to make a teasing comment.

you didn’t let him.

“you look like shit,” you blurted, and bolted for the door.

work? that was its own hell. you were practically shoving scent blockers down your throat and drowning yourself in perfume. the idea of some sleazy customer catching even a whiff of your pre-heat state? immediate homicide. you were already sensitive to touch, jumpy at loud noises, constantly fidgeting with your ears. and your tail? it refused to cooperate. kept twitching and fluffing up in defense like a pissed-off little pompom.

your manager, utahime—a black cat hybrid—shot you a sympathetic look once as you popped in yet another blocker.

you’d only asked for one week off, even though she said you could take more. but you didn’t want to lose any more pay. you were already living off rice and frozen dumplings.

⊹ ࣪ ˖

when you get home, the apartment’s quiet. satoru’s gone—doing god knows what. you’ve never even asked what he does for work. something late at night that pays him enough to splurge on imported wagyu and fancy sake. whatever.

not really hungry, you decide to knock out some laundry instead.

you gather your basket and head for the door, only to curse under your breath when you remember—satoru still hasn’t made you a copy of the building laundry room key. you huff, drop the basket by the door, and head into his room to look for it.

the second you open the door, your ears flatten.

his scent hits you like a freight train—heavy, rich, and pure. the whole apartment always smells like him a little, but this? this is different. there’s nothing mixed in. just him. raw and undiluted. a snow-leopard hybrid’s natural musk, tinged with power and danger, makes your instincts go haywire.

you take shallow breaths and tiptoe to his desk, trying not to drown in it. eyes scanning for keys. focus, dammit.

but then—your gaze catches on the pile of laundry near his dresser.

it’s stronger there. heavier. muskier.

your ears twitch. your nose flares. your thighs press together.

you whimper, barely.

you stand there, locked in place, chewing your lip—and before your brain can yell bad idea, your hand darts out and snatches up a plain white tee.

you bury your face in it. inhale deeply. moan, just barely.

his cologne. his sweat. his natural scent. it floods you. fills your lungs. swirls in your brain like smoke. your tail curls in tight, and your ears tremble from the stimulation.

you don’t know how long you stand there, just breathing him in—until a sudden, humiliating warmth drips down your inner thigh, seeping through your shorts.

you gasp. ears shoot upright. eyes go wide.

fuck.

you yank yourself away from the shirt like it burned you, grab the keys from his desk, and bolt—nearly faceplanting as you stumble out of the room, body aching and slick and mortified.

he comes home around 1 a.m., kicking the door shut quietly behind him. he blinks at your laundry basket still by the door, confused. you’re usually a laundry-and-bed-by-midnight type.

then he walks into his room.

stops.

sniffs.

and freezes.

you were in here. he knows that scent. knows how it smells when it’s just barely starting to shift toward heat. knows it’s you. his tail swishes once—slow and deliberate.

you’re still awake. you’ve been staying up until nearly 3 a.m. lately. he knocks on your door twice.

“you alright?”

no answer.

he cracks it open and peeks in.

you’re sitting on your bed, dazed, holding something white. he moves closer to sit next to you.

“…that’s my shirt,” he says softly.

you don’t respond at first. then your lips move on their own.

“i took it.”

satoru raises a brow, waiting for more. you don’t give it. so he asks gently,

“uh huh. can i know why? i mean—i don’t mind, but… why?”

you finally look at him. and he nearly chokes.

you look wrecked. flushed. pupils blown wide. ears drooping low and twitching. mouth parted like you forgot how to speak.

“i don’t know…” you whisper.

satoru’s throat works hard. his snow-leopard tail flicks once. fuck.

“y/n… did your heat start already?”

you shake your head no.

“no. but… i’m close. really close.”

silence.

he can hear your heartbeat hammering through the room. your scent is getting sweeter. thicker.

he stands abruptly, nervous laugh spilling out as he runs a hand through his hair. his ears keep twitching like he’s trying to shake off a very dangerous idea.

“okay. i’m gonna go to nanami’s. like, now. doubt he’ll be thrilled about me showing up in the middle of the night, but—oh well.”

as he turns to flee, your hand shoots out and grabs his.

he jolts. like you’ve burned him.

you try to speak. but your voice doesn’t come. only a whisper of breath.

“i—…”

he stares at you, jaw tight, terrified of what he might do if he lets his guard drop. his tail lashes once behind him—his whole body tense and alert.

then, after a beat, he gently brushes his thumb over your hand.

“you can keep that,” he murmurs. “and… you can go to my room.”

your head snaps up.

“if you need,” he adds, voice strained, refusing to meet your eyes.

and then he’s gone.

you’re left in your room, sweaty and dizzy and clutching his shirt. your ears droop as your body shudders.

⊹ ࣪ ˖

you don’t sleep.

you can’t.

you try. curling up under your own covers, burying your face into the shirt you stole—his shirt. it still smells like him. not quite as strong now, but enough to soothe your instincts just a little. your tail stops twitching. your breathing slows.

but then… it starts again.

the throbbing low in your belly. the ache crawling under your skin. your inner thighs are sticky again, your body pulsing like it’s warming up for something devastating.

you flip your pillow over, trying to find a cool spot. tug the blankets off. press your palms to your burning cheeks.

nothing helps.

you’re not in heat yet—but you can feel it coming, like a wave swelling just offshore. building. creeping up.

it’s too much. you’re too aware of your body. your scent. the way your ears droop and flick. the way your tail can’t stay still. the way your thighs keep clenching.

you’ve done this before. you should be used to it by now. should be able to handle it like a normal person.

but this time is different.

this time, there’s a scent curled up in your lungs. him. satoru.

snow leopard hybrid. apex predator. the very last person your poor bunny brain should be obsessed with right now.

and yet…

your eyes flick toward your bedroom door.

“just five minutes,” you whisper, already lying to yourself.

you tiptoe down the hall. quiet. hesitant. every nerve buzzing.

his door creaks open, and the scent hits you all over again—warm and deep and dizzying. your knees go weak. you step inside anyway.

his bed is massive. big enough for two people and then some. the blankets are a mess. pillows everywhere. the soft hum of his scent makes your mouth water. you don't even try to fight it anymore.

you climb in.

carefully.

slowly.

just to lay down. just for a moment. that’s all.

the sheets are warm. heavy. safe.

you curl up on his side of the bed, bury your face into his pillow, and breathe. a soft sound escapes your throat—half-sigh, half-whimper. your body starts to relax.

and for a few minutes… it works.

the ache dulls. your nerves settle.

you finally close your eyes.

⊹ ࣪ ˖

you don’t know how long you’re out.

but you know exactly what wakes you.

it hits like a truck.

a white-hot bolt of pain-pleasure straight through your spine, knocking the wind from your lungs. you jerk upright with a gasp, clutching the sheets, heart hammering.

your ears snap up. your tiny tail—short, soft, and fluffy —twitches hard against the sheets, like your body’s trying to work out the overwhelming pressure building inside you..

your body is on fire.

there’s no gentle lead-up this time. no warning. your heat crashes into you full-force, primal and unrelenting. you feel soaked—panties clinging to you like wet fabric, your thighs trembling. everything hurts. you’re throbbing. aching.

your nipples are stiff, sensitive against your tank top. your skin feels too tight. you’re panting like you just ran a marathon.

“no no no—fuck—”

you press your legs together, trying to soothe it, trying to breathe, but that just makes it worse. the pressure between your legs flares white-hot. your hips twitch. your cunt pulses helplessly, slick drooling onto satoru’s bedsheets.

his bed. his scent.

your body wants him. no—it needs him. desperately. mindlessly.

you bury your face in his pillow and sob.

tears bead in your lashes as your hips roll against the mattress—your body chasing friction all on its own. you’re too far gone. there’s no turning this off. you can’t wait this out anymore. you’re a mess of slick and sweat and want.

“satoru,” you whimper, voice cracking. “need—fuck, i need…”

you clench the sheets in your fists, nose still buried in his scent, body wracked with wave after wave of need.

you know you should get up. call someone. do something responsible.

but all you can think about is how warm this bed is.

how big it is.

how easy it would be for him to pin you here and take you apart.

your plush little tail twitches again. your ears press flat against your head. you're mewling now, gasping into his pillow like it’s the only thing keeping you sane.

“please…”

the word slips out before you can stop it.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹

a/n: *rubs hands together very very evily*

[daydreamsareallineed]

chapter two.

pairing: snow leopard hybrid!gojo x bunny hybrid!femreader

keep up here

while you’re not fully adjusted to city life yet, it’s getting easier. you don’t think you’ll ever be completely accustomed to living with gojo satoru, but that’s getting a little easier too.

you’ve learned some survival tricks. like always showering before him. and always putting on a sweatshirt—or at least a bra—before you leave your room, because he loves keeping the ac cranked to arctic tundra levels. another thing?

don’t try to befriend him. because he will take it too far.

you’d figured, since you're stuck living with this guy until you can afford your own place, you might as well try to get along. you can’t help it if your rabbit instincts scream predator every time he so much as glances your way—but you can try to ignore them.

it starts with dinner. you’ll never forget the first time you sit across from him at the little kitchen table, sliding over a plate of leftover sushi rolls with a shaky little “thanks for letting me crash here” smile.

satoru freezes mid-bite, blinking like a cartoon character. then he flashes you that grin that makes your fur stand on end.

“aww, how sweet. bunny girl’s finally coming around.”

now… dinner becomes routine.

you still flinch when his knee bumps yours under the table, but the urge to flee has dulled into a low, steady thrum instead of a full-blown siren.

dinner was tolerable. then satoru started insisting on tagging along for errands. he called them “roomie bonding days.” grocery shopping. helping you lug a new dresser up five flights of stairs. even walking with you to the landlord’s office to drop off rent checks.

it was weirdly domestic. and the rabbit part of you—wired to crave comfort and routine—secretly loved it, no matter how hard you tried to stifle it.

like now, when you’re checking out at the grocery store and satoru swipes his card before you even unzip your wallet, the old lady cashier squints at the two of you and makes a little noise.

“you and your boyfriend make quite the pair,” she says, nodding as she bags up satoru’s absolutely unholy mountain of meat.

you laugh politely. “he’s not my boyfriend, ma’am.”

satoru’s already grinning. “nah, but she wishes.”

you scowl, but the old woman completely ignores him.

“oh, that’s a relief,” she says, casual as anything.

you both blink. “…oh?”

she hesitates, then continues, “well… the world’s different now, i know that. but a small hybrid like yourself should really be with others like you. biology is biology,” she adds, like she’s saying something wise, not offensive. she flashes gojo a tight little smile. “it just wouldn’t work.”

you open your mouth to laugh awkwardly—keep the peace, be nice—but then something warm wraps around your waist.

you freeze. it’s satoru’s tail.

it curls around you like it belongs there.

“oh, it works, lady,” he says, dangerously smooth. “matter fact—”

he reaches toward the display near the register, grabs something, and slams it on the counter with a smirk.

“—ring this up for me.”

you look down. your brain short-circuits. a box of extra extra large condoms stares back at you.

the cashier sputters like she’s choking on air.

your mouth opens. no sound comes out.

then satoru hums, looking thoughtful. “hmm… actually, we don’t need ’em.” he grabs your hand and the rest of the bags in one go, then drags you out of the store before you can even breathe.

satoru, to his credit, doesn’t say anything about the deep flush still burning across your cheeks as you storm down the sidewalk, fuming and trying to match his long-legged stride.

“she was an old lady, satoru! you could’ve just ignored her!”

he shrugs, cool and unbothered. “i don’t stand for discrimination.”

“no, you just love humiliating me!”

“humiliating?? that old hag should be the one humiliated.”

“oh my god—the condoms, satoru!”

he stops walking abruptly, turning to face you. there’s that little smile again—and even with his sunglasses on, you can feel the glint in his eyes.

“huh. so that’s what this is about. you mad i didn’t actually buy them?” his voice drops an octave. “don’t worry, little bunny. i’ve got some back home.”

your eyes go wide. "you're an idiot!" you hiss, dropping your grocery bags to the hot concrete. “and you can carry these yourself!”

you whirl around and storm off toward the apartment, small fists clenched at your sides, ears twitching in agitation. your face is burning so bad it practically sizzles under the sun.

you’re back at the apartment, curled up on the sofa and angrily flipping through channels, trying not to feel guilty about ditching him to carry all those bags in the heat.

when he finally walks in, he’s glistening with sweat, white bangs plastered to his forehead, tail swishing like an agitated metronome.

he drops the bags on the kitchen counter with a dramatic sigh. “do you not know what a joke is?”

you scoff. “a joke? it’s a joke to imply you’re having sex with me?”

gojo groans, dragging a hand down his face. “that wasn’t about you. i was putting that crusty old fossil in her place.” he mutters the next part under his breath, “clearly we’re not having sex…”

you don’t hear it.

you frown. “you kept going, even after we left the store!”

he sighs again, this time deeper. “okay. yeah. that was too much. my bad.”

you blink. he looks—ugh—actually guilty. which is disarming. and yeah… he’s still sweaty. you sigh.

“it was a lot. but… i get it. in your own ‘satoru’ way, you were just standing up for yourself. or… for us, i guess. it’s not easy dealing with people like that.”.”

he doesn’t respond, just gives a vague nod, and you grimace.

“also,” you say quickly, “not to excuse your behavior or like… totally erase my anger, ‘cause i am still upset—but i get kind of extra sensitive when my heat’s coming. around certain themes.”

gojo’s expression flickers.

“themes?” he echoes, but his voice is suddenly lower. throatier.

you wave your hands like a maniac. “like—sex themes! i mean—not like sex-sex, just… the concept. and it’s hot! like, the weather is hot! it’s just… a bad combo!”

he lets out a slow exhale and makes a small “oh” sound, lips forming a perfect o. but there’s a tightness in his jaw you didn’t notice before. you think he’s looking at you, but you can’t really tell behind those stupid sunglasses.

“gotcha,” he says a little too fast. “so—no more sex jokes for now.”

“forever,” you deadpan.

“right. yeah.” he waves you off vaguely, turning around and practically bolting toward the hallway. “i’m gonna shower. i’m all sweaty thanks to you. don't bother me.”

he disappears into the bathroom before you can blink.

you frown. that was weirdly abrupt.

later that night, you’re buried in your sheets, eyes wide open as you stare at the ceiling in the dark.

you’ve flipped your pillow three times. turned on the fan. turned it off. even pulled out your phone and scrolled mindlessly through apps you weren’t even looking at.

but nothing helps.

because all you can think about is that damn box.

extra. extra. large.

you groan and bury your face in the pillow.

did he grab it just to mess with the lady? or… had he actually known exactly what size to reach for?

you shift in bed, thighs pressing together as an ache begins to settle deep in your belly. it’s stupid. hormonal. biological. you’re pre-heat, and your body’s craving comfort, intimacy—touch. but even knowing that, your brain still clings to the memory of gojo’s smug grin, his tail wrapped protectively around your waist.

your ears flatten in frustration. you are not going to think about him while you do this.

but ten minutes later, you're digging in your nightstand, grabbing your little pink vibrator. the second it buzzes to life, your breath catches.

you bite your lip and carefully pull your thin shorts down, exposing skin that’s already flushed and damp from the heat. the vibrator presses against your inner thigh first, teasing your sensitive skin as you close your eyes, trying to drown out every noisy thought.

your breath hitches when you finally slide it between your folds, soft and slick. the vibration throbs in waves, teasing your clit, sending sharp jolts of pleasure that make your toes curl.

your free hand grips the sheets tight as your hips start to rock involuntarily, seeking that perfect angle, that perfect pressure. your body trembles with each pulse, hot and sticky with sweat and desire.

you try not to think about him—his long legs, the way his tail sways, those mischievous dark eyes behind the sunglasses—but every memory is like a spark that sets your skin on fire. you imagine his fangs sinking into your neck, his rough tongue flicking over your skin, and your knees clench tighter.

the buzzing grows louder in your ears, mixing with your ragged breathing and the faintest whimpers that escape your lips. your ears flatten, cheeks burning as you squeeze your eyes shut, picturing the way your nose scrunches when you glare at him, how your floppy ears pull back in fear or frustration.

you’re so close now, hips trembling with the delicious tension, your heartbeat pounding in your ears like thunder.

you don’t know it, but just a wall away, satoru’s eyes snap open.

his ears twitch.

and then flatten back against his head.

the low, steady hum of your vibrator is faint—but he hears it. he can’t not hear it. his hearing picks up everything. the way your breathing catches. the soft shuffle of your sheets.

and that tiny, nearly inaudible moan.

gojo clenches his jaw so hard it aches. his fists twist in his sheets. his cock is already hard, throbbing against the band of his sweats, angry and hot and desperate.

but he doesn't move.

he just lays there, teeth bared, tail flicking in agitation.

this is your fault.

you're the one touching yourself.

you're the one being unbearably cute and annoyingly sexy without even trying.

and he's the one losing sleep over it.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹

taglist: @satorupied, @mashtura, @auucz, @littlemissfix-itfic, @luv3nti, @sukunawhores, @nx-0w, @rh-tg1, @sugacor3, @victoria1676, @arabellasolstice, @qardasngan, @entr4p3, @maddy24207, @maah-sama, @izzybluebells, @penguingirlanzu, @levislug, @moonlight-inthe-sea, @coffeeluvr96, @surethingmoto, @shokosbunny, @kaboomkayla, @ddumgum, @nanam1nz, @universal-s1ut, @sixtiesweetheart, @sleepyyammy, @ilovebeansyay, @mxlktae, @gojousatoruswifey, @haithamsbb, @storuhrts, @satorugirlie, @aldebrana, @00anymous00, @lilychan176, @xxwelshqueenxx, @misswonderfrojustice, @thikcems, @pickledsoda, @19catspiledontopofeachother, @fanf1ctionislife

[daydreamsareallineed]

minisode 01

pairing: snow leopard hybrid!gojo x bunny hybrid!femreader

keep up here

the water hits scorching hot, but satoru barely feels it.

he’s braced against the tiled wall, one hand fisting his thick cock at a brutal pace, the other planted above his head like it’s the only thing keeping him from collapsing. his snow-drenched hair sticks to his forehead. steam curls around his heaving chest.

fangs sink into his bottom lip—hard—to keep the groan inside.

you. it’s you again. your stupid little shirt, your stupid bunny tits with those stiff nipples poking right through the cotton, like they’re just begging for his mouth. his teeth. a little scrape, a little nip. nothing serious. he wouldn’t even bite that hard.

maybe a mark. something small. something just for him.

“fffuck—” he hisses, eyes scrunched shut as he pumps harder, wrist snapping with desperate rhythm.

his brain’s a blur of sensory memory: the sway of your hips in that pathetic little hostess skirt, your button nose scrunching when you glare at him like you’re not the cutest thing he’s ever seen, your ears twitching back flat in slight fear when he laughs too loud, too close, too much.

and then—like lightning—a fantasy jolts through him: you, pinned under him, crying and begging while he jackhammers into you, one hand wrapped around your throat, the other tugging hard on your fluffy ears. you’d squeal. maybe kick a little. maybe claw at his arms like you’re not soaked for it.

his tail lashes behind him, wet and agitated, as his orgasm slams through him.

cum paints the tiled wall in thick, hot ropes.

he groans into the steam, panting, watching it slide down the tiles. watching it swirl into the drain like he didn’t just cum so hard his knees buckled.

such a fucking waste.

hours later, you push the bathroom door open, towel slung over your shoulder, sleepy after your shift.

and immediately—you freeze.

your nose twitches. your ears shoot up.

the musk hits you like a truck.

thick. sharp. male. pungent and hot and unmistakably predator. it smells like danger and sex and something a little too ripe to be normal. your legs tremble. your thighs clench instinctively.

you backpedal, nearly tripping over the bathmat, and bolt back to your room—slamming the door shut behind you.

you sit on the edge of your bed, wide-eyed, heart racing.

heat churns in your belly.

no. no no no. you’re not doing this.

you refuse to think about what he must’ve been doing in that shower. about the way his tail twitches when he stretches, the size of his hands, the heat in his eyes when he stares a little too long.

you squeeze your thighs together.

you should've stayed on your parent’s little farm.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹

taglist: @satorupied, @mashtura, @auucz, @littlemissfix-itfic, @luv3nti, @sukunawhores, @nx-0w, @rh-tg1, @sugacor3, @victoria1676, @arabellasolstice, @qardasngan, @entr4p3, @maddy24207, @maah-sama, @izzybluebells, @penguingirlanzu, @levislug, @moonlight-inthe-sea,

[daydreamsareallineed]

chapter one.

pairing: snow leopard hybrid!gojo x bunny hybrid!femreader

keep up here

you’re settling into the apartment, realizing just how hard this is going to be. everything smells like him—warm, musky, deep—and it takes a couple rounds of chlorine, vinegar, and scent-neutralizing sprays to finally scrub out the worst of it from your bedroom at least.

satoru—whose name you learned when he gripped your hand like he was shaking hands with a bunny plushie and not an actual person—watched from the doorway with a smirk.

"it’s a small place. bet it’ll reek of me again by the end of the week."

you glare at him weakly. there’s not much you can say. without this apartment, you'd be homeless. plus… he doesn’t seem that bad. most predator hybrids would’ve made fifty sleazy comments by now. satoru hasn’t.

whether that means he’s respectful or just hiding the sleazy, you're not sure yet.

that doesn’t mean your guard’s down. far from it. every time he’s near, he’s just a little too loud, a little too fangy with his smiles, a little too comfortable standing too close.

he frightens you. but maybe that’s just your body doing what prey bodies are built to do: recognize danger.

he offers you dinner when he cooks. granted, it’s always aggressively meaty—the kind of protein-heavy meals that make your molars hurt just smelling them. you remember the look he gave you when you passed on eggs and bacon in favor of a celery stick and hummus.

"that’s why you’re so tiny, lil bun. you don’t eat any protein," he says, smirking as he crosses his arms. "good thing i’m strong enough for the both of us. i’ll fend off any bad guys."

ironic, coming from him.

it’s been a week now. your family bet you’d come crawling back to the farm in two days. joke’s on them. you’ve got a job—minimum wage hostess gig at a sushi place with sticky floors —and a basic understanding of the city’s train lines. so far, you're winning.

you’re curled up on the couch now, still in your work clothes, a scent-blocker gum tucked into your cheek. the shitty tv is playing a rerun of some equally shitty dating show, and you're letting your brain rot happily.

the door slams open.

"maaaan, it’s hot!" gojo groans, already kicking off his sneakers.

you nod at him, slow. "it is a little warm."

standard tokyo summer heatwave. your hair stuck to your forehead on the walk home, even with a chilled melon soda can pressed against your neck.

gojo messes with the wall unit, setting it to barely-above-freezing. he plants himself in front of the vent, sighing as the cold air blasts his face. his snowy hair flutters. his spotted tail sways lazily.

you sigh too, thankful when the cool air hits you.

"by the way," he says, pulling something out of a plastic bag. "got us a calendar. for, y’know. tracking stuff."

it’s a digimon-themed calendar. hideous. bright. kind of cute.

"tracking what?" you ask, tilting your head. your ears twitch slightly.

he gives you a look. the kind that says c’mon now. then he grins, sharp and wicked.

"heats and ruts, obviously."

your body locks up like a rabbit under a hawk’s shadow. the remote in your hand slips between your fingers and clatters on the couch.

oh. shit. you completely forgot about that.

in all the chaos of city life and moving in with a stranger—a goddamn leopard—you forgot to plan for your heat cycle.

back when you thought shoko (neutral hybrid, unbothered) was gonna be your roommate, you’d done research, figured it was safe, thought maybe you could ride it out alone. but now? now you were going to be in a confined space, with him.

gojo’s still grinning. "don’t tell me you forgot about that, bunnygirl. unless…" his voice drops. his pupils dilate. "you wanted to go through them together."

you hurl a pillow at his face. he catches it with one hand, laughing.

"no, i did not!"

"relax, relax," he says, tossing it back beside you. "i’m joking. sort of. anyway, just give me a heads up when it’s coming and i’ll crash at nanamin’s."

you roll your eyes, you doubt your neighbor would be pleased with that idea.

"you don’t have to. this is your place."

he shrugs. "you pay rent, this place is yours too. and no offense, but i doubt you want me anywhere near you when you’re all soft and squirmy and smelling like—"

you shoot a glare his way that makes him shut up.

then you nod slowly. that… makes sense. you chew your lip and glance toward the calendar.

"okay. thanks. i’ll look at it in a bit."

there’s a pause. the sound of the tv fills the room.

then, slowly, you realize he’s still staring at you.

"what?"

he raises a brow, smirking. "well, we figured out what you’re doing for your heat, but what about me, huh? you think nanami wants to babysit a snow leopard that’s trying to fuck his couch?"

you bristle. "i’ve been around ruts before."

"yeahhh," he drawls, eyes half-lidded. "pretty sure rodent ruts don’t hit the same as mine. i get a little… intense."

you scoff. your fingers tremble around the tv remote.

"okay. then i’ll leave."

“yeah? where?”

you pause. crap. where?

he smirks. "exactly."

"pff, nah. we’ll figure it out. mine just passed, anyway. right before you moved in."

"is that why it stank so bad in here?" you say, not thinking.

he doesn’t answer.

you turn to look at him—and find his eyes locked on your chest. your nipples are hard, pressing against your thin tee from the cold.

your face burns.

you cross your arms. "you made it too cold in here, creep."

he hums a laugh and stands, stretching his arms behind his head. his muscles ripple, and it’s so annoying how effortlessly good-looking he is.

"get used to it, bunny. i love the cold."

he wanders into the kitchen.

you try to focus on the tv, but the image creeps in anyway—his face, twisted by his rut, eyes wild, claws flexing. the thought of what his version of a rut would look like crawls down your spine like ice.

you press the gum deeper into your cheek.

this is not going to be easy.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹

taglist: @satorupied, @mashtura, @auucz, @littlemissfix-itfic, @luv3nti, @sukunawhores, @nx-0w, @rh-tg1, @sugacor3, @victoria1676, @arabellasolstice, @qardasngan

[daydreamsareallineed]

pilot.

pairing: snow leopard hybrid!gojo x bunny hybrid!femreader

keep up here

you’d always known you weren’t like the rest of your family.

they were sweet, safe, soft. born and bred for the countryside. all long fur and gentle hands and fertile, fertile hips. most of your siblings were married off by twenty, popping out kits like it was a full-time job. hell, your youngest sister just had twins and she’s barely out of high school.

but you?

you wanted more than a quiet little warren and a husband who grazes.

you wanted independence. a life. a job. a space of your own. no paw-holding, no matchmaking aunties, no more “you’ll understand once you have your first litter” speeches. so you packed up, kissed your mother’s tear-stained cheek goodbye, and caught a train to the city with your whole life shoved in two duffel bags.

big city. big dreams. a craigslist ad for a roommate–cheap enough, utilities included. a tanuki hybrid named shoko posted it, so you figured it was safe. probably a stoner, but worst-case scenario, she’ll hotbox the living room and forget to do dishes.

what you weren’t prepared for?

the front door opening to reveal him.

tall. lean. built like a big cat with a mean streak.

hair brighter than fresh snow, a tail thick enough to knock over a bookshelf, and eyes so pale and sharp they look like moonstone blades. he’s lounging against the doorframe like he owns the whole damn building. smiling so wide you can count every single fang.

instantly, your ears twitch. the fur along the back of your neck stands straight up.

every instinct inside you screams: run.

but you don’t.

you didn’t leave your family, your entire species’ expectations, and your safety net behind just to back out now. you will not prove your parents right. you will not run.

you clear your throat.

“u-um… is shoko here?”

“nah,” the predator hybrid says, voice warm and lazy like a sunbeam with claws. “this is my place. you must be y/n?”

the way he looks down at you makes your heartbeat stutter—like he’s already decided how you'd taste.

“but the ad was posted by someone named shoko?”

“yeah, she did it for me. i don’t really have time to do all that.”

he steps back, holding the door open with an easy flick of his tail. “come on in, little bunny.”

you force your legs to move. one step. another. your grip tightens on the strap of your duffel.

behind you, every internal alarm is blaring.

predator. bigger. faster. smiling too much. too many sharp teeth.

and he notices. of course he notices.

“relax,” he says, still grinning like a lion who learned manners. “i’m not gonna eat you.”

you don’t believe him.

not for a second.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹

a/n: teasing my next series! this one will be bigger than my yuuta one and smth i can just keep adding on to! hope u guys are just as excited about this as i am <3 and yes i did enjoy zootopia and beastars a little more than i should've.

[daydreamsareallineed]

Re: Celebrating Sonny Saturday

Dad's bff/divorced dad Sonny takes you to a theme park one Saturday and fingers you on one of the dark rides.

see also: water park trip where he feels you up in the wave pool and the lazy river

happy almost summer saturday!!!

SONNY SATURDAY!!!!

loooove this omfgggg….. also happy almost summer just so everyone knows my birthday is in june so therefore the entire month is about me which means it’s all about sonny fucking you nasty style just fyi.

imagine of those olddddd tunnel of love style rides. its so corny and you think its so dumb but he’s giving you his crooked smile practically dragging you towards it and you have no choice. “pretty sure this one was here when i was a kid,” he laughs and by the looks of it you don’t doubt it. “what, you take all your conquests on this thing?” you tease him as he wraps his arm around you in line “a gentleman never tells” he winks and you both know in private he’s anything but. also the age gap between you too is glaringly obvious to any onlookers, and a few people definitely mistake him for your dad just saying

once you’re in the ride he doesnt waste a second before his hands are all over you, tongue dipping into your mouth as he makes out with you almost immediately. “w—wait, here?” you whisper as you feel his hands dip under the waistband of your shorts. the rides only so long, no time to waste. “It’s called a dark ride for a reason, hon.” he tells you as his long slender fingers toy with your pussy.

he mouths at your neck and before you know it you’re wet enough for him to slip a finger inside of you. he firmly and quickly rubs your clit as he fingers you and you’re lucky the ride is so loud because the sound of his finger pumping in and out of your wet pussy is obscene. “better cum soon unless ya want everyone to see how much of a slut ya are for daddy” he mocks as he pushes you further and further. “bet you’d like that though, huh? everyone seein’ how much ya like my fingers inside ya” he practically growls in your ear. you snap without warning and cum all over his hand, gripping his wrist tightly as you jerk and wiggle in the seat of the ride. sonny quickly pulls his fingers out and has you clean them off, fingers leaving your mouth right as you make it back into public view and he has the most annoyingly smug grin on his face

[daydreamsareallineed]

there's absolutely no demand for this but as a puppy play enthusiast and someone who wants to get fucked by both rafael and sonny........ i'm publicly airing my own wants and needs (sue me!!!!!!!!!! sometimes i think i should get a diary. anyway)

handler/owner!rafael in a full leather outfit and puppy!sonny, chained + collared up with a puppy hood. you're ALSO a pup but you do not have an owner!!!! so rafael takes you in and decides to train you using his number one loyal pup, sonny <333 he uses sonny to teach you how to do several doggy tricks like growl and bark on command, roll over etc. and eventually he goes onto higher level stuff which includes licking, sucking and deepthroating daddy's cock the exactly way he likes it. rafael getting his two puppies to hump each other and then fuck (sonny topping you) while he watches so that you won't struggle to take rafael's fatter and thicker cock later on

[daydreamsareallineed]

Being prices wife who loves and adores him, you would literally swallow glass if he asked you to, but you were a virgin before he married you :(

Don't get me wrong, hes fucking amazing in bed. Fucks you stupid, eats you out, let's u lead and tie him up. Its amazing and ur totally satisfied. But one soft night u quietly confess that ur sad at having missed out on experimenting and meeting different sexual partners. Nothings wrong with price, its just one of those things, yknow? And he totally understands.

There's nothing price wouldnt do for his beloved wife, so ofc he has a solution. That one being? He's got three good men who would be more than happy to give you the whole variety. Some of them into things that price doesnt care much for so you can try anything you like. ;)

[daydreamsareallineed]

john price loves to act like he can’t hear when you ask if you can come. bless you for asking but he’s a sucker for the way you try to clench and hold it for him when don’t get an answer.

he purposefully switches to an angle that has your nails raking down his back, and the man groans through a smirk. you’re begging now, crying jerking with tiny hics as your hole stretches early around him. blubbering out whining pleases and wondering if the sheets are as ruined as they feel.

john keeps fucking you. deep and relentless, and biting back the yes his cock wants him to utter. pushing the thought away, he pushes you into the mattress with the front of hip body and lets his hips continue an almost-cruel pace considering how close you’ve been. balls smacking noisily into the cream gathered at your slit.

you come with a wave of panting sorry’s and clenches eyes. the hands you have wrapped around his tremble, tensing with the rest of you.

and god, aren’t you a sight? damp and choking on those pretty noises dripped in only a little guilt. you’ve leaked out a good bit around him, your lips swollen a still pulsing warm at how his cock is still crammed inside you.

john kisses you with a grunt before pulling away and wiping one of your tears.

“almost did real good for me, bub. but did i say you could do that? did you hear me give you permission to squirt on my cock? ‘cause i didn’t…”

“‘m sorry.”

your voice is just about sweet enough to make john melt. he kisses you with a swipe of his tongue before grabbing your face with one of his hands. the squeeze is tender but keeps you as he from squirming when he starts another thrust—tight and reaching.

“i know, sweet thing felt nice, too, didn’t it? yeah?” he coos over your spilling moans, the grip on your face helping you nod along with him. “good, ‘cause we’re gonna try again… ‘n keep trying ‘til ya learn to fuckin’ listen to me for once, hm?”

blinking through your tears, you nod again. legs quaking as he pummels right against your spot. with curled toes and locked legs, you take it. take him as john pounds you to oblivion. desperate to see how many times he can make you break the rules. how hard he can make your hole squirt out his favorite drink.

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

[daydreamsareallineed]

Home Again

Michael “Dr. Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader | 3k words | explicit

Summary: After four days apart, Robby is aching to see you after his shift.

Tags/Warnings: Robby’s POV, female reader (female anatomy, boobs big enough to fit around a dick but I firmly believe that all boobs are fuckable boobs and that no matter how big or small your boobs are, Robby and you would make it work 🫶), post Season 1, established new relationship, therapy mention (🥳), fluff/feelings/angst, kissing, nipple play, breast play (Robby fucks them), Reader being held down, fingering (f receiving), super brief blowjob, smidge of comeplay – let me know if I missed anything!

Notes: I wrote a huge portion of this down weeks ago, meant as a part of a multi-chaptered fic, but then I remembered that I suck at multi-chaptered fic… I reworked this as a standalone one shot, with the possibility of adding more – like a series of snapshot looks at their relationship. I’m kind of dropping you in the middle. I want these to be centered around music (Baby has been on repeat) and I had a lot of fun imagining other songs Robby might listen to. First songs of this series are Home Again and Where You Lead, both by Carole King. Ok! Yay! Hope you enjoy!

– – – – –

Standing in front of your apartment, Robby slips into the familiar routine of pressing his foot against the door then pulling at the handle before pushing it down. The lock clicks, and it’s followed by a faint creak. 

When the door swings open, he’s met with the clean scent of detergent, the sound of Carole King spinning on the record player, crooning about snow and rain chilling her soul right to the marrow. A smile curls at his lips at the song, and at the sight of you, wearing a loose fitting T-shirt and dark cotton shorts he’s seen you sleep in once or twice, swaying your hips to the music. Your back is turned to him, too busy folding some laundry on the kitchen table and singing along to the music to notice him yet. 

Until he closes the door behind himself a little louder than he wanted, and your head whips around.

“Hey!” you greet him, a smile breaking out across your face at the sight of him. “I wasn’t expecting you today.” 

Robby’s stomach does a little flip at the excitement in your voice. He pockets his sunglasses, toes off his shoes, drops his backpack by the door, and reaches you in a few quick strides. His arms wrap around your middle from behind and he greets you back with a kiss to your cheek and a, “Hi.” Hooking his chin over your shoulder, he holds you close and watches as you finish folding your last two pieces of clothing. “How are you?”

“Hmm, good. Just finishing up,” you say, your hand finding his cheek blindly. Your nails scratch softly at the coarse hair you find under your palm while your free hand divides your washing into neat stacks. “And you? How was work?”

Robby hums, the sound noncommittal as he nuzzles your neck and his beard tickles your bare shoulder. 

It hadn’t been better or worse than any other day, but work had kept the two of you apart for four days in a row now, and it had made his body thrum in a way that was distinctly different from the usual emergency department adrenaline rush. Despite the fact that he was busy, flitting between rooms, checking up on patients and residents alike, firing questions at the interns, you were on the back of his mind all day. The feeling of wanting to be around someone so bad that it became physical was something he’d long forgotten, and he spent the day aching for the end of shift so he could go see you, even though you hadn’t made any plans.

“It was okay,” he says. Without planning to, he adds, “I was thinking about you, I missed you.” 

Robby’s terrified of how fast he’s falling, and how quick this has become something meaningful; this thing between you new enough to still be making him feel like a teenager with a crush, but familiar enough that you leave the door unlocked for him. For the first time in a long time, he feels like there’s more to his life than his job, but he’s afraid it’s all too much, that his personal and work life can't possibly coexist as equals.

But he’s working on it. Every Wednesday afternoon he’s talking to someone about it.

Because if he’s truly honest, he’s equally terrified of something–or God forbid, you–stopping this now. He’s a little too familiar with people close to him letting him down, and this thing between you crashing, on top of everything else that happened in the past two months, might be too painful. So he can’t move too fast, or–  

But then he feels the way your cheeks round around a smile, and he forgets his train of thought when you say, I missed you, too, and melt into his embrace.

“Yeah?” he asks, peppering your shoulder with kisses to hide the relief that washes over him at your words.

Your head turns to him, your palm on his cheek guiding him to look at you. “Yeah,” you say quietly. It sounds like a promise, and the worry etched on his face instantly smoothes over. Your lips find his in a kiss that’s soft and slow. Robby sighs into it, his eyes fluttering closed as the warm press of your mouth soothes him as much as your words did. 

When your arm lifts and your hand slides back into his hair, your shirt rides up. Robby’s fingers slide down over your skin, the space from your hips to your belly button pleasantly warm, and his pinky grazes the waistband of your panties that peeks out from your shorts. He cracks an eye open when he feels it. It’s simple, black cotton; no frills, nothing fancy. But it’s you and it’s driving him crazy.

He kisses you harder, swiping his tongue over the seam of your lips, your answering gasp allowing him to taste you; it’s familiar and sweet, a hint of that drink you like so much still lingers. Robby gets lost in it, in the feeling of your hand tightening in his hair, your tongue dipping into his mouth, the feeling of your stomach tensing under his touch when he uses his grip on you to grind against the swell of your ass.

“Fuck– I really missed you,” he murmurs.

“Hmm, so you said,” you say with a grin. You guide his hand under your shirt, up, until it fits around the underside of your naked breast. “Why don’t you show me?”

He nods, nose sliding against yours when he does. He moves slowly, testing the weight of your chest in his palm before pushing up with a squeeze and flattening it against you. You’re even warmer here, smooth under his touch until your nipple hardens under the roll of his thumb. The sound of your breath hitching when he pinches it is music to his ears, and he can’t help but laugh when your hand slams against the glossy surface of the table the moment he gently twists the sensitive bud.

“I said show me,” you huff, but the unserious tone of your voice is not lost on him, “not tease me.”

“Same difference,” he says, taking pity on you nonetheless and going back to kneading your breast instead. He nips at your pulse, “Why don’t you show me to the bedroom?”

He can feel your laughter before he hears it. “I’m pretty sure you know the way by now.”

– – – – –

If anyone were to walk into your apartment now, they would find a trail of clothes - a T-shirt, a Beers of the Burgh Festival hoodie, cotton shorts, charcoal coloured scrubs, cargo pants - tracking from the kitchen to your bedroom.

You’re on the bed, sitting up against the pillows, working your underwear down your legs and throwing them off to the side; Robby’s working as fast as he can to match your state of undress. 

There’s so much he wants; to get lost in the taste of you with your moans muffled by your thighs around his ears, to turn you over and slide inside while he can get his hands on your ass, to switch places so he can have you in his lap and kiss you for as long as he needs. But then he catches the way your fingers slide over your kiss-swollen lips, down to cup your breast while your eyes rove over his body. He recalls the way you felt in his hand just minutes before, soft and pliant, and suddenly he knows exactly what he wants.

“Stay right there” he says, sliding his boxers off, before kneeling on the comforter at the end of the bed.

He shuffles closer, straddles your waist, and when he finds your eyes to check in with you, they’re glittering with enthusiasm. Working with him, you slide down to make sure you fit together, his knees pressing into your armpits. Robby takes a careful seat on top of you, pinning you under his weight.

When he takes himself in hand, he catches the way your mouth falls open, ready, but instead of guiding himself inside, he taps the head of his cock against the soft underside of your breast. It lands with a wet sound, and a surprised, encouraging gasp from you. A little string of precome connects the two of you, and he repeats the action, alternating sides, watching your skin bounce, before resting his shaft against your sternum.

Realization makes your eyes widen, your pupils dilate, and you quickly move to cup your breasts, then push them together around his length. “Is this how you want it?” you ask, eyes falling down to watch, covering what doesn’t fit with your palm, before looking back up at him.

His hands curl around the headboard to keep himself steady, the peak of his nose and the high of his cheeks no doubt dusted with a rosy flush. It feels better than he imagined, you are making it feel better than he imagined; the eager energy, the tight press of your hands.

“Yes.” 

“Hmm, yeah?” you ask, moving your hands up and down to give him some friction. “Do you wanna fuck my tits, Robby?”

His eyes flutter, a shaky breath sailing past his lips at your sweet tone. “Fucking– You know I do,” he grunts, giving an experimental thrust of his hips.

“Hold on, lift up” you murmur, letting go of yourself. Robby takes himself in hand, following your instructions and giving his length a slow stroke. Your lips purse, before you spit into the cup of your palm and spread your saliva between your breasts. Using the same hand, you reach for him, stroking down until you meet his fist. “Now come back.”

“Jesus,” Robby huffs, the sight of your dewy skin and the feeling of your soft, slick hand guiding him making his cock pulse. The snug fit between your glistening tits reminds him of the way your pussy feels at that very first slide inside; the warm, velvety stretch, that specifically slippery feeling he can’t really describe. He sets a gentle pace, testing the waters, watching the tip reappear on each forward thrust of his hips.

“It looks so hot,” you mutter softly. “How does it feel?”

“So fucking good,” he says, his voice laced with a hint of disbelief at just how good it is.

“Yeah,” you encourage, moving a little under him and pushing down harder, making the space tighter. ”Keep fucking me like this.”

Robby’s eyes close with a groan at the feeling. Between the plush press of your skin, the words spilling from your lips and how wound up he’s felt all day, he knows he’s not going to make this last as long as he wants. 

Before he’s fully thought about doing it, his hand is flying up to his mouth. He licks at the pads of his fingers before reaching behind him, between your legs. He can see it on your face when he finds your clit, just a fraction before he feels himself roll over it; the widening of your pretty eyes, the twitch of your lips before they fall open around a surprised, deep moan. Robby can feel the rumble against his thighs where they’re pressed against your ribs. You buck under him, chasing his touch, his slippery fingers sliding over your lips, down to the wetness collecting at your opening. He uses it, dips one fingertip inside, swipes up, and swirls it around.

More of your sweet sounds echo around the bedroom, and it goes straight to his cock, getting the space between your breasts wetter with the next push of his hips. Together, you find a rhythm; the push, pull, twirl of hands and hips, the sounds, all making Robby’s mind swim.

“Faster,” you mutter, planting your feet against the mattress to give him more room to follow your instructions. “Please, just a little faster.”

Robby tries to do as you ask, tries focusing on his ministrations equally. He’s dipping forward more and more, the slick head of his cock grazing your chin every couple thrusts. Your mouth drops open, tongue unfurling, and his pace stutters when he fucks up against it. “Sweetheart,” he warns sharply, the muscles in his thighs flexing when you dip into his slit before closing your lips around his tip. 

One of your hands lets up, using the other and the side of your elbow to keep yourself closed around him. Reaching for him, you finger the hair that’s scattered all over him, following the dark trail down over the soft give of his belly, his hips twitching when you flit over that sensitive spot next to his navel. The wild curls at his base are wet with a mix of your spit and his precome, and he can’t help but let out a gruff sound when you give them a little tug.

It makes him press down harder between your legs, pushing the hood of your clit back further and exposing more of it to his rolling fingers. With a gasp, your mouth pops off him, head falling back into the pillow as your eyes screw shut. “Oh, my– Stay right there,” you beg, widening your legs, “Robby, yes, it’s– Fuckfuckfuck–” 

Robby can feel your pulse where he’s touching you, the twitching under the circle of his fingers turning into a steady throb as you come with a breathy gasp. It’s one of the most erotic things he’s ever experienced, he thinks, the feeling of it, the sight of your shoulders pulling together as you arch up, managing to keep yourself pressed around his cock, your mouth hanging open as you shudder under him.

He wants to tell you everything; how good you look, how good it feels, that he’s so hard that it hurts, but it’s too much. The familiar feeling of release is already tingling up his spine and taking root in his gut, making his shaft pulse and his balls draw up. “Gonna come,” he manages. 

“Please. Want you to feel good.” You sound wrecked, voice gone hoarse with desire and intensifying the pleasure coursing through his body. “Want it all over me.”

The headboard creaks again when he lets go, grabbing at you before you can reach up to help him, pinning your wrist to the mattress while pulling himself from between your tits with his other hand. The bounce of your chest, your dazed little grunt, and the quick, wet slap of his fist make him feel warm all over. It’s a fight to keep his eyes open when it hits, when he almost doubles over before he splashes warmly over your chest with a deep groan of satisfaction. He’s heaving on top of you, hissing as he uses the tip of his cock to smear his come over your pebbled nipples, braving the overstimulation until he has to pull away. 

After a beat, when the final drop lands on your skin and he starts softening in his palm, his shoulders slump with a heavy sigh. The muscles in his thighs protest when he lifts himself off you, before he settles on his back beside you. With a little frown, he takes your wrist, and brings it to his lips. “Got a little carried away,” he says apologetically.

Still catching your breath, you huff out a laugh. “‘’s okay,” you say, voice reassuring as you shuffle towards him, careful not to spill, until your hip presses against his. You turn your face towards his. “I liked it. All of it.”

Robby hums in agreement, lacing your fingers together and resting them on his chest. His heart is still slamming behind his ribcage as he comes down, and he sighs again as he allows himself to slowly feel the contentment thrumming through his veins, watching as you curiously search his face. 

A finger comes up to caress his jaw. “Are you staying?”

He snorts. “You just want someone other than you to finally turn poor Carole over.”

You throw your head back, the line of your throat bobbing with a laugh. “You’re funny.”

Robby uses your joined hands to pull you closer. “You think so?” he asks, basking in the way the crinkles next to your eyes deepen at his question.

“Very,” you say, giving him a quick peck before letting go of him and getting on your feet. “I should really get cleaned up.”

Robby’s eyes land on the swell of your ass, the sway in your hips as you make your way to the bedroom door. When you turn in the doorway, his gaze is drawn to your sticky chest; his come warm enough to still be sliding down, slow as molasses, but cooled enough that he’s pretty certain it won’t leak everywhere before you’ve made it to the bathroom. The amused look on your face when he drags his eyes up again makes him blush.  

“How about this: I’ll take one for the team and turn Carole over before I clean up, and you are staying,” you propose. “Deal?”

“Deal. But…,” he grins, holding his hands up in mock surrender, “...if you want to send me away when you hear my poor rendition of Where You Lead, I would totally understand.”

One corner of your mouth turns up, but it quickly morphs into something else, a crease forming between your brows. You shuffle your feet, your voice softer, “I could never send you away while you’re singing that song.”

Robby’s mouth goes dry, but before he can even think of how to reply, you’re turning on your heels, padding towards the kitchen. There’s a sharp pinch in Robby’s chest; your words, your sweet face, lyrics, it all settles somewhere behind his ribs, blooming bright and warm. He falls back against your pillows, eyes pressed tightly shut as he brings a fist to the center of his chest, moving it in circles, something he’s done with so many patients today.

It does very little to snap him out of how affected he is.

They didn’t cover this in med school. 

– – – – –

Thanks for reading! Please come say hi and/or share your thoughts via ask/messages/reblogs/whatever you feel comfortable with! Also, if you have any song suggestions, send them over, I’d love to add more songs to my Dr. Robby playlist!

[daydreamsareallineed]

he tells me he's gentle when he wants to be (18+)

summary: Carmy's first time giving head is... interrupted....

title from: "touch tank" by quinnie

word count: 1.4k

content warnings: smut MDNI!!!! afab reader genitalia, CLAIRE SORRY FOLKS (just briefly mentioned and implied conversation), implied blowjob, pussy eating, voyeurism (??? unknowingly cause Claire's not aware but on the phone with reader during)

side note: don't like it that much and it's a bit short but !!!!! here's another interlude friends! thank you to olive again

series masterlist!

Carmy has the day off, surprisingly.

You've checked with him a half-dozen times that he doesn't need to rush off to the restaurant. To which he assured you every time that no, he didn't need to. The staff forced Carmy out of the kitchen once a month, making him take a vacation day after June. A sound decision made by Sydney, Richie, and Sugar.

Being one of the few times you and Carmy share an off day, you told Claire your friends had planned a sleepover at some hotel for the night. However, in your rush to get a bag ready and get over to Carmy's, it had slipped your mind Claire could check on you. Could see you at Carmy's place...

Your stomach twists at the realization, quickly cutting off your location a few stoplights away from Carmy's apartment. You hoped the area was general enough she wouldn't recognize the neighborhood.

Those worries leave your mind when Carmy tugs you into the apartment, when he kisses you like he can't get enough of you.

Carmy is a vision above you. The flush from his face has made it's way down his chest while he pants to catch his breath. As you slow down your movements, teasing out the last of his release, you start to pull away.

He hisses quietly as you flick your tongue over his slit before you part. Carmy watches as you gaze up him. Watches as you pause. Watches as you slowly open your mouth and show him your tongue.

Carmy grabs at you before you can shut your mouth, dragging you off your knees. You make a sound when he kisses you, open-mouthed and slow.

"You're so gross..." You mutter against his lips, huffing quietly.

Carmy groans into your mouth, tugging you on top of him. He keeps your mouth open with a firm grip, holding you close as he tastes you. It's messy as he trades his spit for the cum in your mouth. He rocks up into you, using his free hand to guide your hips against his.

You make a sound of surprise when Carmy flips you over, kissing you into the mattress. He moves you easily, lifting you further up the bed until you're laying against the pillows. You groan softly as he paws at your chest, groping at the flesh with calloused hands until they trail down south with his kisses.

Carmy presses his teeth to your skin, leaving soft nips along your stomach and chest. Your hands find their way to Carmy's face, turning him upwards so he can look at you.

"What're you doin'?" You ask him, brow furrowed. "You don't have to-"

"I want to.." Carmy insists, placing a kiss to your waistband. "Y'trust me, right?"

And fuck, when he puts it like that? Paired with the way he's looking up at you?

You fold easily, nodding at him. Carmy gives you a quick smile before kissing your stomach again.

You let Carmy slide off your underwear, planting kisses along your legs as he goes and trailing them back up when he's done.

To say Carmy is good with his mouth would be an understatement. He starts shy, pressing tentative kisses from your hole up to your clit. Carmy wraps his lips around your mound, sucking gently until your back arches off the bed. The feeling of his tongue tracing small circles over your clit makes you choke on a moan, hand flying to his curls to ground yourself.

Unfortunately, his tongue isn't enough to drown out the beginning of Love Spit Love's "How Soon Is Now?" and how it makes your stomach plummet, recognizing the ringtone instantly. It's enough to make you remember where you are, who you're with, who's calling you.

"Fuck- fuck-" You push yourself up on your elbows, scrambling for your phone. Carmy looks up as he groans against your core. Your movements make your thighs tighten around his head, stretching for your phone on the nightstand.

He hadn't registered the song playing in the room until now. It moves with your phone, cut short when you swipe and bring it to your ear.

"Hello?" You say breathlessly, glancing down at Carmy before you lay back. "Are you okay?"

Carmy frowns, pulling back from your cunt as you listen to the other line.

"No, yeah," you clear your throat. "I didn't know that, I'm sorry."

Carmy's mouth twitches as he picks up on the voice on the other line. He glances back down at your cunt, covered in a mix of his spit and your arousal. He looks up at you again before he makes a decision, leaning back in to lick at your entrance.

You inhale sharply, looking down at Carmy. "No, I mean, I'm fine. Grease just jumped out of the pan."

Carmy can't help but smirk before focusing again. He drags his tongue up from your hole to press flat against your clit, tracing slow circles around it. Your hand finds it's way to Carmy's curls, holding tight as his tongue retreats and he wraps his lips around the bud.

"Shit-" You cut yourself off quickly, shutting your eyes. You tug at Carmy's hair, hoping he'll back off a little, but instead, he groans against you as he laps at your entrance again.

"No, sorry, it's just - it's kind of hard cooking with one hand... I can't... Because I won't be able to hear you over Mari's music." You have to bite your lower lip when Carmy starts rubbing tight circles with his thumb. "I- Uh- Maybe? I don't know what the girls have planned... Yeah, I'll look at it... Okay, bye."

You hang up on Claire quickly, throwing your phone above you on the bed before looking down at Carmy.

"You're such a fucking asshole- Shit-" You groan, head falling back against the bed. Now that you're off the phone, Carmy's relentless, using what he's learned against you. His hands slip to the insides of your thighs, pushing them onto the mattress.

Carmy alternates between sucking at your clit and tracing soft circles against it with his tongue. He keeps enough of a rhythm that you're able to rock your hips in time with it, crying out when the band in your stomach snaps. Carmy doesn't part from you as your climax crashes through you. Instead, he grabs at your hips, keeping you close as they buck into his mouth. He keeps your hips extended in the air for a moment before they fall back on the mattress, hands keeping them flat as you keen out.

His ministrations continue even when your body stops shaking and your thighs go lax. You cry out at the overstimulation, back arching harshly as you press your hips into the mattress.

He's quick to follow when your hips jerk back, grabbing the back of your thigh when it lurches up towards your chest. A whine tears out of your throat as he reattaches his mouth to your clit, sucking with his tongue as you writhe. You groan as your thighs clamp around his head again, tugging at his hair as he pulls another orgasm from you.

Carmy's hands are rough against your hips, holding you impossibly close as he laps at your core. You squeal gently when his tongue brushes up against your clit, hips bucking into his mouth. You choke on a whine when he sucks harshly at the bud, pushing gently against his forehead until he gets the hint.

You're breathing heavily by the time Carmy parts from you, resting his cheek against your thigh as he catches his breath. He starts pressing kisses to your skin, mixing a few soft bites between them. Carmy presses a soft kiss to your clit, pulling a delayed whine from you, pushing him away again. He huffs before he backs away, pushing himself up on the bed. He leans towards you slowly, giving you the opportunity to back out. Instead, you dive towards his mouth, brining a hand to rest against his cheek.

"Really fuckin' good at that.." You mutter against his lips, groaning when you taste yourself on him. He grins, giving you a second kiss before he parts from you and lays back against a pillow.

You can see it in his eyes. See the hunger that's still there.

"Carmen..." You sigh, turning away from him. He grumbles behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and tugging you back against him.

"You're insatiable..." You complain, leaning back as he kisses your neck.

"You like it..." He mutters into your skin.

He's not wrong.

[daydreamsareallineed]

silly seals from outer space

[daydreamsareallineed]

(more kidnapper!ghost)(dark content warning)

ghost bringing the lads round to “meet the missus” and by meet the missus, he means showing them your wedding photos after letting them see the pretty girl from the bar still chained up to his bed

aaaaand by wedding photos it’s blurry polaroids of your sleeping body, his lips smushed over yours through his mask. crude panty shots with the camera shoved under the hem of your shirt. close ups of his scarred, butchered hands groping your tits, gripping your throat and slipping his fingers in your drooling mouth…

sorry

[daydreamsareallineed]

flashback-ish?

Jack is oddly excited to have you on nights for a while. Everyone seems to talk about you, and it has him curious. Interested. ‘Cause what’s that all about?

Kind, according to a med student, and eager, so says a nurse.

What really has Jack’s attention, though, is the first year resident who claims that you’re, “Dr. Robby’s favorite,” and the gaggle of young doctors who agree.

They’re not wrong. About any of it. You are kind and helpful and eager, and Jack has seen the way his best friend smiles at you during shift change, all fond and a little relieved, like he wasn’t sure you’d make it through another night.

Jack thought it was strange at first, that Robby would get so attached to a resident, but after a week of you working his shift, Jack understands, finds himself getting pulled into your orbit just like his friend had.

And, you don’t even know it. You don’t have any idea how fucking magnetic you are, how being around you is so…

Jack can’t even explain it.

But—

“You got feelings for Robby?”

It wasn’t hard to piece it together. Robby smiles at you, but you fucking beam at him, may as well have little hearts dancing in your eyes.

So, the fact that Jack’s question is met with silence does not surprise him.

Actually, Jack understands why you stay silent.

He’s known for a long time now that Robby is… well, he’s a good fucking guy.

Smarter and stronger than he thinks and one of the most compassionate people Jack’s ever met.

Robby tries to hide it, that part of himself. It’s why he’s so fucking hard on Mohan; Robby sees so much of himself in her, and he knows better than anyone that possessing the kind of compassion that both of them do will only make this job harder.

On multiple occasions, Robby’s experienced that devastating burnout that only healthcare workers can, and every time he does, Jack has to remind him—beg him—“don’t turn it off, brother. Stay human. One of us has to.”

So yeah, Robby is a special kind of person.

He’s special to Jack.

In what ways, Jack isn’t exactly sure, and he’s honestly a little afraid to really dive too deep into it. He’s got a faint idea of what he might find lurking within his ribcage, and he’s just not ready to unpack it.

You see that light, though, the glow that Robby exudes. Jack can tell, can feel it. You’re more than attracted to his friend, you’re devoted to him.

Jack appreciates that—knowing that there’s one more person who has Robby’s back, that if Jack’s not there to talk him off the ledge, you will be.

He loves you for it, for the kind of comfort only you can bring him, the stillness, the calm, the safety… it’s unmatched.

But, now everything is all twisted up and convoluted, each new complication stacking on top of the last like sedimentary rock. Limestone, sandstone, and shale all together under pressure, building up over time.

The grand canyon in the form of three people.

And, Robby is the Colorado river, carving through each layer of rock as he pushes both you and Jack away from him.

[daydreamsareallineed]

Poppy~!! I saw that you're taking requests now and I wanted to know, if reader had to pretend to be the spouse of a 141 member for a brief undercover mission, how do you think that would go? 🤭 I'm thinking maybe someone has a love they think is unrequited until they discover it isn't, someone else was indifferent to the act but ended up enjoying the scenario too much, another one maybe was just waiting for a chance to pin you down and this is a prime opportunity, and maybe someone else was already involved in a secret relationship and now they're "married", so it works out perfectly? Idk idk, this is my first time requesting anything from you and I am just so excited to see where you would take this idea! Thank you so much for your time, love ya!! 💖

Anon, I know you asked for this forever ago, but I never forgot about it! I certainly went the naughty route with this one. I hope that's okay! These men are thirsty, and they're salivating over the opportunity to be flirty and forward. Enjoy!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x 141!fem!reader

Content & Warnings: swearing, brief alcohol use, flirting, vaginal fingering, piv penetration, sex club, fake relationships, mutual pining, dirty talk, voyeurism

Word Count: 2.4k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

“You clean up nice.”

“Not so bad yourself.”

Captain Price’s smile is sultry and glowing, his gaze hungrily devouring every inch of you. This is a mission. This man is your superior. And yet he’s always John to you. Your John. The man you love and secretly meet when others aren’t around.

Over his shoulder the setting sun bathes the ocean in a beautiful orange, almost as if the water is on fire. The two of you linger on a balcony overlooking the ocean, pretending that the two of you are married and in simple conversation. Within is a party. Live music. An open bar with flowing liquor. Waiters with hor d'oeuvres.

Malta is beautiful. It might be summer, but the air is surprisingly cool. The salty breeze sticks to your skin. John reaches out, brushes away a few salty flecks with the pad of his thumb. He brings it to his mouth, moaning softly.

“Be professional,” you scold with a teasing smile.

“I am,” he croons. “To them, you’re my wife.” He leans in, brushing his lips along your ear. “And my wife deserves attention.”

As his lips land on your throat, licking up the bit of wayward ocean salt, John’s hand delicately grasps your ass, squeezing.

“We have a job to do,” you murmur, grasping his arm, giving him more of your throat.

“We have the whole week. Target isn’t going anywhere. Not when he’s the honored guest.”

“Champagne?”

John draws back, shifting his stance to block your view of the waiter. “Thanks, mate,” grins John, snagging two flutes. He offers you one.

“This isn’t a vacation,” you chide, taking the flute. The bubbly liquid bursts and fizzes on your tongue.

“We’re in Malta. Staying in a castle. And I get to spend the week referring to you as my wife.” John takes your hand, his thumb brushing over the gold band on your finger. “Think I like this.”

“You think?”

John glances up, and your heart stops. “Would you like that? Wearing a band that marks you as mine?”

“John,” you breathe.

“Say yes,” he murmurs. “And we’ll go back to the room right now.”

“You’d risk the mission just to fuck me?”

“No question, love.”

John’s hand descends again, cupping your ass, squeezing roughly. “If you don’t want to go back to the room and fuck—”

“Oh, stop,” you giggle, smacking his chest.

“—then how about we have a dance.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

Your cheeks flame as you turn away from the faces in the room.

It’s not that any of them are really looking at you, or where Johnny’s hand is, or what he’s doing with his fingers. Nearly everyone else in the room is doing something lecherous—something dirty. Johnny is simply fitting in, pushing the agenda, making those around him believe that he’s fingering his wife and not his fucking teammate.

“You’re a fucking lucky man.”

You roll your eyes, and then stifle a moan as Soap pinches your clit between thumb and forefinger.

“Oh, aye,” croons Johnny, nipping your earlobe. “The luckiest.”

Burying your face in Soap’s neck, your breathing quickens, nails digging into his shoulder. A little moan escapes you, but it’s eclipsed by others who are much louder.

This wasn’t part of the mission. The mission was to attend this gathering, for Soap to be nothing more than a businessman seeking a lucrative deal, and you nothing more than his pretty arm candy. What wasn’t supposed to happen was a fucking orgy.

The target in question is sitting in a lounge chair next to Johnny, his mistress in his lap, legs spread open so the whole room can see her bouncing on his cock. They aren’t the only ones engaged in sexual activity. Most of the room is doing something, or they’re watching.

Noticing the shift, Johnny had dragged you into his lap, situating you so that he could easily finger-fuck you but no one would be receiving a show. For that, you’re thankful, but fuck, you weren’t expecting this, let alone enjoying it as much as you are.

With perfect precision, Soap rocks two fingers in and out of your pussy, his thumb rubbing your clit in tandem with his movements. The orgasm sprouts, blooms, explodes in color. You bite down on Soap’s shoulder to muffle the cry.

“She’s a lovely thing,” the target groans, and the blissful mood dissipates.

“Careful,” growls Soap. “That’s my wife you’re talking about.”

You’re fake wife, you mentally correct. But you smile, preening with the way Soap stakes a claim.

Johnny’s hand starts up again, and you shiver.

“You’re doing so well, lass,” he whispers against your ear. “So fucking tight.” Your pussy clenches around his fingers, and Soap groans.

With his other hand, Johnny tugs at the front of his pants, opening the fly. Reaching down, you slip your hand underneath, grasping his cock. Johnny’s eyelids flutter, and when he looks at you, you understand the silent communication. Like everyone else in this room, the two of you will be expected to fuck.

Better him than a stranger.

Johnny helps, bringing you into his lap as your stroke him to hardness. This will never leave this room. You will never mention this to the rest of the team. As you sink down on him, Soap adjusts your dress, covering what’s happening beneath. You grasp the back of his neck, using it as leverage to come down on him as he pumps up into you.

You press your forehead against his, exchanging breaths.

“Making a proper wife of you,” he teases.

“You’re enjoying this far too much,” you smile.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“We look good together.”

Kyle’s comment catches you off-guard. “What?” you laugh, pressing your hand to your fluttering stomach.

He saunters up beside you, lowering his head in an intimate familiarity. “Captain made the right call. Putting us together.”

You giggle, lightly pushing him with a carefully placed hand to the middle of his chest. “It’s pretend, Kyle. We’re bugging the place and then we’re leaving.”

“We can have a bit of fun,” he smiles, tapping the tip of your nose. “We’re married.”

His teasing and playful smile is warming something low in your belly. You’ve always had a soft spot for Garrick, but you’ve never pushed it any further than some light teasing.

“Fake married, sergeant.”

Kyle drapes his arm around your back and over your hip, pulling you in close. “Need to act like we love each other.” Slowly, and with such affection your heart skips a beat, Kyle presses his lips to your throat.

You twist out of his grasp, flustered and overwhelmed by the attention. But Kyle is all smiles, reaching for you again as the two of you walk up to the house. An “Open House” sign with an array of balloons is out front. Several groups of couples and realtors in suits linger out front chatting about the lawn. The house itself is large, bordering on mansion.

But you and Kyle aren’t there to house shop.

This home is owned by a wealthy businessman. He used to make his money on real estate, but now he’s shifted into drugs and weaponry. More lucrative. Under the table. This home is just one of many targets. The goal is to bug it.

There might be a “for sale” sign out front, but it’s for show. The property already has a buyer. This is just to make it look legit.

“Welcome. I’m Heather.”

Heather, the realtor, extends her hand. Kyle accepts it, keeping his other hand attached to your lower back.

“It’s a beautiful home,” replies Kyle. “Eager for a look.”

Heather beams. “It really is stunning, isn’t it?”

“How big are the bedrooms?” asks Kyle. “Plan on growing our family. Space is important.”

“You’ll love the master. Lots of room,” replies Heather, gesturing toward the open front door. “The rest of the bedrooms have a good range in size to be used as bedrooms for children. Office space. A nursery.”

“Hear that, love,” smiles Kyle. “Lots of options.”

“Sounds like we need to take a look,” you say with an easy smile, leaning into Kyle’s arm.

“Grab a refreshment and explore. Let me know if you have any questions.”

“Thank you,” nods Kyle, urging you further into the house.

When the two of you are out of earshot, you pinch his arm. “You’re having far too much fun.”

Kyle chuckles. “Don’t like the idea of me knocking you up?”

“Kyle,” you hiss, smacking his arm.

“They’d be cute little buggers.”

You smack him again.

“Could start now.”

You playfully dart away. “We have a house to bug,” you hiss.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“He likes a show.”

“I know,” you murmur, pressing closer to Simon’s chest.

He’s being a gentleman about the whole fucking thing, and for that, you’re thankful, but neither of you expected this when you agreed.

“Won’t come otherwise. Need him alone.”

You sigh, tapping your forehead against Simon’s bare chest repeatedly. “Why did he have to be a voyeur.” Simon’s rumbling chuckle is soothing.

He runs his hands up and down your back. “Promise I’ll be gentle.”

“Gentleness isn’t what I’m worried about,” you murmur. “I know you won’t hurt me.”

Simon’s arms tighten around you, his tone dropping to a teasing tone. “Think I won’t make you come?”

You bark a laugh, and then stifle it by smothering your face into his chest. “You’re not funny.”

“It’s only for a bit.” Simon grasps the back of your neck, drawing you back so he can gaze into your eyes. “All they know is that we’re married and we like it when people watch. Which is why the target is interested. We need him to watch us. To get comfortable. Let his guard down. The team will swoop in and take care of the rest.”

You inhale deeply. “I’m ready.”

“Are you?”

You nod, and Simon draws your mouth to his. It’s tender. Soft. A ghost of a touch. You open for him, and Simon dives in, tongue meeting tongue. You grow dizzy. Light-headed. When he breaks the kiss, you almost stumble.

Simon smirks. “You can pretend that you like me.”

“Let’s get this over with.”

You grasp his hand, pushing back the black curtain, revealing the dimly lit room. The edges of the room are all in shadow, but in the center, where the lone light illuminates, is an elevated platform. It’s covered in plush black velvet and pillows. An altar. You lead Simon to it, swaying your hips in a slow dance.

Just as you turn toward Simon, you glimpse the target seated in the corner. Most of his face is obscured, but you recognize the shape. If Simon notices him, he doesn’t show it. His attention is fully on you, his dark eyes burning behind the half-skull mask. You have a matching one, also in black to pair with the lace bralette and panties.

Simon’s hands are everywhere, grasping, touching. His lips find yours, and you sink into him, trying to focus only on him. That is the point after all, to pretend that he’s your husband, that you’re here for him to fuck you in front of others.

And that’s exactly what he does.

The intensity in which Simon puts you on your back, strokes your legs, and opens you wide is more than a job. He is worshiping you, lips traversing over every inch, hands touching everything. You groan and gasp, arching into his embrace, crying out when his tongue finds your sensitive clit.

You don’t care that there are others in the room. That you’re being watched. It’s nice, actually, to be desired in both ways.

“Taste so good,” groans Simon, running his tongue over your pussy.

You’re lost in him, and when Simon ascends to slot is cock at your entrance, your legs fall wider. Hooking his arms around your legs, Simon thrusts relentlessly, each connection pushing bright bursts of air from your lungs.

The pleasure of him inside you is so profound, that you don’t realize the room is being stormed by men in tactical gear until Simon throws himself atop you, shielding your body from view. He acts protective, and in moments the room clears, and the target is dragged away. You cling to him, unmoving, both of you breathing heavy.

“We should go, shouldn’t we?” you ask after a few lengthy seconds. Simon remains where he is, unmoving. His cock is still inside you. “Simon?”

His lips find yours again, and then he’s thrusting, lifting you against him. “Need to finish pleasing my wife.”

“Simon. I’m not your wife,” you whimper as he grinds his hips against you.

“Oh, love. You could be.”

[daydreamsareallineed]

cw: an angsty, messy breakup with just a hint of internalized toxic masculinity

John Price was a man haunted by time. Gave his best years to the war machine, and found himself too proud to admit any regret for it. On the plus side, it meant he cherished the time he spent towards his own goals, his own happiness– however herculean a task it had been to extricate them from his career. 

On the negative, it cost him his patience, at times.

Regimented to a fault, John had a timeline carved onto the backs of his eyelids, the sun shining through each incremental marking when he dared to close his eyes in daylight.

“Well. Then it appears we’re at an impasse.”

“John, don’t you think you’re being–”

“We want different things, pidge.” It never ceased to amaze you how easily men could spout things that were entirely untrue with such confidence. This ability seemed exponentially strengthened in military men.

“I want them, I told you, just not now–”

“I’m not gonna live forever, love. I’m not… I can’t give any more years away to someone who’s on a different page.” Your lip quivers as an enormous sensation of impotence sends your heart rattling in its cage, bruising itself yellow against the alabaster bars.

“Give away?” the words fall from your mouth in an eerie quiet, as if nemesis herself has grabbed you by the throat to cry in fury what you already know:

It’s. Not. Fair.

The stories he’d read in his youth lead John to believe that in order to become a true hero, to live the life he’d been promised, a man must endure a certain number of trials, tragedies, and instances of profound suffering. This moment, surely, counted for all three. 

“Your teeth, darlin’.”

The grinding stops, but the ache grows worse– exacerbated by just how deeply he’s rooted himself into your life. He knows how you clench your jaw too tight. You know how he takes his tea– differently in the morning than he does at night. Information you both wish you could forget, but that you’ll never be able to. Leaving pieces of his roots behind, where they’ll rot in damp soil.

Because evidently, he’s outgrown his current pot.

You wish you were the kind of person who could hurl your glass at the wall beside his head, where it would shatter just as easily and beautifully as your terracotta heart, but that’s never been you. Destruction has always been deeply terrifying and profoundly disturbing to you.

And what greater destruction is there, to the world and to the self, than siring young?

Not that that’s how your conscious mind views the matter. You clench your eyes shut as a shudder wracks through you. Another boundless emotion shoved to the bottom of the jar, crowding hope where it lays stagnating. And, release.

“Go on, then,” you exhale–

“Go find an incubator.”