#☆ — you are kind. to the depths of your belly; to the tips of your fingers. ( 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 )

[burymagdalene]

A Closed Mouth Doesn't get Fed - S. Reid x Reader

When reader notices Spencers dark circles and glossy eyes, they store away their pressing need for him in bed. This desire locked away forms into a wet dream that escalates their prior expectations substantially.

pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader genre: Smut (nobody's shocked) 18+ pls pls, always fluffy when they're in love! tags: softdom!spencer ("soft", I need to invent subdom!spencer), he's a bit sassy, established relationship, wet dream, sleepy sex, pining, fingering, praise, teasing, piv sex, creampie, Spencer at your beck and call! wc: 4.3k a/n: Kind of stream of conscious & self serving smut. I always see Spencer's pov of a wet dream & wanted to write about the other side of it! Enjoy!

The plastic straw currently placed between your lips has been chewed into a nearly completely flat state as you sit across from Spencer at dinner. Looking into his more-tired-than-usual eyes, you listen to him drowsily recount some memorable moments from the case he just got back from. 

There’s a single dangling light above you two that's pouring out a muted yellow that combined with the ugly grass mat wall beside you is making the dinner after Spencer’s case finishes rushed and antsy. You want to go home, give him a proper welcoming back, but he just looks so tired. 

You try to pull your sprite through the straw, but it seems you popped a hole into its side with your incessant nibbling, causing the pull to be drawn out and emit a sound close to sucking in air, you sigh and pull away from it.

“You really did a number on that straw,” Spencer chuckles, “you know, I’m surprised you’re seeking sensory feedback in that manner, usually when you’re anxious you fiddle with the wrapper.” He smiles at you warmly.

You’re actually not anxious at all. Spencer’s voice has this way of subtly getting more used and spent after he’s been gone and awake for a while. A meditative hum in the bottom of this throat he gets with exhaustion that sounds eerily similar to the voice he uses in your ear when he’s praising the way you can take all of him or when he’s realised he has to ask you where he can finish too close to when he’s almost tipping over the edge.

“Hm?” He poses again, squinting at your glossed over eyes. 

“Oh! Sorry, no. No, I'm not feeling anxious. It just feels nice. I… can’t finish my drink now though.” 

Spencer reaches over and pulls out your ravaged straw, plopping it in his empty water cup and moving his straw to your cup, continuing his story like his minute display of tender attentiveness didn’t curl your toes slightly in your shoes.

You sip your drink until the cups' empty noises are too loud to continue trying to get anything out of it and your oral satisfaction for the night finally comes to a close as you fidget looking at your boyfriend with zero alleviation.

The rest of your night progresses painfully slowly as the inner turmoil of arousal swirling in your belly gets increasingly hard to navigate ignoring.  

When you look at how Spencer holds his steering wheel (loosely while the wheel slides itself through his palms on a turn) driving you back while rain thuds steadily at the windshield you want to lean your head out of the window for a wake up call. 

When you walk into his apartment that you haven’t seen since he’s left right beside him like it's both of yours you consider, in-depth, the grisly intimate details of domesticity. More specifically, a future shared bed between you two where he’s slowly sliding his dripping cum back into you with his fingers after he pulls out. Baby (making) fever.

It’s a plague of the most impure of heart ideas. You think, if he gave you a penny for your thoughts he would stare at you in eerie silence until you begged for mercy.

You could beg for mercy.

You want to roll your eyes at yourself, you have to wash this day off.

In bed you prop your chin on Spencer’s shoulder and gaze over the case file he’s been studying relentlessly. You feel a bit guilty when you consider closing the file for him to move into a straddle, better yet, when you consider gently rubbing his bulge from overtop his linen pajama pants until he’s whimpering and can't focus on the details anymore.

You’ve never felt so tongue-tied around Spencer than how you do right now. Realistically, you know that if you initiated anything he would either happily agree or kindly decline, not an end of the world situation. Your eyes linger over to his hands and you pull away and lay down sighing.

Internally you suppose that you don’t want to make him feel bad for potentially being too tired or paint yourself as a partner who doesn’t notice and understand your boyfriends cues for looking sleepy and engrossed in his work. You don’t want to be a burden, ultimately.

So you keep your mouth shut and stare silently at the ceiling and toss from side to side while Spencer continues his work by the lamplight.

“What’s up, wiggle worm?” Spencer smiles while keeping his eyes locked on his case. 

You can’t help but grin at the bit of attention he’s still giving you. Knowing that even after his long day today Spencer cannot resist his magnetism towards you, noticing your every move.

“Too bored to be tired,” you mumble out with your eyes closed “I feel like I have one more activity in me today…” You’re almost too subtle and cryptic with it that Spencer’s social cues skip over your bait. 

Turning his head to you he pets the top of your head and smiles a dopey smile at you, a sight for sore eyes after scanning over his case for too long.

 “Do you want me to make you some tea? I might have green, oh, I guess that’s caffeinated–” 

“Mm-mm.” you non-reply “I’m just going to try to sleep, keep working.” 

Spencer hums and places the hand he was petting you with to your cheek as you lay on your side facing him, his palm working as another layer to the pillow you’re resting on, his thumb (though pinned between your cheek and the pillow) softly caresses you as he shifts the file to his non-dominant hand. 

With his touch acting as a personalized bottle of melatonin, you drift off into a light and lucid slumber, strange waves and blotches of color bursting behind your eyelids in place of your typical dreams. 

This feels way better than a typical dream.

Whatever pink apparition that’s keeping your brain in a sludged malleable state feels exceptionally good. Despite the cold sweat that's pricking up on the back of your neck making you feel akin to a slab of meat in a pressure cooker, this state is leaving your heart racing.

Even the blanket you have wrapped around you feels better, smells better. Hey, you think to yourself, this smells like Spencer. You press your face into it further, the burning intrusion of Spencer’s detergent, the stale cologne left on his collarbones filling your senses almost overwhelmingly.

Too scared to actually tell Spencer how you wanted him earlier must’ve had your brain illustrate its own ghostly representative of what you wanted from him before bed. 

You wrap your legs around the blanket a bit more now. There’s an instinctual roll of your hips that is haywired into your anatomy whenever you feel a similar Spencer-induced haze when you’re awake so you naturally feel implied to go with your muscle memory.

Slow rolls of pleasure throb up your spine like someone is massaging measured passes into your back. Your hips take on a circular motion now, the up and down grinding you had set in place earlier taking too much energy. 

You’re not a stranger to sex dreams. You find yourself painstakingly alone from time to time with the line of work Spencer is engaged in. You dream about him every day of the week regardless, so from time to time you get rewarded with a nearly satisfying dream that takes his spot.

However, Spencer is not gone right now. What you’re experiencing currently is a production of your pent up sexual frustration because you were too shy to let out a reserved beg for your boyfriend to fuck you. 

The pleasure you’re face to face with at this moment has a larger and more embodied sensation than what you’ve experienced prior. Your hands tremble slightly around the blanket you have been rocking yourself against, and you feel whips of pleasure stemming from your gut that is abnormal to these sex dreams.

You just feel so fucking good.

You feel this good when the brutal summer heat overtakes the capabilities of your AC at your apartment and you lazily grind over Spencer on your couch, both riddled with heat exhaustion. You feel this good when you take a midday nap after work with Spencer and wake up humping your mattress with a breathless laugh. You feel this good when Spencers delicate hands lines up his dick with you and teases your clit with it before fucking you slowly.

This particular lucid sex dream is unlike the rest because funnily enough the blanket you’ve subjected your unhurried grinding on sort of feels like it’s pressing back at you, like it's gained sentience in order to get you off. 

The generous veil of sleepy delirium takes up all your senses in such a robust way that the air you’re sucking into your lungs isn’t satisfying you. You gasp in a breath and your eyes crack open a sliver.

You try to blink away the reality you’ve woken up to, trying to savor any last semblance of your raving sticky pleasure before the unmeasurable embarrassment catches up to you.

What you thought was your soft blanket that was supplying you unwavering delirious pleasure, was actually the thigh of your boyfriend, whom you had made a concerted effort to leave alone when you were awake. 

One hand is tightly fisting his pajama shirt (a black shirt with FBI written on the pocket) with so much fervor that his midriff is exposed and the slight hairs leading from his happy trail are exposed to where you look down between your bodies. 

Frozen in fear and embarrassment you keep your body posed in the same position it was in motion as a mere minute ago, the position so delightful that you let out a whine when halting your movements. 

You glance at the undeniable tent in his pants before you brave yourself by looking up at Spencer’s face for the first time since using his left thigh as relief for your pent up sexual urges. 

Spencer has his case file closed with one of his thumbs holding his spot and is staring directly down at your face, eyes almost black with the lack of light reaching the front of his face.

The lamp is still on and he hasn’t really moved much since you fell asleep. In fact, his hand that was softly against your cheek is still there, albeit a bit more damp with drool than it was when you fell asleep. It probably hasn’t even been an hour since you said goodnight. 

Thankfully, you didn’t have to spiral into anxiety over how to apologize to him when Spencer speaks first.

“I-I didn’t know if I should’ve woken you up… I assumed you would have woken up when you-” His words sound faint and trail off as if your sleepy grinding and grabbing did a number on him and wasn’t an annoyance. 

“I’m so sorry.” You rasp out, peeling your hips away from his leg, feeling a sticky resistance between where your cunt and sleep shorts meet. 

“Why?” He pinches his eyebrows slightly at you in genuine confusion and the dialogue between you pauses for a moment. You’re scanning his face for any discomfort and just find his regular big beggy doe eyes. Oh.

“You would’ve let me come?” You ask blearily back at his first words to you. 

“Wh-...why would I not let you come?” The corner of his mouth lifts in a tired and flustered smile at the way you’re acting like wanting to fuck your boyfriend is a crime charged on multiple separate counts. “What were you dreaming about?” 

Spencer is still wearing his doe eyes but his tone switches to a probing tune similar to the greasy way guys have asked you to play 21 questions in the past, but in this case it’s making you pull away the bottom of your shorts stuck to you as you push your thighs together. 

“Nothing even,” your voice gets meek with confusion. “Bunch of shapes and colors moving around.” You meet his gentle gaze. 

You’ve seemed to have stunned him a bit. Spencer has spent many nights dreaming of your naked figure in less than appropriate ways, the way his skin is prickling at the thought of you returning that experience fizzles his brain.

Surely the case can be looked over intently tomorrow with fresh eyes?

“Uhh,” he clears his throat, “do you want me to touch you?”

Normally this would be his first response but he’s exhausted and his brain is mush from the long day he had. He’s back to his old factory settings from when you first started dating.

“Yeah… I’ve been thinking about it nonstop today, actually.”

Now this does not make sense to Spencer. 

“You didn’t mention anything?” He looks down to try to retrace your conversations from the day, scanning to see any missed memos or innuendos he might’ve missed. Nothing?

“No… I mean, you’re so tired! You’re working so hard! I didn’t want to… I dunno.”

Spencer briefly considers looking around the corners of his rooms for prank cameras. 

“You were worried about bothering me? Bothering… me? With… you?” He’s genuinely perplexed.

You laugh slightly at his perturbed words and cover your face with your hands. “Didn’t wanna say something and make you feel obligated or anything.”

“You didn’t–” he pauses briefly, his sassy irritability coming up in place of chiding laughter. 

Spencer looks down once more at your face, his own hard on, the image of you moments prior grasping onto him, drooling on him while getting off because you’re pent up from being too polite to mount him. His perfect angel, suffering in silence. A closed mouth really doesn’t get fed.

He leans down and starts kissing you sloppily immediately, the only way he knows how really. Can barely harness his desire when he feels his open mouth against yours. You breathe out your nose like you can’t believe you got here finally.

Hands gripping the back of your neck and side of your face, you were not prepared to go from your “I have to keep my hands to myself” mindset to “I can’t even tell where his hands are on me” so quickly. 

Unsurprisingly, he’s whimpering into your mouth before you, fully laying all of his weight on you like a big dog that still thinks it's a lap puppy. With his precedent put in place, you follow willingly, a trail of small “ah’s” are moaned back at him.

You haven’t shaken off your sleep fully, the room is so dim and Spencer is so warm that the only real difference between right now and your dream is that Spencers rolling his hard dick against the hem of your pajama shorts.

Trailing the tip of your tongue lightly against the roof of Spencer's mouth he huffs out a shocked whine like you did something unfair and pulls back to look at you with tunnel vision.

“How do you want it?” He pants hard.

“Mmf. However.” You’re a bit sick of mulling over the logistics and just want to skip to feeling the expanse of his back under your fingers.

“You’ve had all this time thinking about it and you can’t tell me how you imagined me taking you?”

He’s pulled back fully now, pushing his linen pants down just enough so that his cock pops above it and he wastes no time taking it into his palm. He’s being needy enough that you’d think he was the one tormented with sex dreams, but you’d never complain about his attachment to you. 

It makes your throat dry. The lamp illuminates him in such a picturesque way you’d consider directing a movie scene just like it. Your clit throbs again as a painful reminder of where you are.

“I want it slow.” You sigh out as you watch him palm the very thing you’ve been fantasizing about for the six hours you’ve been together today.

“You want it slow… what?”

“Stop it.” You’re too frazzled by him right now, he knows. Deep down you know you’re going to have to ask properly after dancing around it all day.

Spencer smiles and his jaw drops an inch in pleasure as he starts twisting his fist around the head of his dick now. 

Okay! Maybe you can give into his teasing a bit.

“I want it slow, please.” 

You feel hot with embarrassment immediately but as soon as it comes it dissipates when Spencer gasps and pulls his hand off himself with a displeased grunt. He takes your jaw into his hands as he lays on top of you to kiss you again, the angle of your jaw is being smeared with whatever precum he got on his palm.

Moving your hand between both of your bodies to get to the top of your shorts was slow and crushing as neither of you wanted to part from the other long enough to expedite its trip down.

Nevertheless, Spencer can hear every tiny noise and breath of pleasure you let out in situations like these and props himself to the side on one of his hands as the other brazenly pulls your shorts quickly down from the middle of them where the hem was pressing against your clit.

The ferocity of the cold air that meets your folds is your first indicator of how wet you’re going to be for this. How much Spencer is going to be cooing in awe of you in 3...2…

“Jesus Christ.” 

Your eyes follow to where he’s looking but it's too dark from where you’re lying to truly take in how wet you look, you just know how you feel. And you feel achingly ready.

“Baby, I just can’t believe how wet you get. For me.”

He’s turning himself on with his own words as you plop your head back down to the pillow to squeeze your eyes shut as if to bat away how good his praise feels. Come to think of it, you don’t really think it’s been mentioned in the many conversations you’ve had about likes and dislikes, yet Spencer wields his words like a heavy axe every time.

You jolt when the pads of his pointer and ring finger rub slightly at your opening, gauging with touch how much wetness he’s going to be inside momentarily. Soon later he trails up to circle your clit and when you moan in response he gives the sight of his fingers against you a toothy grin.

The stretch those same fingers give you have your thighs opening up lazily, up to your sides when they usually strain to shut at the too-pleasureable sensation. Even the cells in your legs and the neurons in your brain are begging for Spencer.

Soft squelching is coming from between your legs and you can’t even be bothered to shy away from it, you know how wet he makes you and he sure as hell does, so playing coy is just not in your capabilities right now. You moan out another loud “mmm” as your eyebrows screw together.

“You sound so pretty.” 

You’re not sure if Spencer is referring to the wetness between your legs or your moaning but you drink in his approval of your noises anyway.

“Spence– I really need it.”

“Hm, right. Slow please.”

You oughta slap him. Right now you could be threatening celibacy at his toying, but you can’t even conjure up such a frightening concept. You let out a “hhng” instead.

For the final time, Spencer lays down against you and presses a kiss to your forehead, to your cheek, as he rubs his agitated dick against the new wetness you’ve produced at his playing. Satisfyingly coated, he shutters a sigh and sinks into you.

He is looking down between your bodies while he enters you, his cheek moved and pressed against your forehead as you whimper against his neck. You haven’t checked the clock in forever, a liminal space created in the blue of the deep night that engulfs the both of you.

Spencer is surprised that his skin is blushing now when he’s already fully sheathed inside of you (when he’s been fully inside you countless times). He can never truly believe the pleasure the human body can experience, that he can experience with you.

Once his hips have settled neatly against yours, when you’re mumbling out a “God-” Spencer begins to kiss back down your face again to where his mouth makes a home in your neck.

Not wanting to risk any muffled noises that he could be letting out against your skin, you move one of your hands to pull back his head by his hair, rewarding yourself with a more clear articulation of the pretty moans he was enveloping against your skin.

Fist still gripping his head back, Spencer begins to make slow and deep thrusts into you, the exact ones you’ve been craving in the pit of your stomach, you feel dizzy with arousal. Fluttering around him you gasp as you feel more of your slick tremble out of you, making his intrusion continuously slippery.

Spencer’s eyelids are shutting and opening repeatedly, wanting to fully close his eyes to the mind numbing pleasure, but equally wanting to stare at your face while he gives you what your biological need was trembling for in your light sleep.

He gets re-offended.

“Nuh-never hide- oh shit… always tell me when you want this. I will always, hm, give you this. Ne-ver spare my exhaustion, oh please-”

Your hips start meeting his consuming thrusts as you whine at his begs. What were you thinking? How could you ever stand in your own way of this?

Frantically nodding at his request, not trusting your voice, you move your fingers out of his hair to trace your nails against his back like signing your name in approval at his order.

Spencer moves slightly to cover your body with his completely, crowning in your head with his forearms. Little strands of his hair, slightly damp with sweat, tickle your forehead. You move to wrap your legs around his waist, locking in the position by putting one of your feet over the other.

With your legs on his lower back you begin to push him with your legs, guiding his rhythm, as you deepen his thrusts more. You two gasp in tandem. 

“Touch me please.” You grit out with a raspy voice. Needing to feel yourself come around Spencer is becoming frighteningly high on the list of your necessities currently. You wiggle your hips against his as an invitation.

“M’ course. Pretty.” 

Somehow the most intelligible praises are what get your gut swirling the most. Something about Spencer so lost in pleasure that he can barely talk but still making the effort to compliment you makes you want to make breakfast for him in the morning. Sweet boy. 

“Sweet boy.” You’ve learned your lesson on biting your tongue. 

He leans down to kiss you just as he starts rubbing your clit in fast movements. You could fall into this limbo of almost-there thrusts and soft caresses for the rest of time. You feel overjoyed with gratitude towards your wet dream, for the cock spreading you open.

Spencer inevitably picks up the pace of his thrusts, the slow rhythm driving him crazy. At the increase of speed you and Spencer find yourself whining out “I love you” at the same time. You’d giggle, maybe, if you were in a normal state. But the state Spencer has fucked you into has made this transaction feel like an omnipotent sign from the universe that you are tethered for life. 

His fingers slip around in sloppy circles for a few moments more and you whimper out “coming” in such a strangled way it barely even sounds like it anymore. He gets it instantly though when he feels your walls contract and expand against him, how you whimper and shake your head back and forth like you still can’t believe how good coming feels.

Slowly breathing and speeding up his thrusts even more, he fucks you through your orgasm as he begins his, his cum spreads over himself as he moves it in and out of you. The whines he’s letting out are unrestrained and high pitched while he smooths your cheek with a thumb.

Bordering onto stinging overstimulation now, your thighs wrap around him tightly enough to indicate his slowing down till he’s resting idly in you.

The urge Spencer gets after you two finish to place as many kisses on your exposed skin as possible festers again when he’s trying to distract you from the empty feeling of him pulling out.

“Spence,” you gulp back little saliva, “hah, thank you.”

He shakes his head at you again, goofy smile on his face as he’s already forming the highlight reel of the night in his head, reliving it. 

“I’m never going to be too tired for that. I’m in love with you, I’m not too tired for that.”

“Mmkay,” you start petting the wild strands of hair down from his head that you were tugging earlier “consider that lesson learned.” You chirp in finality, eyes closing with a similar exhaustion to Spencers.

“Mm, let me clean you up.”

Even with eyes closed you know his whereabouts, you can hear Spencer’s feet padding against his floors and you can map where he’s going in his apartment depending on how the hardwood dips underneath him. 

In such a tired state, the cool cloth against you barely jolts you as it usually does, the slightly rough fabric against your sensitive skin doesn’t work to jar you, completely in bliss with nothing that can shake you.

You can’t sleep fully without feeling the dip of the mattress and Spencer’s body settled between sheets. With his addition to the bed again, case file extremely discarded, you can lay cradled to his side where the sleep you fall into is so deep you don’t dream at all.

[heesngirl]

── ﹙✧﹚Heeseung - f. reader, ovulation/fertility topics, p in v, unprotected sex, breeding kink (mild), baby-making topic, passional stuff, cum, mdni.

Babies? Not exactly my thing. But Lee Heeseung as a dad? Or just wanting a baby? Now that’s a plot twist I could get behind. Like… maybe the idea isn’t that bad after all.

You’ve both been in bed for a while now, naked, wrapped in the quiet warmth of the room. The soft, dim light brushes over your skin as you kiss with that kind of surrender that only comes from a love as deep as yours. Your bodies are intertwined, pressed together so intimately that there isn’t a single space between you. He holds you close against his chest, his hand slowly tracing the curve of your waist, your ribs, your bare back. And you hold him just as tightly, your legs tangled with his, your skin buzzing under every touch.

His lips brush against yours again and again. The kisses are sweet, slow, soft… but full of a desire that keeps growing, wrapping around the two of you little by little. There’s no rush, but there is so much need. You’ve both been waiting for this, talked about it so many times, and now—finally—the moment is here. This time, there would be no condom, no holding back. You’re in your fertile days, and you both know it.

“Our moment is here…” he whispers against your mouth, looking at you with a tenderness that warms you more than any touch.

His hands glide up to your chest, tracing the shape of it with trembling, reverent fingers, and his tongue returns to your mouth just as his body starts pressing against you with more intent. You feel his hard, hot erection rubbing against your belly. The way he moves, the way he touches you, the way he breathes over you… everything tells you he’s just as excited as you are.

His fingers slip down between your legs, sliding easily between your wet lips. He starts rubbing you in slow, circular motions, caressing your clit with such delicious gentleness. You moan softly into his mouth, and he smiles faintly, resting his forehead against yours as he keeps touching you.

“You’re so wet…” he murmurs, his voice rough, warm, thick with desire. “I love knowing your body wants this too. I want to see you pregnant, baby. Fill you up and watch our baby grow inside you.”

Hearing him say that makes you shiver. There’s no vulgarity in his words—only raw, emotional, honest need. And you feel it too. You look into his eyes and feel like you could cry from how much you love him.

“You’re going to be such a beautiful mom…” he goes on, slowly sliding his fingers along your entrance and pulling them out, soaked with you. “I’m going to take care of you every step of the way. I’ll be there for everything, you won’t be alone for a second.”

“I love you so much ~” you whisper through your moans, caressing his face, his neck, his chest. “I want this baby with you, Hee. I want it so badly.”

And that’s all it takes.

Heeseung moves carefully, kissing you softly as he settles between your legs, positioning himself right where you need him. He opens you up with his hands on the inside of your thighs, parting you gently but firmly as you look up at him, heart pounding in your throat. His gaze travels across your whole body, and when he aligns himself with you, you feel the tip of his cock brush against you—hot, firm, aching.

“Let me do it, darling. Let me give you everything. I promise… I’m going to make you a mom tonight,” he murmurs, eyes locked with yours.

Then he presses in slowly, pushing with his hips until the tip begins to slide inside. Your body takes him in right away—warm, ready, eager. He sinks into you little by little, feeling you wrap around him from the inside, groaning softly against your neck, trembling from how intense it all is.

There's no rush, only depth. A connection that goes beyond sex. It's love, it's surrender, it's creation.

Heeseung sinks into you with reverent slowness, as if every inch he advances is part of an intimate ritual that only the two of you understand. The pressure at first makes you let out a shaky sigh, the muscles in your belly tighten as you feel him open you from within, filling you little by little until there's no space left between his body and yours.

He stays like that for a moment, completely buried, his eyes closed, his forehead against your neck, as if he needs to imprint that sensation on his memory: your heat, your wetness, the way your insides wrap around him with hunger. Then, slowly but firmly, he begins to move. Each thrust is measured and deep. There's no frantic rhythm or careless movements. Only that gentle, purposeful back and forth motion, as if he wants to imprint his presence inside you. Your body arches beneath his, each new entrance making you grip tighter on his shoulders, his back, anything you can reach.

Your legs close around him, imprisoning him with need, wanting to feel him deeper. Your hips lift to seek him out, to beg him for more without a word. And he understands. He pushes harder, deeper.

His mouth trails over your neck, your collarbone, your breasts. He licks, kisses, bites you with overwhelming tenderness, with physical devotion. He feels every moan that escapes you vibrate on his tongue, every shudder of yours echo down his spine. Beads of sweat begin to pearl on his back, and yours trickle down your temples, as the heat between your bodies becomes thick, wet, and inevitable.

He watches you from above, his chest heaving, his lips parted, his gaze filled with something so deep you can barely hold it. His thrusts become more intense, with that measured force that hits just where it should, again and again, without missing a beat, without losing control. The wet sound of his pelvis colliding with yours fills the room, along with the faint creak of the mattress and your labored breathing. His fingers move down between your bodies, diligently rubbing your clitoris in gentle but precise movements. Your thighs tremble at the touch, your lips parting to release sweet, uncontrollable moans, while the pressure inside you grows relentlessly. You feel each movement pushing you closer to the edge. Your pussy throbs, clamping tighter around him.

Heeseung grabs your waist and thrusts deeper, harder. Your breasts jiggle with each thrust, your nails scratching his back, unwilling to hold back. His mouth seeks yours and he kisses you hungrily, his tongue delving deep inside, as if he needs to taste you from the inside out. The kiss becomes wet, clumsy, wild, made of shared gasps and stolen breaths. He doesn't stop. He keeps caressing you between thrusts, sending shivers from your neck to your belly. Your body reacts with sweet spasms, and everything in you screams that you're about to explode. Your legs tremble, your muscles tense, and your insides throb.

He knows it. He feels it in the way you squeeze him, the way your body curves for him, the way your hips crave more. He feels it in the way you hold him wordlessly, as if you're wordlessly begging him not to stop. And he doesn't. He keeps thrusting into you with controlled force, with depth, with absolute surrender. His entire body vibrates on top of yours, and in that last series of movements, it becomes impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins.

The room is permeated with the scent of sex, of skin, of desire pent up for days, weeks, maybe a lifetime. Heeseung's body moves over yours with a cadence that's no longer slow, but not desperate either. It's precise. Calculated. Each thrust hits deep, wet, with that muffled sound of skin against skin and juices mingling relentlessly. Your body opens for him again and again, trembling under his weight, receiving him with the same fierce love with which you hold him.

Your thighs tremble each time he thrusts deeper, your back arches, your breasts rise toward his sweaty chest, and your throat releases a moan more broken than the last. Your insides squeeze him, suck him in, recognize him. Each movement feels like an exquisite invasion, wet and hot, as if your body wants to hold him until he can no longer escape you.

He sits up slightly to get a better angle, holding your hips to thrust harder. He impales you with his hard, swollen, hot cock, entering with a sound as dirty as it is pleasurable. And you let him, watching him from below, your eyes clouded with pleasure, your mouth half open, your chest rising and falling as if you're struggling to breathe through all the sensation.

"You're... so tight and wet," he gasps, his voice cracking with the effort, his eyes fixed on how your body swallows him whole. "You feel so good~"

He moans softly, without shame. His pelvis slams against the most sensitive area of your vulva with a steady rhythm, harder and harder, deeper and deeper. The wet, sticky sound of his cock sliding inside you, drenched in your juices, drives him wild. He lowers his mouth to your breast, circling your nipple with his hot tongue before sucking hard, making you moan louder, your back arching, seeking more contact, more friction, more of everything. Your fingers tangle in his damp hair, and your nails dig into the back of his neck, without thinking, without holding back.

Your body begins to shake with small waves of anticipation. Your clitoris throbs, your inner walls throb around his cock as if you're about to cum... but it's not yet time. He knows it, he prolongs it, he savors it. Without slowing the rhythm of his thrusts, his hand slides between your bodies again and caresses your clit with his thumb, in slow, firm circles, as he fucks you with increasing intent. Your moans become more erratic, short, and muffled. You're coming undone.

"Look at me, I want to see those beautiful eyes when you cum on my cock," he whispers, leaning his forehead against yours.

Your eyes meet, and the world disappears. Your hips move against his, responding desperately. Your pussy squeezes him, your hot, rubbery walls squeezing him with such intensity that he curses softly against your neck, barely able to contain himself.

"Don't stop, please ~ I need you so badly." you beg him in a breathy moan, your voice trembling with need.

And he keeps fucking you with a steady rhythm, with dirty love, with absolute devotion. Each thrust makes your insides burn, your body jerk involuntarily. The pressure in your lower abdomen is no longer subtle, it's intense. An unstoppable buildup that's devouring you from within. The bed creaks beneath you, the wetness overflows. Your gasps mingle with his moans, his stifled grunts, your ragged breaths, your lips searching for each other between abrupt movements. His tongue returns to your mouth and he kisses you with fury, with desperation, with savage tenderness. You give him everything. And so does he.

"I want to feel it... all of you," you murmur barely between the kiss.

Heeseung takes one of your legs, pulls it towards your chest, and adjusts himself better, entering you more deeply, reaching you where no one else has reached. Your body reacts with a violent spasm, your neck jerks back, and he takes advantage of it to kiss your throat, your chin, the hollow of your collarbone. He's about to explode, and so are you.

But neither of them wants it to end yet. And there they remain. Sweating, soaked, fused into each other, resisting orgasm just to keep feeling.

You feel completely filled, occupied by him in the most intimate and profound way possible. Your body is aching with the promise you've both been yearning for, and Heeseung feels it too; every inch of his skin pressed against yours, every thrust wrapped in warmth and destiny. His chest brushes against yours as he holds you devotedly, his forehead barely touching yours between shared gasps, and his mouth continues to seek you out, as if needing you is vital.

Your legs wrap around his hips once more, but he's quick to part them, holding them firmly from behind beneath your knees to open you completely before him. His gaze drops to where his cock fills your hole, and he lets out a low groan as he thrusts into you again. Your entire body arches in response, and you feel your back arch beneath him as you cum around him. But Heeseung doesn't stop there, not even when he hears you whimpering from the overstimulation.

His hands travel down your thighs to your waist, and suddenly he slides them under your hips, lifting you with ease. He holds you in the air, making you hover slightly off the bed, your legs spread and raised, your buttocks suspended between his warm palms. In that position, each thrust takes him deep inside you, drawing sweet, ragged gasps from you.

Your pussy embraces him, still sensitive from your orgasm, throbbing with each wave of heat that courses through you. He grunts as he feels you tremble, thrusting harder, more raw, but without losing the intoxicated rhythm of passion. He fucks you like this, his hips thrusting into yours again and again, until you're both on the brink.

Then you feel him tense. His fingers grip your skin tighter, his hips slam into you one last time, and with a broken groan, he spills himself inside you, filling you with his hot, thick cum, so deep, as if his very soul were emptying itself into your body. Your body jerks, your walls contract violently, and the heat that floods you leaves you breathless, your chest heaving and your eyes closing from the impact of everything you've just shared.

But he doesn't pull out right away. He stays there, soaking your insides as his body shudders against yours, and then, gently, he lowers you to the mattress. He slowly pulls out of you and carefully takes your ankles and brings your legs together, lifting them back into the air. His hands firmly grabbing your ankles, keeping them raised, exactly as the doctor had suggested. And you let him, your body still vibrating with pleasure and your mind intoxicated by the idea that you would surely get pregnant this time.

He looks down at you, still holding your legs, kissing your knees, your thighs, your sweat-damp abdomen. And he stays there, holding you like that, making sure every drop of him stays where it belongs. Where you both crave it so badly.

© heesngirl ★

[monstersholygrail]

Proper Appreciation

It had started innocently enough. You were lounging around and admiring your Dragon Hybrid Husband as he hovered over the fire in your shared den, preparing a meal for the two of you. Always so happy to provide for you and take care of you. To make sure you were eating enough and happier than you could’ve ever dreamed.

You almost couldn’t believe it. This dragon was your mate. He was yours as much as you’re his. Emotion wells up inside your chest, gratitude and affection blossoming within you as you stare at your husband. A husband who is totally unaware of your current oogling or the hearts currently present in your eyes.

Now, now, that just wouldn’t do. Is a mate truly at their happiest unless they know how utterly loved and adored they are? You think not.

Throughout your relationship with your Dragon husband, it’s been revealed that there are many differences between the ways that humans and dragons show their affection for another. You sneakily glide up to your husband and give his ass an appreciative slap, but it’s not until he whirls around, staring at you as if you’ve lost your mind do you wonder if dragons have this sign of affection or not.

“Mind telling me what that was?” Dragon husband asks, his face aghast. Even as he shivers at the echos of the sting left on his bottom. A blush creeps up on your cheeks as you scramble to explain.

“I thought you looked hot.”

“And that’s how you think to tell me? Is this another human custom I have yet to learn?” He saunters over to you, walking around the fireplace like a predator cornering their prey. The dinner he was making now long forgotten.

Heat blooms in your belly as fierce as a dragon while you gush with arousal. One look at your Dragon Husband and you’re absolutely fucking soaked.

“Kind of,” you say, your voice sounding breathier than you expected. Your husband’s eyes flash with a deep simmering lust. The fire inside him sparks to life and you know you’re toast.

“And is that how a human male show his appreciation for his mate in return?” He rasps.

He scoops your plump form into his arms with ease and before you can even manage to hold on he’s plopping you down on the pile of furs that make up your bed.

He throws your body around like it’s nothing, flipping you over onto your belly and jerking your ass high up in the air. And you swear you’ve never been so desperate. You know he can see your glistening folds by his low growls, your arousal dripping down your thick thighs and onto the chains of gold he adorns you with.

You startle when you feel his hands cup your bottom, pulling the cheeks a part to make room for his big aching tip. You can feel how affected he is by this too as he smears his pre-cum into your slick, mixing them together and teasing you. Clearly waiting for your answer.

“Yes! F-fuck, yes they do,” you whine, rocking back into his cock and trying to take him inside you.

Just as eager as you are, your Dragon Husband slams into your wet scorching heat in one solid stroke. His hips slapping against your ass at the same moment his hand does. You release a pitiful scream, full of need. A need for more.

His hips move in a blur, pumping into your fat cunt at a brutal pace, spurned on by the act of spanking you. It drives you just as wild as you rock back, meeting his every hard thrust.

Obscene noises of pleasure fill the room as he fucks you like a beast unchained. The loud squelch of his massive length stuffing you full meets the loud ringing of his hand meeting your ass. Your toes curl as the delicious sting mixes with the waves of ecstasy that course through you with every jerk of his hips.

“Please, baby, please h-harder!” You beg, tears pricking at your eyes.

Your husband lets out a low hiss, his hand swinging down and delivering a hard smack on your ass. Your body surges forward at the force and you moan, body arching. The invitation more than clear.

“As you wish. My mate needs to know the true depth of my appreciation after all.”

With a renewed vigor, your husband picks up his back, pounding into your gummy walls with in-human stamina. His hands delivering blows in equal measure and his claws only adding to the sensation as they prick and tease at your skin with each smack.

The mix of pain and pleasure has the pressure in your belly growing tighter and tighter till you can’t take it anymore. The cord snaps and you don’t recognize the mewl that comes out of you as you cum so hard on his cock you see stars.

Your body shakes with the force of your orgasm and you lose all feeling besides the pleasure washing over you. You lay limp as your husband works you through the best release of your life. He cums deep inside your pussy with a roar that shakes your entire den.

The strength of his climax takes as much out of him as it did you as his tall form curls around you. Keeping his cock inside you to the hilt. Not wanting to put too much pressure on your red sore bottom.

Though He can’t stop himself from giving it a little squeeze, relishing the way you hiss and clench around his cock. His mouth hovers over your ear and his hot breath sends goosebumps down your arms.

“Think you got the message, mate?” He growls, giving your bottom one final little slap.

[simonskitty]

cw: (legal) age gap mention

nanami having naughty thoughts about the new girl at work :( disgusting perverted man.

Kento Nanami appears very professional and competent every day at the office, but during his lunch breaks, he retreats to the bathroom to pleasure himself while thinking of your face. He’s obsessed with a lovely young woman like you, fresh new prey that he can only fantasize about sinking his teeth into. It makes him sweat beneath the impeccably pressed dress shirt and tie that was prim and suitably steamed before being tossed onto his body for the morning.

And oh how he hopes you would simply ruin it all, crumple it like the delicate creases that adorn him when you flash that delightful smile each day upon entering the office. He appears to be the paternal kind. But unfortunately for you, that is not really the case. :( The urge to tear off your clothes at any time makes him appear a bit more sinful than he would ever admit.

For the time being, he will manage with what he possesses. Form-fitting pencil skirts that wrap around the curve of your ass, tightly enough that his eyes are blessed with the outline of your underwear when you turn around, seemingly unaware, to aid him in whitening his thighs every day at 12:30 pm. Streams of come, draining him completely, simply envisioning your small delicate fingers curling around the blonde tufts of soft pubic hair, and extracting every drop, finishing it off with a kiss on his tip. He will continue to dream, that is.

One day, you both will unexpectedly meet in the copy room—coffee breath lingering in the heavy, passionate atmosphere. Where you both are in your official work attire soon to be discarded, the printer long forgotten along with the copies of whatever you two had needed beforehand. Stretching your tiny jaws open to stuff his tie in, hushing you gently as he writhes into you from behind. Skirt pulled up your ass and thighs, awaiting to turn red and sore from the spanks his perverse paws will leave. Abandoning you with a sticky glob of drool trickling from your chapped lips, down your sweaty chin, and onto the wood you rest on. His tie causing you to froth at the mouth, and forcing you to get air to your lungs by nose.

However, that is just a dark fantasy that he’ll continue to dwell on in the men’s stall. His belly left empty from missing his lunch, as was his cock which had been drained to the last drop. Kento knows it’s wrong ૮꒰◞ ˕ ◟ ྀི꒱ა. It’s illicit to look at his fellow coworker (much younger) coworker like that. But, he simply doesn’t stop, despite the overwhelming, heart-eating guilt that erects inside his soul. And he won’t until he gets his fill. He’s fully aware that its immoral to fantasize about bumping into you in the copy room, catching you all alone and vulnerable. But, he longs to have his way with you, to manhandle you, throw you over the table, or maybe over his knee for a change of position (?), rip your newly purchased blouse and have his way with you. Just like he’s rehearsed in the depths of his brain since the first morning you clocked in.

© simonskitty ➸ likes and reblogs are always appreciated ! ᡣ 𓈒⋅ ⩊ ⋅𓈒ྀིა

[proxyxxx]

𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

Hikaru x fem reader

On the steps of the old school, behind the shadows of new buildings, where summer twilight blurs the line between reality and delirium, you sit hip-to-hip with the one who wears the name and face of Hikaru. His profile is motionless, frozen like a statue. Only the faint tremble of his pale lashes betrays something alive beneath that mask.

Flushed. Uneven patches of red bloom across his pallid cheeks, creeping down his neck, scorching the tips of his ears.

How strange…

Hikaru ran five laps earlier, yet now he barely seems to breathe — though normally he’d be complaining about his throat parched dry, gulping water so greedily his Adam’s apple would leap like a wild thing.

"You’re breathing weird. I mean — you’re not breathing at all, really." Your voice betrays your unease, but this conversation was inevitable. Four months have passed since Hikaru returned. Four months since Hikaru returned. Four months since Hikaru changed — and you noticed.

It was all in the smallest, stupidest details. The pressure of his pencil wrong when he writes your name, the slant of the letters unfamiliar. The way he wrinkles his nose now, the pattern of creases around his bright eyes not quite right.

Phantom things, barely there, but the web they weave is undeniable — and you watch from the sidelines as the threads multiply: his habits unlearned, his jokes misfiring, his childish whims sometimes tipping into something beyond.

Even Yoshiki didn’t notice at first.

A silence falls between you, so thick even a bird can’t bear its weight — it startles upward with a trill, snapping Hikaru from his daze.

Too long. Too unnaturally still. A person would have turned to you, laughed, asked, "What are you talking about?" But this thing hasn’t yet learned how to answer you properly. It must sense the memory of the real Hikaru living in your heart— and it, this impostor in his skin, only stirs dread. Bitter, perhaps, that your love belongs to the one who’s gone, not to it. It wears his identity like ill-fitting clothes, watches you through his eyes, but in their depths yawns a terrifying abyss. Not your boy. Not yours.

“Hikaru?"

"Huh?!" The same bright, brassy tone, perfectly pitched — yet an icy finger trails down your spine, pressing into each vertebra. "How am I not breathing?! You’re imagining things… Just spaced out, that’s all."

You nod, feigning understanding, fingers pleating the folds of your skirt. No matter how it tries, you’ve unraveled its secret. Somewhere deep, in a place untouched by reason, you’ve known for a while: the real Hikaru died that summer. But how it hurts when this thing turns to you with his smile, when it says "good morning" or "see you later" with his lips. A stupid heart refuses to accept loss, refuses to understand — not when his fingers, so warm and alive, tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

How can he be dead?

The dead are cold to the bone. They reek of rot and decay. They rest in the earth’s belly, visited only by worms in eternal silence. The dead don’t breathe, don’t scrawl your name crookedly on chalkboards. Their eyes are glassy, extinguished — but this, this thing wearing Hikaru, stares at you with vivid confusion, almost childlike. It sends you silly texts, spits watermelon seeds, tugs your braids — what kind of corpse does that?

You fell in love with Hikaru, yet keep loving his shadow. Is that fair to this Hikaru? Whatever took his place has memories, feelings — it’s alive, and it reaches for you too. Yes, its nature is untamed, its essence mad — but how can you resist when it smiles with lips that once kissed your cheeks and whispered "I love you"?

"Hikaru," you murmur, squinting slyly, leaning close. You note how it stiffens, bares teeth in response. "I want to kiss you."

Hikaru snorts, pausing. Cicadas rasp their endless song below; above, the first stars flicker to life. He worries his lower lip, scans your face with a gaze so unnervingly intent your cheeks burn with shame. Boldness withers under eyes that seem ready to devour you.

"You sure?" His voice is hoarse, threaded with hunger. In his mind, wild, fractured thoughts thrash: Kiss me, kiss only me, never want anyone else.

Your answer is a timid brush of lips. A strange kiss— yours too cautious, his too greedy. A clash of contradictions, but the taste of Hikaru’s mouth drowns your fear.

Cool mint burns your lips; dizzying vanilla soothes. His mouth is soft, sweet…

Shame floods your chest with warmth, tenderness pinching beneath your ribs. Hikaru is relentless, yet there’s fragility in his hunger. As if starved. As if he’s wanted you indecently long. As if he’s done holding back—but terrified of scaring you away.

Heat sears your mouth, then plunges into abyssal dark. A wet, hollow click — and viscous, clinging coolness envelops you like a shroud of impatience. What kisses you now isn’t Hikaru, but something ancient and ravenous, craving ownership. Your palms flatten against his chest, fingers twisting his school shirt in spasms.

Eyelids shut, lashes trembling—you’re too afraid to open them. For a single, fleeting moment, Hikaru’s mask cracks. Something alien, dark, grazes your cheek — like an echo of the voids mystics whisper of.

A shadow-flame dances, nothing like human fire. Chaotic, cloying, it resembles the Hell described in holy texts. The abyss touches your cheek with a boy’s tender fingers.

"More," it whispers in a voice no longer human. That hot breath pleads, craves — yet beneath it lingers Hikaru’s ordinary curiosity.

You should recoil. You should flee. But against your own will, you press into his swollen lips again. Kiss with the recklessness of the doomed, drunk on how something cold and inhuman responds with a rapture beyond mortal limits.

And you cradle yourself in sweet lies — that you still love Hikaru, even as your heart surrenders to the monster. The worst part? You don’t resist. Better this Hikaru than emptiness…

Love always holds something predatory—we long to consume the ones we adore. But what happens when your beloved has already been consumed by another?

What becomes of you, impostor in Hikaru’s skin, when a girl’s heart clings so desperately to his memory, it’ll love even a shadow?

[kurooh]

— SPELLBOUND ! . . geto suguru

⊹₊˚. while he’s out on a mission, suguru absorbs a special cursed spirit.

☆☆ 18+ content (mdni), fem! reader, unprotected sex, creampies, breeding, squirting, 1 face slap, slight exhibitionism, reader works in an office, NOT proofread..

all he can do is run faster through the hallways of your workplace, heels hitting the floor rather roughly as suguru increases his pace. dark hair that’s usually bound in a neat bun and resting against his shoulders is currently tousled, sticking to his sweaty face. god, he’d been pulling his hair so much he made himself look like he’d lost a fight with a leaf blower.

security had initially been after him when he raced through the turnstiles in the lobby, but he’d been faster as he made it onto the elevator. ordinarily, suguru would’ve felt badly for causing such a scene, but this couldn’t be helped.

he’d been out on a mission, tracking a special grade cursed spirit in the depths of the city. according to some intel garnered through extensive monitoring of the area, he’d come to learn that this cursed spirit wasn’t just any cursed spirit…

this was some kind of humanoid curse that couldn’t be wrangled by local sorcerers and had even slipped up some sent over from jujutsu high. naturally, suguru had to get ahold of the curse and add it to his collection of special grades. now, he’d heard a few embarrassed testimonies about the curse’s technique impacting bodies and minds for a day or so.

suguru hadn’t expected the fight for submission to go as fast as it did, and he certainly didn’t expect the sudden surge of lust throughout his whole body the second he choked it down. unlike most other curses, this one was hot on his tongue and tasting of spice and sweetness.

suguru’s chest heaves as his feet skid to a stop on the carpet, right in front of your office door. without even bothering to knock, he throws the door open, effectively startling you.

“ah! suguru? what the hell are you doing here? i thought you were busy tracking—”

you take him in, eyes wandering over his broad frame. suguru’s a mess, face flushed and sweaty; his hair’s unruly and looks as though it was ripped from its bun in some kind of panic. looking closely at his eyes, you notice a lilac glow encircling his pupils, coloring over his usually brown irises.

“sugu?” you ask softly, taking a step closer. “hey, what happened? you look terrible, is everything okay?”

he groans loudly in response, hips banging against your desk as he slams his hands down on some papers.

“lock the door,” suguru musters, hanging his head as he tries to decide how to explain this mess to you. he hadn’t been affected after absorbing a curse since he was just a first year at jujutsu high, throwing up all over gojo after his new rainbow dragon wouldn’t settle down in his belly.

“will you tell me what’s going on, damn it?”

suguru whirls around, clothing looser than it had been before you’d turned to lock your office door. “i-it’s the fucking curse i was after! right after i absorbed it, i started feeling like this.”

“meaning?”

“i’m sure this sounds insane, but it was an aphrodisiacal kind of curse.. so essentially, my body and mind are aroused to a level beyond my control.” the silent implication behind suguru’s words has excitement and anticipation swirling throughout your body, cumulating between your thighs and dampening your panties.

with one look shared between the two of you and a quiet exhale, you rush forward and melt into him, his arms strong and chest sturdy against your smaller frame. dark strands brush against your cheeks as he tips his head forward to take the lead in a hot kiss.

rather quickly, his tongue is passing between your lips as his teeth clash against your own in a desperate attempt for more of you. more of your taste, made up from the sticky sweetness of your lipgloss and mixed notes of your afternoon coffee.

suguru reverses your positions easily, and suddenly you can feel how fucking thick he is through a few layers of clothing. you twist your hips, attempting to hump on his clothes cock, and he pulls your hand from his, guiding it to the bulge.

he’s struggling with your nimble fingers touching his cock just right, the sudden urge to cum rising inside him.

“ughhh, shit..”

quickly, suguru adjusts you; the small of your back hits the edge of the desk before your ass is scraping against it as he pushes you on top.

“off,” is all he commands as he drags his casual shirt and pants off, eyeing your neatly pressed pants and almost fully buttoned blouse. in this state, he’s doing his utmost to hold back for you — god, he would’ve ripped all your clothes off long ago.

“okay if i’m rough, sweetheart?”

your needy little ‘please’ along with your office slacks hitting the floor has him leaning you back onto the desk, papers flying in every direction.

although he always likes to drag out the foreplay and prep, suguru doesn’t waste any fucking time as he spreads your thighs and spits on your clit before diving right in to devour you.

“a-ah, shit!” you exclaim, voice pitched and shaking almost immediately. “sugu, lick my clit harder.. yes, just like that!”

large hands pressing down hard on your squirming thighs keeps you in place from moving anywhere but towards him and your orgasm. a mixture of your slick and his spit dribbles down his chin, catching the light as he leans up for a brief breath.

“oh—! feels amazing, sugu, ‘m gonna cum soon!”

weakly, you raise your head to observe the way he’s ravaging you, hungry for no one except you. your tits bounce as your body twitches, falling over the cups of your bra and almost through the half undone blouse.

you sit upwards, and he lets you go so you can wrap your thighs around his head. soon the blouse falls to the ground, discarded, and your bra follows suit.

“s-suguru, ‘m gonna— ‘m gonna cum!”

you bite down hard on your fingers as he lifts you and drags you up and down his face, slurping every last drop of your taste. he groans faintly as he licks your inner thighs clean, despite the fact that he’ll be making them messy again pretty soon.

“on your belly, sweet thing.” suguru punctuates his words with a smarting slap to your ass cheek when you turn over, and he picks up your panties from the floor. the lace is sticky with the mess you’d made getting so horny when he’d been kissing you.

he balls them up and shoves them into your open mouth, then circles the desk so as to position himself behind you. suguru can’t help but groan as he finally takes off his boxers, letting his cock rest on your ass before he moves any further. without wasting much time outside of your cunt, he spits on his cock and lubes it up.

he’s hot and heavy, then thick and absolutely throbbing as he nudges his sticky tip forward and between your slippery folds.

“fuck—! ughhh, shit, sweetheart,” he feels as though a bucket of water has been splashed on him, the heat and wetness of your cunt addicting as it envelops his cock fully.

you whine a little from the stretch, bouncing your ass on him as you try to adjust completely. with a hand planted firmly on the wood of the desk and the other pressing into the plush skin of your hip, suguru advances forward, driving his hips into you mercilessly.

“suguru!” a near scream of pleasure almost rips from you, but thank god he’d gagged you with those panties.

“shhh, you need to stay quiet, sweetheart,” he chokes out, the lilac glow in his eyes growing brighter right before they roll back into his head. “y-you’re real tight, baby, ‘nd you’re taking me so fucking well, shit.”

suguru is literally drilling you into the desk, but it’s still not enough for him. he only moves faster and harder, leaning his body over yours to nip at your jaw, nudging your burning cheek with his nose.

“i’ve been waiting to use your pussy like this since i got cursed,” he grunts, satisfied at the way your eyes roll back into your head at his words.

with each drag of his cock against your sensitive walls, you reach your orgasm quickly. your body twists beneath his as you sob, clenching on him and all over.

however, a rare pressure coils in your pelvis; tight and hot and ready to come out, all over him.

“sugu, ‘m gonna cum.. fuck, i-i think i’m gonna—”

your voice raises, words spoken fast and sounding just a little panicked. after all, it’s not like you squirt that often with suguru, and especially not on your work desk in your workplace with your coworkers walking the halls.

what if you got your papers and stationary all wet like this, by being nasty?

“go ahead ‘n make a mess, sweet thing,” his voice rumbles in his chest behind you, low and exuding hunger. “all over me, yeah?”

“a-are you sure?” you gasp, liquid already starting to drip from your pussy; you can barely feel it since he’s fucking it away.

displeased, suguru raises his hand and lightly slaps your cheek, just enough to sting but burn.

“of course i’m sure,” he grunts, eyes meeting yours as you tearfully turn back to look at him. “give it to me.”

just his words have your eyes rolling back as you cum on command — puffy cunt clenching as liquid sprays onto his pelvis and balls. he lets go too, pulling out and jerking his cock onto your pussy.

“fuckkk, sweetheart..”

suguru’s eyes, still glowing, fall shut as his cock shoots cum all over your quivering pussy; your cum mixes with his and starts to run off your clit, and you lean up to start cleaning yourself.

a strong hand presses right into the middle of the back and pushes you down immediately.

“sugu, we have to clean up, what’re you—”

“don’t play dumb,” he sighs, impatient as he rubs his tip in the mess covering your pussy before pushing back in.

you let out a choked gasp, which is unheard over the sounds of sticky skin smacking against skin. he removes his hand from your back and spreads your asscheeks, giving himself a nice view of your rear.

“one orgasm won’t relieve the curse, sweetheart.”

it doesn’t take much for you to melt, losing all your resolve as he fucks you into the desk with little mercy. your face’s pressed into the wood as tears pour down your cheeks, lips parted by sounds you couldn’t even think about holding back.

“i-it’s gonna happen again,” you mewl, unable to sit up or move much as you squirt on him yet again. the spray soaks some papers, and his pelvis, drops of liquid sparkling in dark hairs.

thoroughly fucked out and unable to count how many times you’ve cum, you wail his name, only one thing in your head.

“put a baby in me, suguru. fill me up, please.”

“oh yeah? that’s what you want?” tears of overstimulation build in his eyes but he just can’t stop fucking you. the position, view, sounds, feelings, place, all of it — he doesn’t want to stop.

“fill me up,” you cry again, pushing yourself closer to him.

“i’d much rather see your face as i stuff you full, baby,” and with that he’s pulling out of you, as painful as it is, and flipping you over with ease.

drool runs down your chin as you blink up at him blearily, not one single thought behind your teary eyes. your face crumbles as he pushes inside you, back arching off the desk.

“my baby’s been fucked dumb,” suguru laughs, glancing at your bouncing tits and rock hard nipples. “look at me when i cum, hm?”

you force your eyes open, noticing the tears in his own. he looks beyond amazing — face flushed, eyes squinted as his orgasm rushes up, long dark locks a mess behind him.

“i’ll put a baby in you,” he grunts, tone sounding just the slightest bit competitive.

inside you, suguru thickens and throbs before he loudly chokes out a groan and finally cums inside you. the warmth of his cum inside you has you squirting again, the slightest bit of liquid running down the base of his aching cock.

“think that’s enough, suguru?” you gasp, leaning your head back, body entirely limp.

he pulls out, hissing softly at the loss of your warmth. cum floods out of you, staining your skin as some drips to the floor.

“i could always eat you out..” he offers, grinning slyly.

“suguru, you just—”

a hasty knock on the door has you sitting straight up, limbs aching from being pressed into the desk as much as they were. suguru’s eyes widen, as do yours, as reality hits the two of you like a goddamn truck.

you recognize your boss when she calls your name, and a few of your coworkers’ voices. “is everything alright? we’ve been hearing continuous thudding outside of your office. the office has just been locked down, since some random ran in past security.”

you smack suguru’s shoulder, face contorting.

he shrugs dramatically before grabbing some tissues to wipe up your thighs, himself, and the sprayed liquid covering the wood of your desk.

“ma’am, we will be coming into your office. this is necessary security protocol.”

[shouyuus]

Pitfighter!vi who makes you keep eye contact with her and say her name while she fucks you because she wants you to know that it’s HER who’s making you feel that good 🙏 (request ish but also responding to the vi thirsts thingy)

i... have such a thing for eye contact!vi u have no idea.

18+, mndi, smut, slight angst, and fluff at the end

"eyes on me, princess --" she says, twisting your jaw towards her as she fucks her fingers into you, her makeup in black streaks running down her cheeks, her skin peppered with cuts and bruises, fat and dark as summer plums.

you whine, blinking up at her, your lashes clumped with salt as she fucks you through the nth orgasm that night, and you know that it's one of the bad nights, one of those nights where she comes home angry off a loss and already drunk. you bite your lips, her name trembling on the tip of your tongue even as she forces your mouth open to bury her own groans in the depth of your throat.

"moan for me --" she says, her voice a honey-bee's rasp against your lips, thick and syrup-sweet, but just as suffocating, the way it slicks across your tongue, "say my name --" she breathes.

you hiss, eyes squeezing shut as her dull nails scrape along your inner walls, making your legs kick out, your belly roiling within you at the relentless pressure.

"vi --" you force out, the breath punching from you as she angles her fingers up into that one gummy spot inside you that has you keening.

"i said look --" she clasps her whole hand around your jaw, squeezing so tight your mouth falls open, spit collecting at the corners of your mouth, "at --" she thrusts three fingers into you, "me."

you force your eyes open to meet her gaze -- and it's well-dark depths. you make a noise somewhere between a sob and a whimper, feeling her fingers digging into the soft plush of your cheeks as she gives you face a tiny little shake.

"vi, please --" and you don't even know what you're begging for anymore. mercy, perhaps, or just some kind of absolution. she stares at you, her gaze flickering from one eye to the other, as if searching for the answer there to a question she's never had courage enough to ask out loud.

finally, she lets you go, and your head thumps back against the pillows, though your hand reaches out to clasp around her wrists as she holds you by the hips and fucks you into the mattress, groaning when she feels you clamp down around her.

she laces her fingers with yours, this one single tenement of softness, as she groans, feeling you come apart around her.

she doesn't say much as she pulls out of you, staring at the shiny slick that coats her skin, brings it to her lips for a taste before shooting you a sharp, crescent-moon grin.

"violet..."

and she stills at the sound of your voice wrapped around the full weight of her name -- like a wish, or a promise. she sighs, leaning down to drop a kiss to your shoulder. you sit up, your fingers still linked through hers.

"it was a bad night," she'd say, looking anywhere but at you, pulling away to run her hands under the murky water from her tiny sink. you watch her from the bed, the mattress nothing more than a few stacks of cushions shoved together, empty bottles littering the floor.

"yeah?" you ask, shifting back a few inches as she settles on the edge of the bed, her head hung low. you reach forward, waiting for her to pull away. but when she doesn't, you curl yourself around the bend of her back and press your cheek to her shoulder, careless of the inky black paint that transfers from her skin to yours.

she lets you hold her for a few, long, solid minutes. they slick by like river water, made thick with silt or shimmer. you trace your fingers along the dark, smudged-out shapes of her tattoos -- and you think to yourself that she's beautiful -- even like this, broken and bruised and so, so angry.

"look at me," you whisper, turning her head with a finger, and she gives a the tiniest bit of resistance before letting you coax her face towards yours, her eyes bright in the slantwise light.

the moon slits a scimitar sliver through the sky, and down here, even the stars take on a sickly purple glow. but, as vi looks you over, allows herself the pleasure of admiring your face, she thinks that you somehow have the gall to be beautiful, even now.

she doesn't stop to think that you might be thinking the same of her.

you are.

"have you got a fight tomorrow?" you ask, reaching out to trace a thumb across the smudged paint on her cheeks. your finger comes away dark, but the tattoo beneath her eye's just a bit more visible now. she shakes her head.

"no. medic said i've gotta take a few days off."

she scoffs, her gaze cutting away.

"good," you say, "a break is good."

"i don't need a break," she gruffs, and you laugh.

"i know. but... that means you can sleep in tomorrow."

she quirks an eyebrow, "i can sleep in any day i want. the fights don't start till --"

"i know, vi -- i'm just saying," you say, imploring as a grin twitches over her lips, "we can... do something together, if you'd like."

vi blinks, "we?"

you purse your lips, looking down at where your fingers are inches from hers.

"unless --"

"yeah. no -- i mean -- it's fine. we -- we can."

and for a second, she sounds so nervous, so uncertain, that you almost laugh. because since when has vi been this bashful in your presence? but when you look up again, it's to catch her watching you with a strange, halfway light in her eyes. and you're not sure if it's the moon or the stars, or simply the cheap alcohol eating through both your veins, but you fancy that it looks just a little bit like affection, stained at the edges with tenderness.

it spreads warmth through your limbs, and tingles at your nose and your fingertips.

"okay then," you say, nodding, even as she pushes you back onto her makeshift mattress and slots her lips over yours once more.

the kiss is long, but soft. and when she pulls away, you're both just a bit breathless. though, not on the heavy, panting way you usually are off the deep, desperate kisses she gives you. no, this is something sweeter, something lighter. something that tastes very much like heartache at the back of your tongue.

"c'mere..." you say, tugging her into you even as the pair of your collapse onto her bed, her rucking the thin blanket haphazardly over the shape of your bodies, nothing more than a tangle of limbs, her cheek pillowed against your sternum, her lengthening hair tickling your chin.

you run a few fingers through the rough patches at the sides of her head.

"the dye's coming out."

vi grunts, her body heavy as she sinks into the heat of your embrace.

"whatever. let it grow."

you grin to yourself, thinking that you'd always loved the natural color of her hair -- bright as rubies in the hungering dark. but as you thread your fingers through them again and again, vi shifts against you, looping her arms around your middle to pull you into her.

she mumbles something into the skin of your chest that you don't quite catch.

"hm?" you ask, leaning down.

she sighs, her breath hot as it washes over your collarbones.

"you'll still be here in the morning, yeah?"

you pause, wondering for a second if it's a question or a plea.

you let out a tiny laugh.

"if you want me to be, then... yeah. i will."

vi only curls her fingers against your waist. she burrows her face more deeply into your chest, holding you close, and then closer.

"right," she says, shifting till the both of you are comfortable, "yeah," she adds after a few more seconds.

then, she lifts her head to look at you, her eyes catching yours in the dust-stricken moonlight -- and you can swear that she's smiling.

"good."

"goodnight, violet," you whisper, as her eyelids flutter shut, and she softens against you.

"night, princess. see you in the morning..." she says, her voice quiet and just a bit slurred.

"yeah. see you then."

[zomquette]

Hey girlie! Just want to express how much I adore your writing! I get so excited every time you post and can't wait to dive into it! 😍 I have a bit of a question, and sorry if it's weird; this isn't something I usually ask, lol. But would you ever write smut involving Daryl and the reader doing 69? I feel like I haven't come across a lot of smut that explores this position, and if so, it's only for a brief moment...sadly... There often isn't much depth or length to it (at least from what I've seen), whether it be two characters getting downright feral and nasty with each other and/or taking it slow, tender, and more romantic. I hope that makes sense. Anyway, is this something you'd be comfortable or interested in writing? Also, what do you think Daryl's feelings would be about this position? And would he lean more towards being Dom or sub in said scenario?

Hey cutie!! Thanks so much, I'm glad to hear you enjoy my stuff! Well, I'll tell you how I feel about that... by drafting it up 😈 I gotta do the lords work clearly, cause you're right, like I don't think I have ever come across something like that w Daryl. Hear me out, at first, prior to writing this, I didn't think this would be something I was into... but now I'm into it HEHEAEHAEHAE👹 I think I've done this without sacrificing Daryl's character, so enjoy, lemme know what you think, i definetly got a little carried away per usual lol 🙈

69 is the number - Daryl Dixon x fem! reader

Warnings: 69 position, cunnilingus, blowjob, m and f receiving, asphyxiation, allusions to alcohol consumption, pre-established relationship. Not proofread

The walk back to the tower was lazy, heavy—the kind of tired that came not just from the day but from the whiskey Glenn had managed to trade from one of the Woodbury stragglers. You weren’t drunk, but you weren’t sober either. The halls had been buzzing with laughter and clattering plates, and now it was just the two of you, the quiet echo of boots against concrete, the safety of your little slice of privacy at the top of the watchtower stairs.

By the time you made it inside, Daryl was already dropping onto the cot, a grunt slipping out of him as he fell back against the thin mattress. His hair was wild, sticking up in uneven tufts, and his eyes were glassy, slow. He didn’t bother with laces or buttons, just sat there looking at you like his body had decided to quit before his brain caught up.

You, on the other hand, moved through the motions—peeling off your shirt, stepping out of your boots, dragging a brush through your hair with lazy strokes as you paced the cramped room. Your muscles ached, but in that good way, like you’d burned every ounce of energy you had to spare and had just enough left to savor the quiet.

When you turned, he was watching you.

“Sit on me,” he muttered, voice gravelled and hoarse.

Your brows pinched, lips quirking, but you obeyed anyway, walking over casually and sitting on his lap ike the most normal thing in the world.

He chuckled, low and rough, shaking his head. “Nah. Meant on ma face, dumbass.”

You blinked at him. “You’re drunk.” 

You got up from his lap, but before you could take another step, his hand shot out, catching your hip and dragging you closer, the strength behind it cutting through the haze of alcohol like it had never been there. In one pull, you were standing between his knees, your heart kicking hard against your ribs.

“C’mon,” he murmured, voice breaking into something ragged. “Please.”

Your eyes searched his, baffled. “Why would you even want that? I’ll—suffocate you!”

He didn’t flinch. “Ya won’t, I promise. Just… please.” His grip eased, as if giving you the choice, but his eyes held on, burning, waiting. “If ya don’t like it, we can stop.”

“I’m not worried about me,” you shot back, voice softer, betraying the nerves curling in your stomach.

His head tipped forward, his lips brushing your belly in a fleeting kiss that sent a shiver spiraling down your spine. When he looked up, his stupid puppy-dog eyes were wide, pleading.

And that was it.

“God, fine,” you muttered, tearing at your waistband, stripping off in record time before your nerves could catch up. You glanced back at him, sprawled out now on his back, his expression split into the most shit-eating grin you’d ever seen.

“Wipe that grin off your face,” you warned, crawling awkwardly across the cot toward him.

Your knees wobbled, your approach clumsy, and he huffed in impatience, guiding your thighs in his hands, steadying you. You hovered above him, trembling, every nerve on fire.

“Relax,” he muttered, pressing a few teasing kisses where you ached most.

“Maybe ‘cause I don’t wanna crush you,” you whispered.

He didn’t give you time to finish. His grip tightened, and in one decisive pull he brought you down onto his mouth.

You yelped, the sound far too loud in the quiet cell. Panic rushed your chest—everyone was asleep, but these walls carried everything.

You opened your mouth—ready to hiss at him for how rash he was being—but the thought evaporated the second his tongue dragged through you.

It was instant. Shattering. Like he’d been starving and you were the first thing he’d tasted in weeks.

His mouth worked in slow, messy strokes at first, but it didn’t stay gentle. Not for long. He was relentless—burying his nose so deep you felt the scrape of stubble against you, tongue pushing inside before flattening back up against your clit, sucking so hard you thought your bones might hollow out from the inside. He devoured you like it wasn’t for your pleasure at all, like it was only to sate some animal need in him, like he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to.

The cot creaked beneath you as your thighs trembled, knees threatening to buckle, every shaky breath you tried to hold slipping out in broken bursts. You reached for balance, but the world felt slippery, blurred, reduced to the hot pull of his mouth and the wet, obscene sounds of him feeding off you.

Your body stuttered, hips jerking without rhythm, your breath coming in short, frantic gasps that made your chest ache. And still he kept going, greedy and selfish in the way only Daryl could be—like he didn’t care if it left you ruined, as long as he got every drop, every twitch, every desperate sound.

His hands weren’t idle either. They smoothed up your thighs, squeezing, pressing, coaxing you to move with him. His fingers dug in hard when you tried to squirm away, pulling you right back down onto his mouth like you belonged there. His touch wasn’t soft—it was steady, anchoring you when your body threatened to shake apart under the overload.

Your head tipped back, vision going white at the edges. Every nerve in you sang, sharp and alive, your body not your own anymore. And when he groaned low against you, like the taste of you was too much for him to keep quiet, the vibration rattled through your skin, and you nearly cried out loud enough to wake the whole goddamn cell block.

You leaned forward, desperate for balance, palms braced on his chest, and that’s when you saw it—his jeans straining, hips rutting up into the air without his permission. His bulge was obscene, impossible to ignore, his groans vibrating against you with every drag of his tongue.

Your hand moved before you even thought about it, fumbling at his belt. He didn’t notice until your palm wrapped around him, hot and swollen in your grip. His hips jutted up sharply, a guttural groan tearing from him, muffled into you.

The sound almost unravelled you.

You pulled him free, your mouth watering at the sight of him flushed and dripping, so needy it ached. And suddenly you understood—why he wanted this so badly. Because you wanted the same thing. To taste, to claim, to do it for yourself as much as for him.

You spit into your hand, the slick sound almost obscene in the quiet cell, and wrapped your fingers around him. He was heavy, swollen, leaking already, and your fist worked in slow, punishing strokes that had his breath catching in ragged bursts. His moan rumbled up through his chest, low and rough, and you swore you felt it all the way down to your core.

But the noises tearing out of you—sharp gasps, shaky whimpers—were too loud, bouncing off the stone walls, ricocheting back at you. You couldn’t stop them, couldn’t swallow them down, and panic pricked at the edges of your pleasure. You needed something to quiet yourself, something to focus on before you gave the whole damn block a free show.

And there it was. Right there in your hand, thick and flushed and begging.

The thought barely had time to form before instinct took over. You leaned forward and shoved him into your mouth, desperate for the weight of him on your tongue, desperate for the way it filled you and forced your sounds back down your throat. Your lips stretched around him, cheeks hollowing, and the sudden wet heat made his hips jerk up, a strangled groan ripping free.

It worked. God, it worked. You couldn’t cry out now, not with him thick in your mouth, your throat already working to take more of him in. Every desperate whimper was muffled, swallowed down along with the taste of him, and in a twisted way, it calmed you—gave you something to gag on, something to anchor you while the storm inside your body burned hotter.

His entire body jolted, a sharp shudder running through him like he’d been struck.

And then his tongue—already merciless—got rougher. Wetter. Hungrier. The careful edge slipped away, and what replaced it was sheer, consuming need. You nearly cried out around him, the sound strangled in your throat, because he wasn’t giving you a second to breathe, wasn’t giving you room to think.

You rocked helplessly against his face, chasing every drag of his tongue, every dizzying push of his nose where you needed it most. He had you grinding, rutting, lost in the raw, selfish way he worshipped you, and the pressure building inside you made your legs quake like they couldn’t hold you.

At the same time, he was unravelling beneath you. His hips lifted, shallow and frantic, his cock sliding between your lips in short, desperate thrusts. He was fucking into your mouth with no control, every jerk of his hips punching out a groan so raw it vibrated up through you, rattling your bones.

You gagged around him, throat tightening, and the sound seemed to undo him further. His groan broke into something ragged, guttural, and it spurred him to bury even deeper between your thighs, tongue working harder, faster, until you were trembling and gasping against him.

It was a chain reaction—your pleasure feeding his, his hunger fueling yours—spiralling tighter and tighter until neither of you knew who was breaking first.

Your orgasm hit first.

It didn’t creep or build politely—it ripped through you, sudden and merciless, the kind of release that tore the breath straight from your lungs. Your cry was strangled, muffled around the thick weight of his cock, your throat tightening as the sound broke apart inside you.

Your hips bucked helplessly against his mouth, the heat crashing in violent waves that shook you from the inside out. You soaked him, wetter than you’d ever been, spilling over his tongue, down his jaw, and he groaned like a man drowning—like he couldn’t get enough, couldn’t drink you in fast enough even if it killed him.

And still you couldn’t stop shaking. The tremors ran up your thighs, your stomach, into your chest until you were clutching at him with frantic hands, nails digging into his skin like you needed something to anchor you through the flood.

The desperate suction of your mouth on him never faltered—even as your body convulsed—and it was that, the relentless drag of your lips, the tight heat of your throat spasming around him, that sent him spiralling. His hips jerked upward, sharp and uncontrolled, his cock swelling against your tongue as he spilled into you with a groan so guttural it reverberated all the way up your spine.

It was messy, simultaneous, the two of you crashing over the edge together like you’d been built to unravel in sync—your release soaking his face while he pulsed and throbbed against your tongue, both of you breaking open in the same ragged heartbeat.

With one final, strangled groan, his hips jerked up against you in a desperate rut, every muscle in his body locked tight as he spilled into you—hot, thick, messy, overwhelming. His breath broke apart in ragged bursts, groans tumbling from his throat like he couldn’t hold them back even if he tried.

You swallowed greedily, taking as much of him as you could, the salt and heat coating your tongue, sliding thick down your throat until your eyes stung with tears from the sheer force of it. The weight of him pulsing against your lips, the helpless shudder that wracked his body, it was all too much—so much that it felt like you were being claimed, filled, and undone right alongside him.

Finally, you tore yourself off him, gasping for air like you’d just surfaced from underwater. Your lungs burned, your throat raw, your body still buzzing and trembling, every nerve alight. He was sprawled beneath you, chest heaving, his face slick and flushed, lips swollen and glistening in the faint light. You managed a weak, breathless laugh, collapsing back against the wall where the cot pressed up. “Holy shit, baby,” you panted, running a shaky hand through your hair. “I’ll never question you again.”

Silence.

The laugh died in your throat. You glanced back at him, expecting one of his huffs, a smirk, something. Instead, your stomach dropped straight out of you. His eyes were half-lidded, his chest still rising, but he wasn’t moving—slumped, limp, too still.

“Daryl?” Your voice cracked, the panic already bubbling up. You scrambled to your knees, crawling back to him, hands flying to cup his face. His skin was hot, damp with sweat. “Baby, —wake up. Daryl, cmon look at me.”

You brushed his hair frantically off his forehead, fingertips trembling, trying to smooth it back like that might coax him. “ok, snap out of it,” you whispered fiercely, your palms framing his cheeks, your thumbs stroking as if he could feel it somewhere deep. “Baby, can you hear me? Open your eyes.”

When he still didn’t stir, your chest seized, lungs locking tight. Desperation clawed at you, frantic and sharp. You slipped a trembling hand beneath the back of his head and lifted, guiding the heavy weight of him onto your lap. He lolled there, too still, and you cradled him, one hand smoothing through his damp hair, the other patting—then smacking lightly at his cheek.

“Daryl,” you begged, voice breaking, “baby, wake up, please. Look at me. Just look at me.”

Nothing.

Your pulse hammered so hard it made you dizzy. You brushed your thumb over the stubble of his jaw, tried again, louder, more desperate. “C’mon, Dixon, open your eyes. Don’t you scare me like this.”

His lashes fluttered, but he stayed slack, and terror flooded your chest. You pressed your knuckles hard into his sternum, rubbing in short, sharp bursts the way you’d seen done before, praying for something—anything.

Finally—finally—he jolted with a low groan, his chest hitching, his face screwing up like he was coming out of a deep fog. Relief nearly knocked you flat. You exhaled a sob you hadn’t realised was lodged in your throat, gathering him closer, pulling his head into your lap as if you could shield him with your body.

“Oh, thank God,” you breathed into his hair, cradling him, kissing his temple over and over. “Don’t you ever do that to me again, Dixon.”

“Uhh… I died,” he rasped, blinking blearily up at you. “Went ta heaven.”

You stared at him, breathless, exasperated. “What the fuck? How are you— I mean, you scared the shit outta me, I thought I killed you!”

He cracked a grin, lazy and crooked. “Guess ya did .”

“That’s not funny,” you scolded, though your hands never left his face. “Imagine how mortified I would have been at your funeral! Cause of death— your girlfriend’s pussy?”

“Sounds like a good way ta go,’ he replied in an airy voice.

“Oh, for god sake!” you cried out a little too loudly, smacking him on his chest. “You should be pissed at me - I literally smothered you!”

“Nah.” He shook his head weakly, still staring at you like he was seeing stars. “Ya kiddin’? Can die happy now.”

Your throat tightened, but you pulled him up anyway, cradling his head against your chest, pressing kisses to his temple. “Well, I’m glad,” you whispered, rocking him gently. “But we are not doing that again.”

His chuckle rumbled against your skin. “Ain’t promisin’ nothin’.”

[doumadono]

Warnings: smut w/o plot, ruthless s*x, dom!Dabi, demon!Dabi, Dabi is a warning himself, ass spanking, clit spanking, pussy fingering, dirty talk, unprotected p in v

Synopsis: you shouldn’t be playing with a Ouija board, but the need to know if something truly lurked on the other side outweighed your fear. Surely, you never expected a demon born of flame to answer your call. What starts as a desperate moment of desire quickly spirals into a brutal, inhuman claiming — because you called for a demon, he came to consume you

A/N: this fic was commissioned through my Ko-fi by @within-eyesight - thank you so much, sweetheart! If you enjoy my writing, please consider leaving a tip ♥

MY HERO ACADEMIA - 3

You’ll never dare summon a spirit again — not after this.

The sizzling shimmer of the portal snaps shut behind the creature, sealing your fate.

Smoke clings to the corners of your room, curling in ghostly tendrils as the air thickens — dense, hot, pulsing in waves that beat like a second heart. The figure standing in the shadows radiates that unnatural heat, its silhouette tall and lean, humanoid at first glance, but wrong in every detail.

He looks like a man scorched by the fire — his skin marred with horrific burns, raw and stretched taut between metallic staples that hold his broken flesh together. A pristine white, coat-like garment hangs off his shoulders, half-destroyed. Beneath it, his chest is bare — scarred but shredded.

The creature wears torn white pants, a size or two too large, slipping low on narrow hips. He’s barefoot. Just bare, silent feet pressing to your floor like he’s already home.

Your gaze flicks upward again and catches on the strange, curved horns — thin, arching back from his skull, razor-edged like obsidian blades. Behind him, a long, pointed tail sways lazily through the smoke-heavy air, as though the creature was some infernal cat, too amused to strike just yet.

He stands there, head tilting slightly, those eerie, turquoise eyes flicking around your bedroom with disinterest, like he’s deciding whether to burn it down.

The scarred demon stretches lazily, limbs too long, fingers tipped with blackened claws that scrape softly over your floorboards. His joints pop with deliberate slowness, one by one, the crack of bone like distant thunder. Blue flame coils around his shoulders and ribs, licking along the jagged patchwork of stapled flesh. His pale, unmarred skin glows faintly in the dark — eerily pristine, yet stretched taut like the flesh of a corpse clawed back from the depths of hell, and sewn together with nothing but rage to hold it upright.

And his eyes — gods, his eyes — gleam turquoise and raw hunger, locking onto you with the gaze of a starving predator who knows its prey can’t run.

“You’ve got no idea what you’ve done, inviting me in,” he murmurs, voice gravel and cinder, every word crawling out of his scarred mouth with heat. “Fucking around with your little Ouija board, whispering into the void, hoping someone’s listening.” His lips curl into a slow grin. “Guess what, sweetheart? Hell answered.”

Your back hits the wall when you try to retreat, fingers fumbling for the doorknob that suddenly isn’t where it should be. 

He laughs — low, amused, devilish. “You ain’t running. Maybe you’re not scared... maybe you’re just stupid,” he notes, tilting his head. His next words are a growl, blistering. “I’ll burn the innocence off your bones.” His smirk curls cruelly. “Wanna dance with me in hell?”

Before you can speak — before breath can even return — he’s on you.

“You didn’t say no. How sweet. I’ll take that as permission.”

His knee shoves between your thighs with a sharp, precise motion, forcing your legs apart. 

Instinct seizes you before thought can catch up. Your hips move on their own, grinding your clothed pussy against the hard muscle of his thigh, desperate for friction of any kind. Heat pools low in your belly, shame already rising and painting your cheeks in a pink hue, but you can’t stop. Your body betrays you in full, trembling with a hunger you don’t want to recognize. Is this how this creature toys with your mind — twisting your thoughts until all you can do is crave him? You can’t tell. 

Why are you like this? You, of all people. The sweet girl among your friends. The one who giggled nervously at dirty jokes and flushed red at movie scenes that showed too much. The girl who believed sex was something soft and quiet — done in the dark, under blankets, in missionary only, with someone who said “I love you” first. The same girl who once touched herself in silence, terrified, ashamed even to explore the heat between her legs — only daring to rub her clit in secrecy, once or twice, before guilt took over.

And now?

Rutting shamelessly against this otherworldly creature like some desperate, hungry bitch in a heat. A needy little thing reduced to nothing but aching flesh. Acting like the kind of woman you used to judge with cold disdain. Acting like the very image of what you swore you'd never be.

You feel filthy. You feel utterly degraded — you’re reduced to being a whore. And yet — you don't want to stop.

The demon chuckles darkly, smoke curling from between his lips as he leans in, breath scorching your cheek. “Look at ya,” he hisses, claws trailing along your thighs. “Soaked already. I can smell how needy you are, your arousal smells like a ripe peach just begging to be bitten into,” the demon growls, locking eyes with you. He then turns his head so he can whisper directly in your ear, “Makes me want to drag my tongue over that pretty, slick little cunt and see if you taste as sweet as you smell.”

The sound of his voice — its deep, rasping timbre — makes every fine hair on your neck stand on end. Your mouth parts, desperate for air, but it’s like you’re already suffocating under the weight of his presence alone.

Demon’s clawed fingers slip beneath your skirt, slow and possessive. You shudder when he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your panties — and then they’re gone. Not torn. Burned. The cotton material sizzles and smokes as it melts away under his touch, and your knees nearly give out.

He drags his claws through the slick heat between your parted legs. The rough pad of his index finger taps your clit once… twice… a third time, just enough to make you twitch. A low chuckle rolls from his chest as he feels that sensitive bundle of nerves swell beneath his touch, hardening in response like your body’s begging for him. His grin widens — cruel and carved across scarred lips — as he watches you unravel for him, knowing he hasn’t even fully started yet.

You barely gasp before he lifts you off the floor with ease, your legs locking around his hips like you were made to fit there. 

His tongue — long and split — drags slow and hot along the column of your neck, tracing from the edge of your collarbone to the shell of your ear. Every inch he licks leaves your skin tingling. Then his fangs sink in — sharp nips, deliberate, cruel — each bite sending jolts of stinging pleasure through your spine.

“Mmmhhmmm,” he hums darkly against your pulse point, voice thick like a suffocating smoke. “Call me Dabi, the Blueflame demon — since you were so eager to summon me, doll.”

He shifts you in his grasp with inhuman ease — one clawed hand improves the grip on your ass, holding you firm and open for him, while the other palms your breast through the thin cotton of your shirt, kneading it like he owns every inch of you.

“Didn’t think I could smell it on you, huh, little one?” Dabi murmurs, lips brushing your jaw between possessive kisses. “That ache between your thighs? That slick, desperate scent of your cunt soaking through? You're dripping for me already.” His grin curls against your throat, feral and amused. “Someone’s enjoying this far too much. You like the thrill, don’t you? That’s good, that’s good, I like it as much as you do, filthy little thing.”

Then he drops you down, flips you over with ruthless grace, pressing you back against the wall so hard your breasts press flat against the cold paint. You cry out at the force, and he hums in approval, pressing his body to yours, heat scorching through your clothes like fire through parchment.

“Stay still, doll,” he rasps, voice rough against your ear. “Don’t wanna tear you up too fast.”

He yanks the hem of your skirt up without ceremony, bunching the fabric around your hips as he spreads the soft swell of your ass open with both hands, thumbs pressing deep into the flesh. “Well, well, well… Would ya look at that,” he drawls, voice soaked in mockery and hunger. “This little pussy’s clenching on nothing. Human females, always so needy. Always aching. You think you can use those sweet cunts of yours to twist men around your finger — and you indeed can. You can easily weaponize your bodies. The scent alone could drive any male mad.” His lips graze the back of your shoulder. “But now the tables turn.”

Before you can reply, one long, clawed finger pushes into your slick heat, stretching you slowly. Your forehead drops to the wall with a soft thud as your hips arch back instinctively, offering him better access without thinking. “Yes, yes,” you whimper, voice breathless and broken. “Oh my God…”

Dabi’s low laugh curls against your ear like smoke. “God’s not here, doll,” he growls. “But hell? Hell has a monopoly on every filthy pleasure you’ve only ever dared to dream about.”

Your room echoes with the wet, obscene sound of his finger sliding deep inside you wet pussy. You sink your teeth into your lower lip, trying to hold back the desperate sounds building in your throat.

He thrusts his finger slowly in and out of you with a relentless rhythm, a feral grin spreading across his scarred face each time your walls clench tightly around his digit. After a long, torturous minute, the demon finally withdraws his finger, bringing it to his lips to lick it clean, savoring your slickness.  “Oh, fuck,” Dabi breathes, laughter rumbling in his chest, “You taste as good — no, even better — than you smell. I’m going to tear that sweet little pussy of yours apart.”

You don’t see what he’s doing next, but the sound of his pants unzipping reaches your ears, followed by the unmistakable noise of him jerking himself. Curiosity tempts you to glance back, to see the demon’s cock, but fear roots you in place — you have no idea what horrors to expect from something so utterly otherworldly.

Shortly after, you feel the head of his cock — thick, hot, and heavy — press against your entrance.

And then he pushes in.

You sob at the stretch, your walls struggling to take him. His cock is inhumanly veined. It isn’t overly thick, but it’s long enough to brush against your cervix, which makes a tear roll down your cheek as the pleasure is too immense for you to take.

Dabi groans, low and primal, hips snapping forward as he buries himself inside you, inch by inch. One hand clamps firmly around your throat from behind, holding you captive against the wall, while the other grips your hip with a bruising intensity. “Fuck, you take me so well,” he snarls, driving into you with a brutal, savage rhythm. “I knew you were made for this.”

Your scream catches and chokes in your throat, swallowed by the relentless pounding, and it only fans the fire burning in him.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Dabi growls, voice thick with lust. “Scream for me, doll.”

His clawed fingers trail up your body, catching beneath your chin to tilt your head back. And you see him — really see him — his body flickering with blue flame, skin taut around surgical staples. He’s a walking corpse lit by hellfire.

His lips crash down on yours like a storm of vengeance, teeth dragging across your bottom lip until the metallic tang of copper fills your mouth. His tongue forces its way in — scorching, greedy, ruthless. His free hand tightens around your throat, thumb pressing just enough to blur your vision.

You can do nothing but moan for him, your nails scraping the wall, gouging shallow marks into the paint.

Dabi quickens his thrusts, then releases your throat, sliding his hand down between your legs, rubbing and spanking your aching clit with fierce, demanding strokes. “Bounce on my demon cock,” he growls. “Show me how much you crave the pain and pleasure I’m giving you.”

Like the obedient girl you are, you obey, rolling your hips, grinding your ass tight against his crotch. A needy, desperate whine slips from your lips, raw and unrestrained. “Just like that, just like that, ah!”

Dabi spanks your ass hard. One hand yanks your head back by the hair, forcing your throat bare, and he sinks his teeth into the exposed skin like a starving beast marking what’s his. 

A dizzying heat blooms in your core. Your pussy is soaked, dripping, flooded — whether it’s his unnatural surge of precum or if you’ve already come, over and over, without even realizing it, you can’t tell. 

“Oh, how I’ll miss this sweet little cunt,” the demon purrs, voice dripping with wicked delight as his breath fans hot against your ear. “It’s been a long time since a human made me feel this fucking good.” He laughs darkly. “But don’t you worry, doll. Summon me again, and I’ll drag you back into this abyss of pleasure. I don’t tire. I don’t need a break. And watching you beg me — sobbing, shaking — for mercy while I fuck you past the edge again and again?” His tongue flicks your earlobe. “That will be the real fun.”

Dabi suddenly pulls out of you, leaving you aching and empty, only to spit on his long, veiny cock. His hand wraps around the shaft, spreading the mix of your slick, his saliva, and dripping precum along every inch with a slow stroke.

Then he slams back in — hard, deep, relentless — his pace turning savage, feral, like a beast unleashed.

Your pussy aches, a raw, stinging pain blooming with every thrust, and you already know you’ll be bleeding after this brutal claiming. But you don’t care. You’d let him ruin you all over again. And all you can do is surrender — hips bruised beneath his merciless grip, legs trembling, voice lost, pussy dripping — because this demon doesn’t just answer your call.

He claims you, owns you, and devours every part of your being.

@pixelcafe-network

[breadcanon]

ALBUS: No. They’re not true. And I’ll tell you why. Because I don’t think Voldemort is capable of having a kind son — and you’re kind, Scorpius. To the depths of your belly, to the tips of your fingers. I truly believe Voldemort — Voldemort couldn’t have a child like you.

[roosterforme]

Mr. Right Now Part 5 | Hangman x Reader

Summary: Jake can't pinpoint why he feels the need to make you understand that you're special. Or maybe he can, but he's too afraid to admit it to himself. You are completely out of your depth, but you know you'd rather drown with Jake than be with anyone else right now.

Warnings: adult language, sexual touching, oral sex, fingering, cum play, 18+

Length: 3700 words

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female Reader

Why is Jake on my masterlist!? Mr. Right Now masterlist

Jake was surpassing all of your expectations. You were already three orgasms deep on the weekend, and you just met him less than a day ago. He was sweet and handsome, and right now he was kissing your lips softly on his couch as he held you tight. You couldn't help but smile against his mouth as the sticky coating of his cum spread from your tummy to his hard abs as you and he made out at a luxurious pace.

He was taking charge, but he never made you feel small or stupid for your lack of experience. He just didn't seem like that kind of person. And besides, you did manage to turn him on for the third time, and instead of letting him sneak away, you got him to stay put on the couch with you.

"Were you really going to try to jerk off alone again?" you asked as he kissed his way down the side of your neck.

"Mmhmm. You caught onto that, did you?" You felt his tongue trail along your skin before he said, "Wasn't about to make you feel obligated to take care of it for me in any way."

Okay, so Jake was kind of a gentleman. So much so that he still hadn't fucked you. And he still hadn't told you when he was planning to. The crazy thing was, you now understood that he could probably make you come a dozen other ways that didn't involve his cock at all. You were impressed. You were also a little sad that once you and he did get around to that little matter of eliminating the fact that you were still a virgin, you'd be on your way.

"Are you sore, Darlin'?" he asked, setting butterflies off in your belly. "I was a little rough with my fingers."

You moaned softly and tipped your head back. "It felt amazing. I liked it."

"I'm glad," he crooned. "But if you're sore, you could take a bath."

You perked up even more. A bath in his big tub sounded delightful, and once you started moving, you realized you were a bit more sore than you originally thought. "I want a bath," you told him, and you left a mess of his tacky cum on him when you stood up. You suddenly remembered you were completely naked and covered in his semen as you ducked your face away from him and muttered, "I wasn't sure what the texture was going to be like. It's really sticky all over me now."

Jake stood and pulled you close again. "Gets messier and harder to clean up when it starts to dry. But you didn't seem to mind me coating you up since it was your idea in the first place."

You pressed your lips together and muttered, "I never saw a guy come in real life before. I was curious. And it was so hot."

Something like possessiveness flashed in his eyes. "And then, to my surprise, you started playing with it," he added with a dangerous smirk, and you turned away from him in embarrassment, because maybe you weren't supposed to do that at all. "Do you hear me complaining?" he asked, pressing his lips to your shoulder. "That was some advanced level kinky stuff. Just wasn't expecting it. But I am not complaining. Let's get you in the bath."

Jake kept his arm around your waist as he led you back to his bedroom and then to the en suite bathroom where he cranked on the hot water before turning to look at you in all his naked glory. "I'm going to grab myself a beer for bathtime. Something about hot water and a cold beer is very satisfying, and maybe you can learn all about it after your next birthday. You want another crystal goblet of ice water?"

Your brow furrowed. "You're taking a bath with me?"

He raised one eyebrow and took a step away from you. "Unless you don't want me to."

Once again, you were surprised by him, but not disinterested in the idea of having him join you in the tub. "I want you to."

He half smiled in response. "And the goblet of ice water?"

"Yes, please," you told him with an eye roll. Then he was gone, and you were left with the soothing sound of the tub filling up while you went in search of a washcloth. You found some in the small closet just inside the bathroom door. Along with extra towels, razor blades, and a half empty box of extra large condoms.

Of course he would have them. He brought you home which meant he probably did the same thing every weekend. Maybe he even had more than one girl each weekend. One for Friday night and one for Saturday night. Maybe he'd fuck you and then offer to drive you home soon so he could go back to the bar tonight and find someone more his speed. Someone who knew that condoms came in different sizes.

You couldn't let yourself get jealous or sad, because there was no point in it. This was practically a business deal. Jake was helping you get ready for Cooper while he got his rocks off as many times as he wanted to. No more, no less.

"Here you go."

You startled a bit as Jake held out your wine glass filled with ice water, and he took a long sip from his bottle of Sam Adams. "Thanks," you whispered, and then he pressed his cold lips to your forehead before nodding at the tub.

"Get in and get comfy."

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

Jake had never shared his bathtub with anyone. Soaking in the hot water until it was almost too cool to stand was one of his guilty pleasures that he never planned on letting someone else experience, too. He usually brought a beer in with him. One time he drank an entire bottle of champagne. But he always did it alone. Until today, apparently. Something about the way his cum was drying on your skin while you kissed him made him want to take the time to clean you up. And he also realized by how his wrist felt that he'd gone pretty hard with his fingers.

You looked too fucking cute with the steamy water up to your shoulders while you sipped from the condensation coated stemware. But you were quieter than you had been in the living room, which bothered him, because he had gotten used to your constant chattering and your smartass comments.

He slipped one foot into the hot water, and you scooted a little further forward. When he had both feet in, he eased himself down until he was sitting with you tucked between his legs. But you were facing away from him, so he couldn't see your face as he asked, "Is the temperature okay for you?"

"Mmhmm," you hummed, sipping your ice water.

He leaned back against the tub and took another sip of beer, but you remained where you were. "You comfy?" he asked.

"Yes," you whispered, your back still to him.

"Well, I'm not," he said blandly.

"What's wrong?" you asked right away, turning to look at him over your shoulder, finally letting him see your pretty face.

"You're all the way over there." 

Jake reached for your hip under the water, wrapped his hand around you, and pulled you closer to him. Your eyes went wide, and you turned to brace your hand against his chest. Some of your cold drink splashed onto him, but he just muttered, "That's better," while you set the glass down on the edge of the tub.

"You could have just asked me to scoot closer."

Jake studied you and took another long sip of his beer before setting it down next to your glass. "You haven't complained once when I've touched you."

"I'm not complaining," you whispered, so he stroked your waist, and you snuggled in a little closer to him. "I'm just wondering when you're going to fuck me." 

He kissed your forehead as you looked up at him. "You're playing by my rules, remember?" he muttered.

"You don't have to be so sweet just for me." Jake's fingers froze on your body as you added, "Unless you're always like this? Making breakfast for your overnight guests? And cuddling in the bathtub? I guess that makes more sense."

But he wasn't always like this, and he wanted to tell you that. But he knew he didn't have the right to say anything at all when you really only needed him for one purpose. Once you got what you wanted from him, you'd be gone.

"Are you always this sweet?" you whispered, wet fingers wrapped around the back of his neck as you looked up at him through your lashes. 

He licked his lips and shook his head. "I don't think I've ever been quite this sweet before." When you finally smiled again, your eyes softened, and Jake kissed the bridge of your nose. "You might as well get comfortable, because I don't get out until the water's cold."

"Cold!" you complained as he held you tighter. "You expect me to stay here until it's cold?"

"Mmhmm." He took another sip of his beer. "And I expect you to tell me what kind of pizza you want for dinner, too. And why don't you tell me what you're studying in school while you're at it. And how you usually spend your weekends."

"I'm staying for dinner?"

Jake sighed and let his head tip back. "I don't think I can fuck you until I've taken you on a proper date. So... will you have dinner with me at my dining room table?"

"Yes."

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

A proper date. The words were bouncing around in your mind even as Jake stretched out on his couch in his gym shorts while you were almost completely on top of him, wearing his clothes. "You're wrong," you told him, shaking your head and pushing his hair off his forehead. "You have the wrong opinion about pineapple on pizza, and I refuse to believe I'm the first person who has ever told you so."

His hand on your butt flexed as he laughed. "Nobody else would dare. Except for you. Go ahead. Tell me what else I'm wrong about."

"Well," you said with a huff of pretend annoyance, "you ate your eggs sunny side up this morning. Wrong. And you didn't already have your bedroom window open to listen to the sound of the ocean last night. Wrong." You paused for a beat before saying what you'd been thinking about for a while. "I would say you're wrong about needing extra large condoms, but I did see and feel you, so maybe you do. Not wrong."

His deep laughter rumbled through his chest, and you jostled slightly on top of him. "You found my stash in the bathroom?" he asked, but he didn't sound annoyed.

"I was looking for a washcloth."

He hummed and asked, "How many condoms are left in the box? I haven't checked in a couple weeks."

"About half." You looked him in his pretty green eyes. "Does that mean you haven't had sex in a couple weeks? Or that you just haven't been using condoms?"

"I always use condoms," he replied immediately with a little nod, and you believed him. "Lesson seven: never skip a condom. Guys are pigs. Don't let them cut corners."

He kissed the corner of your mouth, but all you could say was, "So you haven't had sex in a little while?"

Jake nodded again. "Was getting a little sick of the bar crowd, to be honest. At least until you dropped your fake. Kicking tag chasers out of my bed in the middle of the night isn't much fun anymore."

"What's a tag chaser?" you asked, running your fingers through his soft hair.

His cheeks tinted with pink as he said, "Women who go after guys in the military. Some of them think it's fun to 'collect' tags. Some of them are hoping to trap a guy for the marriage benefits. Different reasons. Same name. And you absolutely can't let them spend the night with you."

You wanted to laugh, because this actually sounded like your roommate, Kylie. But then you remembered why you went to that particular bar in the first place and who you were originally looking for. Your eyes went wide. "Wait. Am I a tag chaser?"

Now he was hooting with laughter. "I don't know, Darlin'. Are you? That little leather skirt screamed yes, but your smart mouth and the fact that you didn't care that I was an aviator are telling me no."

You thought about it for another second and said, "I'm not one," while he laughed some more. "I couldn't be! You let me spend the night."

He reached for his phone as he said, "Yeah, well you're different, aren't you? I'm going to order this pizza."

"Okay," you whispered, letting your cheek rest on his chest as he tapped his screen and then held his phone to his ear. He was looking at you as he said, "Yeah, hi, a large pizza for delivery, please." He paused for a second and then said, "Toppings? Since I'm with a girl who has weird ideas about pineapple on pizza, just wait to hear how horrible this thing is going to sound. Are you ready?"

You were laughing with your face buried against his arm as he gave his address and credit card number, and when he hung up, you screeched, "Jake! You're ridiculous. And wrong! It's going to be the best pizza ever."

"Sure," he said sarcastically before sitting up with you on his lap. He nipped at your lip as he added, "It'll be about thirty minutes before it gets here, Darlin'. I think we have time to review some of your lessons if you feel like it."

A smile bloomed across your face as you asked, "Which lessons?"

"Whatever lessons you want."

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

You told Jake you wanted to review lessons two and three, and now you were naked on his couch with his face buried in your pussy and his hands wrapped around the backs of your thighs. Foreplay and oral sex were two things you clearly loved. He spent about ten minutes making out with you and hitting all the spots that left you dripping wet, and then he treated himself to a taste. 

"God damn," he growled, lapping at you as you tugged on his hair. Once again, you got him rock hard as goosebumps trailed down his neck. "Fuck."

"Jake," you whined until his mouth was back on your clit, and then you sighed contentedly. He knew he could get you off before the pizza arrived, and he also knew he'd be amped up for you later. He was excited. You excited him. He wanted to be so good.

"Jake!" You came apart on his tongue, rolling your hips up for more pressure. He rewarded you for knowing what you wanted by sucking on your clit, and he enjoyed every second of your orgasm. Every little sound. Each tug on his hair. The way your body seemed to relax into the couch cushions once you were fully sated. And then there was a knock on his door.

"Don't move an inch, Darlin'," he teased, kissing the apex of your thigh.

"I can promise you I won't," you whimpered, arm tossed over your eyes as you ran your fingers slowly up your body.

He chuckled as he walked to the door, and then he realized that he was wearing nothing but a pair of gym shorts and a raging boner. He grimaced and tried his best to hide himself with his left hand while he pulled the door open. You were just in the other room, completely naked on the couch, and if you sat up, the pizza delivery kid who looked like he was your age would have front row seats to the show of a lifetime.

"Thanks," Jake muttered, taking the pizza box and quickly closing the door. Then he walked to the table, his cock merrily bobbing along the way. He started to grab plates and get you another wine glass of ice water, and he had to pause to consider why exactly he felt the need to make this seem like a date. He'd already been over every bit of your body with his mouth and hands. He could have just fucked you by now. He desperately wanted to. But he needed you to understand that you had to go for the guys who weren't just setting out to take advantage of you. That you needed to make them work for it.

Jake turned when you made a soft sound and wrapped your arms around his waist. You were wearing his clothes again, and he collected you against him. "It smells good," you muttered.

He kissed your forehead and said, "This is the one and only time I'm letting you choose the toppings."

Your laughter rang out as you sat down with your ice water. "I guess I better make it count then. And that's such a typical guy thing, to think their pizza topping preferences are the best."

"Yours are just wrong," he replied quickly, dropping a slice onto your plate before putting one on his own. He watched you take an enormous bite and smile as you chewed it up. "But you're cute, so you can get away with it."

You looked satisfied with his comment as you asked, "So, you usually make other girls eat the grotesque topping combination you prefer? Is that why you don't have a girlfriend?"

"Wow. Okay," he replied with a laugh while he sat down, enjoying your smirk. "You think this Cooper guy is going to put up with you, smartass?"

You cocked your head to the side like you had forgotten all about him. "I thought we weren't supposed to be talking about him anymore? That was lesson number one."

"You're not allowed to bring him up," Jake reminded you. "But I can. So what's so great about him anyway?"

You nibbled on your crust and kind of shrugged. "He's pretty hot. And he asked me out four times. I keep telling him we can go out soon, but I know he's going to stop asking if I don't actually pick a day and do it." You paused and looked at your glass of ice water as you said, "I should have just slept with someone by now. I don't want him to be disappointed that I'm a virgin who doesn't know how to do anything."

Jake grunted and set his pizza down. He'd been with his fair share of women, but there was nothing disappointing about you. The way you got him going was unparalleled, and even though you claimed you didn't know how to do even the basics, you definitely had his number. The hair pulling and cum play and little noises you made were all unintentional but so fucking hot. And now he was annoyed.

"That's why you want to lose your virginity? So you can please him physically?" You shrugged again. "Remember how I told you that it's never about the guy?"

"Yeah."

He reached for your chin and tipped it up so you met his eyes. "That goes for everyone, but especially Cooper. Okay? There's nothing wrong with you, Darlin'. You got everything just right."

You nodded and swallowed hard, and Jake was so fucking jealous of a college kid, he wanted to scream. "Okay, Jake," you whispered. "I believe you."

His fingers slipped slowly along your jaw until they were digging gently into the back of your neck. He studied your pretty face and memorized how his clothing looked on you while your gaze stayed fixed on him. "Are you sure you still want to do this with me?" he asked softly. "Because you don't need me to fix anything about you since there's nothing wrong to begin with."

In an instant, you planted your hand on his thigh and leaned all the way in to kiss him. He realized he was still a little hard from giving you head as soon as you nudged him, but he didn't mind you knowing how badly he wanted you. He didn't stop you as you eased yourself onto his lap without breaking the kiss, and when your body settled against his, you moaned softly. 

Jake pulled away and watched you chase him for more before your eyes fluttered open. "I need to hear you say it," he whispered, hand creeping up inside the shirt you were wearing. "Is this what you really want?"

You didn't hesitate as you told him, "Yes. I want you for my first time, because you're sweet and I know you're not going to hurt me. I don't always need to explain myself for you to know what I need. I want you. Not Cooper and not Rooster. You."

The shirt you were wearing fell to the floor next to his chair, and Jake ran his rough fingers along your sides, making you shiver. He kissed you softly as his hands found the undersides of your breasts. "This pizza is going to taste even more disgusting cold," he murmured as you arched into his touch. "But I can't wait any longer for you."

You smiled against his lips before you stood, taking his hand and guiding him to his feet as well. Then you led him to his bedroom, and he got lost in your little glances along the way.

"Better get those extra large condoms," you told him with a soft laugh.

He kissed you and guided you back toward his bed, and you stretched out luxuriously beneath him, his hand resting on the elastic at your hip. "You got nothing to worry about, Darlin'. I'll take care of everything."

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

Full speed ahead to Jake's cock in the next part. He's ready to go. You've been warned. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 6

@blahehblah

@sotalife

@desert-fern

@furiouspiespytaco

@rosiahills22

@daggerspare-standingby

@je-suis-prest-rachel

@callsign-joyride

@theharddeck

@withakindheartx

@roosterscockpit

@whatislovevavy

@hangmanbrainrot

@neferpatra

@sehnsuchts-trunken

@averyhotchner

@thedroneranger

@cherrycola27

@mygyn

@hoyaharper

@gennyanydots

@callsign-magnolia

@whisperofsong

@seriouslyseresin

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@katiebby04

@supernaturaldawning

@chassy21

@tylerjones98

@captainjaspenor

@gigisimsonmars

@fanboyswhore9

@angel-w0nderland

@abaker74

@idontcare-11

@isaebellaa

@bringnattolife

@xoxabs88xox

@djs8891

@hufflepufftruffle

@cottagecori

@lex-winchester

@schoollover

@wolfquake23

@paintlavillered

@blue-aconite

@mrsevans90

[maxlarens]

pairing(s): lando norris x driver!reader

okay haven't teased this anywhere but i needed a little warm up to get back into writing as i basically haven't written a full sentence in a week. it has felt like so much longer tbh😭 (hmm also this is a driver!reader AU? like rb driver!reader)

Lucky. Lucky.

You’re supposed to feel lucky that you’ve been accepted into this apparently exclusive boys club. That’s what people tell you (unprompted) at least. You’re supposed to be glad that Mad Max Verstappen has accepted you as one of his own. Hasn’t shunted you to the side in favour of a more experienced teammate.

You’re supposed to be glad that he’s also accepted you into his social circle. This place you were never supposed to be, that no one ever expected you to be.

And you are. You are.

Max is a good friend. Charles, Alex, George too. You’re a fairly fresh rookie, you’re a girl, and it’s nice to be accepted so readily into this space. It’s not all smooth sailing, but they’re kind, supportive, always ready to offer advice, for the most part.

It’s just—

well, Lando.

You’d not quite realised the depth of his friendship with Max. The amount of stuff he’d also be invited to. Nights out, dinners, Discord calls, late night iRacing sessions, pádel—

Always pádel,

and here’s the thing. You have to go.

It’s competitive, you’re keeping score. You’ve never ever been any good at backing down from a fight. It’s simply not an option to flake or give up entirely just because you hate Lando Norris’ guts. That would be showing weakness, that would basically be rolling over and showing your fucking belly.

You’re not weak. You’re not a coward.

So you’re here.

Knees bent, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. Padel racket discarded on the court next to you. Lando and his Max have won. You’re tired and you’re sweaty and you’re pissed. Honestly, you’d rather not have your Max as a teammate. He sucks. Plain and simple. He’s four lanky limbs bouncing around the court with utterly no coordination. He’s too focused on the ball, so much that he forgets about the walls and the net and you. You’d taken at least two tumbles after he’d knocked into you today. No harm no foul, but you’re too competitive to be happy with him currently.

If you had to pick anyone as a teammate it would honestly have to be

Lando.

You can see his sneakers, somehow McLaren branded, in your peripheral vision. You sigh, tip your head back to look up at him, trying to stymie the scowl on your lips.

“Good game,” he holds a hand out to help you up, a tight little smirk on his face because he knows how you feel about losing.

You roll your eyes, take the hand anyway. Not bothering to wipe your hand free of sweat and letting him heave as much of your weight as possible.

“Yeah,” you bite, “Might’ve won if playing with Verstappen wasn’t like dragging dead weight.”

He lets out a laugh, rare from him when he’s around you. Looks at you, almost through his dark eyelashes, green eyes bright, reflective in the light, like he’s—

You stifle that thought before it can bloom into anything that might get away from you.

His particularly long canine pokes out from his upper lip, you watch him suppress a smile. Think for a moment about how you might not mind if one of his smiles were directed at you. You bite down on your tongue, curl a hand into a fist, your fingernails digging into your palm.

“Y’know,” he says, shoulders rolling with a kind of nervous energy, his face betraying nothing of it, “I reckon we’d be a good team. Especially against the Maxes’. We’d thrash ‘em I bet.”

You raise an eyebrow, stare at him a little dumbfounded for a little too long. So long that he opens his mouth to backtrack, to make a snide remark, something.

You shake your head, shrug, “Yeah. I guess. Might work if we didn’t hate each other.”

“Dunno,” he answers, rubbing his chin, “Might work anyway. Wouldn’t hate you so much if you made me a winner.”

You feel like something sharp hits you in the chest, leaves you a little winded. You try to let it roll off your back, hum evenly in response, “Mm, touché, Norris.”

He sends you another smirk, a punchy thing that makes you feel like your insides are on fire. Leaves you burning.

short i know! but it was just a warm up😭 hope u guys enjoyed anyway, i’ll def write more of them one day!!! rivals to lovers is delish🥰 also ugh it felt so good to write something ive been missing it

[neuvistar]

aventurine x fem!reader. cw. some hsr leak spoilers? + a lil rushed | not proofread, breeding kink, mentions of pregnancies, use of nicknames (feminine terms too, wife.. etc), minors dni. ( this is another aventurine thirst.. slight spoilers(?) r in the beginning!!)

aventurine was the last of his kind, he acknowledged that often. his people, oh his people.. many of the innocent lives of his people were lost, like a baby losing its mother. he knew there was no use in trying to look if there were still survivors, it’s truly no use. he was the last of his kind. and he spent countless days, hours, weeks, months and maybe years thinking he’d die alone, with nobody by his side.. chained to the life of a loner, who is forced to live knowing he couldn’t save anyone of his kind.. chained to a life where people all around him hated his guts.

that was until he met you, his pretty little wife.

aventurine’s always wanted kids, to say the least. not only to restore his kind, but to raise children with you, take them out to parks.. realize the true importance and meaning of a love of a father.

aventurine’s heart belonged to you completely, he couldn’t remember the last time he’s been happy like this.. he loved you with all his heart and it showed. aventurine would kiss you, hug you and rub your belly.. whispering sweet nothings in your ear. “one day.. your tummy will be ready and full of my younglings, my darling wife. are you excited for that day?” you chuckled, rolling your eyes as you gave him a playful smack on the arm. “you’re getting too excited, ‘turine. i’m not even pregnant yet.”

“yet.” aventurine’s hands eagerly made their way down, tracing the shape of your body. "beautiful," he murmured, his voice low and filled with admiration. "you’re so beautiful, i can't help but touch you. my future younglings are so lucky to have such a pretty mother.” his fingers lingered on your breasts, savoring the feeling of their soft weight in his palms. aventurine's eyes flicked up to meet yours, a smoldering intensity in their depths. "i want a daughter with your eyes.. and your beauty, a son with your intelligence.. please. i need it all.” honestly, he’s probably so whiny n desperate all the time, always talking about getting you pregnant.. wanting to see you carry his offsprings, he wanted to restore his happiness and your own.

“mm, i know you don't want me to stop, don’t you?" aventurine’s voice was husky with desire. his hands slipped lower, tracing their way down to your lower abdomen, teasingly brushing against your wet panties. "i’ve been imagining this all night long.. watching you care for our baby girl or baby boy,” he reached beneath your panties, toying with your folds with the tip of his fingers while the others pinch and pull at your nipples. “.. you know i can't stand it anymore, baby. not when you know how much i want to claim you right here, right now. i want children, pretty girl. can.. we?”

“please.” you murmured. a grin emerged from his pretty face, eyes widened as he felt the warmth radiating from between your legs, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled deeply, his mouth watering at the familiar scent. He couldn't help but lick his lips as he continued to rub his hand against your sensitive folds, his thumb brushing against your clit. leaning closer, aventurine pressed his lips against yours in a passionate kiss, his tongue slowly making its way past your parted lips, exploring your mouth hungrily. there was one thing and one thing only in his mind, he was gonna breed you full tonight. your husband’s hand moved up to cup your breast, squeezing it gently before tweaking your nipple between his thumb and index finger, causing you to moan even louder. your body arched into his touch, begging for more..

“so beautiful.. so perfect. such a pretty little thing for me,” aventurine grunted as he continued to thrust in and out of your wet cunt, his cock stretching your walls further than you have ever experienced before. the blonde wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you up slightly to better angle his thrusts. "i’ll treat you so good, dollface, our little babies are gonna have such a great father, believe me honey.” he panted, his breath hot against your neck. “fuck, ‘turine.. feels too good..” your nails dug deep into his shoulders, leaving shallow marks as you could almost see the stars, biting your lip to suppress the soft whines that threatened to leave your lips. “i know honey, i know it feels good,” aventurine knew he could feel his release building up inside of him, it’s like he buried himself within you to the absolute hilt, his cockhead rubbing against your sweetest spots. “god, i can’t wait for your pregnancy to bloom, dollface.. just like a fuckin’ flower.” his member throbbed and pulsed violently, sending wave after wave of pleasure coursing through both of you.

“can you feel it, doll? my love for you? can you feel it?” you nodded eagerly, your face pressed close against his neck with your eyes sealed shut. “i’m gonna get you pregnant, kay? ‘gonna fill you up like its no tomorrow.. make my dreams come true. ‘can't wait to see my little ones inside you, honey.. i’ll take care of you.”

well.. it’s best to say that maybe he’s finally not gonna be the last of his kind any time soon.

@ NEUVISTAR. do not plagiarize, claim my work as your own, translate or share my posts on any platform outside of tumblr.

[ultravioletrayz]

Need that part 3 of wolf mig bcs the first and second parts were delicious. Soft fluff + pregnant shower sex w/ aftercare 😋

this is kind of a part 1.5 to the rest of the werewolf miguel fics I've written :) (18+)

Wet fur clings to the curve of your glistening back, clawed hands threatening to rip apart the smooth flesh of your waist as Miguel's tongue slobbers against your neck, the warmth of his drool making you shiver as the now cold water cascading over the two of you from the shower head mingles with his saliva.

The faint sound of Miguel’s tail wagging and batting against the glass door of the shower is the only thing keeping you conscious, the steam of the shower along with the way Miguel’s bulbous tip abuses your poor cervix making you dizzy to the point where your limp body squishes against the wall, the cold tiles causing goosebumps to scatter over your baby bump.

With each slow, but mind-numbingly deep thrust into your fertile heat, Miguel's big, fur-covered arms wrap tighter around your waist, his perked ears picking up on the beautiful sound of his pups' hearts beating inside of your swollen belly. It's enough to make his pupils dilate and his sharp canines sink into his plump bottom lip.

His balls tighten as his fully transformed figure towers over you from behind, the thick hair adorning Miguel's muscular frame caressing the backs of your thighs and your sore ass cheeks, red and bloody from Miguel's desperation when he had turned you around and spread your cheeks, kneeling on the shower floor and devouring your slick before splitting you open with his massive dick.

Miguel's body engulfs yours, his grasp on your curves territorial yet equally tender. You're his to breed, his to love, his to pleasure.

"Do you need anything else? I can run to the store and pick up whatever you want, mami." Miguel whispers in your ear as you lay in his lap, the back of your head resting against his shoulder.

He's slowly but surely returning to his human form, his clawed and furry hands now his big, calloused ones as they rub your baby bump soothingly, your cute little pregnant belly looking even more swollen now that more of Miguel's seed has filled the depths of your womb.

You shake your head in response to Miguel's question, your eyes struggling to stay open as they flutter. It doesn't take long for you to fall asleep in Miguel's arms.

Miguel smiles, kissing the side of your head. You're too cute for your own good, and it makes Miguel's cock throb at the thought of what a good mommy you're gonna be to his pups once they're born.

"Duerme bien, conejita."

I will never escape werewolf miguel 😔

[paperbacksinner]

Thinking about how Luigi’s breeding kink meets his type a energy…

- As soon as you’re married, Luigi starts referring to you as “his wife” constantly — and it always turns him on. But what turns him on more? Saying “my baby’s mom.”

- The kink isn’t just physical for him — it’s emotional. He wants to watch your body grow with his baby. He wants to know you’re full of him. It’s primal, almost reverent.

- “I want to see you glowing,” he says while fucking your slow and deep, already obsessed with the idea of your round belly and sore tits.

- He lives for the idea of cumming inside you over and over until it sticks. Not just “trying” — trying with purpose. He calls it “planting a seed” and says it with such soft, serious heat you melt every time.

- He reads every medical journal article on sperm health. Like, multiple tabs open at once. He gets obsessed.

"Did you know sperm morphology matters just as much as motility?”

“What are you reading right now—”

Luigi, dead serious: “PubMed.”

- He starts drinking more water, cutting out alcohol, taking CoQ10, zinc, and a dozen other vitamins. He switches to breathable boxers. He tracks his own cycle to optimize the load 💀

- He even tries to eat more oysters and leafy greens. He does it with a scowl, but when you tease him about it, he grins and says, “Anything for our baby.”

- He’s so proud every time he finishes inside you. It’s not even dirty — it’s warm, loving, almost sacred. He’ll just stay buried in you, cupping your belly already like he’s willing it to happen.

- Luigi goes full-on support mode for you too. He brings you prenatal vitamins before you even ask. Makes you smoothies with DHA. Times them like medication.

“Babe, did you take your folate yet?”

“Lu, I took it an hour ago.”

“Just making sure. Can’t take chances with our embryo’s neural tube development.”

- He won’t let you carry anything heavy. Not even a bag of groceries. “I’m preserving your uterine environment.”

- He massages your hips and thighs constantly, says it’s for “blood flow.” He is 100% getting himself off while pretending it’s scientific.

- He has a secret baby name list in his notes app. He doesn’t show you until one night when he’s fucking you slow, whispering “Luca if it’s a boy. Bianca if it’s a girl…” while filling you up.

- Every time you have sex, he tucks a pillow under your hips after and rubs your thighs like he’s keeping his cum in place with sheer willpower.

- He watches your face while you lie there after — sweaty, dazed — and his chest aches. You’re everything he’s ever wanted. And you’ll make the most beautiful mother.

“You were made for this, tesora. Made to carry my babies.”

Bonus:

You woke up freezing.

Not the “oh, it’s chilly” kind of cold — the toes-numb, nose-frostbitten, breath-clouds-in-the-air kind. The kind where your body refused to move because every inch of your skin was exposed to the tundra of your marital bed.

You groaned softly and reached out blindly. Nothing. No sheets. No blanket. Just empty mattress and a suspicious lump on the other side of the bed.

You squinted in the dark.

“Luigi,” you whispered, half-asleep.

No response.

You sat up and saw it: a massive, tightly-wrapped cocoon of comforter, expertly rolled and sealed around a warm, oblivious Luigi Mangione.

“Oh my God.”

You tugged at the edge of the blanket. It didn’t budge. You tried again, harder.

A groggy grunt escaped from the depths of the burrito beside you.

“Lu. You have all the blankets.”

“S’for my sperm,” he mumbled.

You blinked.

“Excuse me?”

He shifted slightly, exposing just the tip of his nose. Voice gravelly, half-asleep, deadly serious:

“I need warmth to keep my sperm quality high. S’optimal… thermal regulation.”

You stared at him.

“What about me? I’m going to freeze to death.”

“But then who’ll carry the baby,” he murmured, not even opening his eyes. “You have to survive.”

You glared.

“You’re wrapped in every blanket in the house. I’m over here bargaining with God.”

Slowly, reluctantly, Luigi groaned and lifted the edge of the cocoon just enough for you to crawl under it. His body radiated heat — and smugness.

You slid in, shivering, and immediately pressed your frozen feet against his calves.

“Jesus Christ—!” he yelped, flinching. “Weaponized toes!”

“That’s what you get for hoarding.”

“You’re endangering the future of our bloodline.”

You grinned as you curled against him, letting his warmth bleed into your skin.

“Good. Maybe your sperm will learn some manners.”

Luigi grumbled something about sabotage, but wrapped his arms around you anyway, tugging you in close.

“You’re lucky I love you,” he muttered, already drifting off again.

“You’re lucky I didn’t divorce you just now.”

He kissed your forehead and mumbled, “My cold little wife,” like it was the most precious thing in the world.

[miupow]

I think u should write an in depth txt dick analysis😌

LMFAOOO yall r rotten seriously 😭😭 well… the people have spoken, and i do it for the people… omg i cannot believe i wrote this

NSFW UNDER THE CUT . MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

these r my deranged delusional txt dick analysis of each member, obviously these are just thoughts and are not representative of the members. you are allowed to disagree and discourse with me over this lol

soobin -> big dick with big balls, tip is fat and shaft is top heavy so it’s weighed down when he’s hard. curved to the right. 7-7.5” a shower not a grower and pale pink ^^ a struggle to fit in your throat but he loves getting head . the dick print is always criminal

yeonjun -> pretty pink with a long skinny shaft, curves upwards and slaps his belly when he takes his pants off :3 6.5-7’ when hard, 3-4’ when soft his dick like doubles in size when he gets hard ,, hairless w cute pink round balls that bounce when he’s fucking

beomgyu -> big cock swinging around in his cargo pants i’m sick to my stomach. long and kind of thin like yeonjuns but fatter !! 6.5’ with a good stretch. ever heard of the term “boyfriend dick”?? yeah. big heavy balls that swing around they’re super sensitive n he likes having them fondled and squeezed hehe :3 wild dark pubes and a pretty pink cockhead 🥲 curved to the left

taehyun -> average but knows how to use it >;3 coke can cock fr sooo thick and fat with lots of prominent veins,, dark and tan with neatly trimmed pubes and the head is bulbous n darker than the shaft 🤧 5.5-6’ hard and about 3’ when soft, can hide an erection pretty well if he tries hard enough ! tight fat balls that he likes getting sucked on when you’re giving him a handjob/blowjob :3 cock so fat it’s hard to fit in your mouth or in ur pussy the stretch is crazy and don’t even get me started w him and anal..

ning -> terrible case of big dick don’t know how to use it ! cock is about as long as soobin’s but definitely fatter,, ning 100% has the biggest dick idc what anyone else says :> big breeder balls too he cums buckets … all flushed cute pink with a big vein on the underside, head big and fat and leaky !!! also i love uncircumcised kai i cant help it …. he genuinely has no idea he’s got a big dick he thinks it’s pretty proportional to the rest of him (also big)