#( ̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:̲̅]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅ )

[anglbunny]

ASLEEP

♡. multi, smut mdni, somno, dubcon

It was your doing.

You told him while you were drunk, that, having sex while being asleep would be so hot. You stared at him and laughed but he didn't. until you passed out on him.

But now your wrists are cuffed to the headboard. Ankles spread. Breathless and trembling in the dark. And his head is between your thighs like he belongs there.

You woke up to his mouth on you — soft, slow licks that turned hungry fast — and you’re soaked, overstimulated, mind already fogged.

“H-Hey—f-ah-fuck—”

He doesn’t even look at you, just kept going eating your pussy like a starved man. Humming as you woke up

“Yes, sweetheart,” he murmurs against your swollen clit, voice wrecked with lust. “You said I could. Remember?” you didn't remember, your memory from being drunk was all hazy and blurry. But you couldn't care right now. All you wanted was that orgasm that was coiling in the pit of your stomach.

"Feels good... don't stop please" your body trembled at his touch, making you whimper

Your back arches as his tongue flattens again, dragging through the mess he’s made of you. His fingers grip your thighs tighter, holding you open as you sob, twitching, close to breaking. Your hands pull against the restraint but it's no use. You don't want to run from him but it's overstimulation. Physically and visually. The sight of him going at you is too hot.

“You taste better when you're all shaking n' crying,” he groans. “Look at you — trembling for me, and I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

Your eyes roll back. You cum again, legs spasming.

He doesn’t let up. Just keeps eating you like a man starved — until your thighs are numb and your vision goes white at the edges.

And the last thing you hear before you slip under again is his voice, low and reverent:

“you should be careful with what you say, doll”

TL: @samm1e13 @demiitria @syleepy @chaoslibra @bontenxo @pinkymangacaps @riinniies @samthesimp1 @sapphireluv @s4turnx1 @nevvynev @cookiesandcreammy @rinniebinniebay @ravenbc @kamelika @luvsymai @werfiedeii @mikemsmm @silverwings920 @cyberheartrebel @arwawawa2 @yanderebluelockfan @valexqpt @bigclownshoes @rinniewinnie787 @satorella @mitsurisupporter @meikstv @mihyas-dieehefrau @ravenbc @shezuannn @greekyoghurtwithberries @laslowchan

A/n: quick drabble before i lock in tmr. i still have to finish my bllk masterlist, the second part

ꨄ︎Anglbunny | Do not copy, steal or translate my work and pngs. you'll be blocked.

[Masterlist]

[emisluvr]

morning sex with soft dom hee? or even hoon > < if you’re not comfortable that’s okay!

ooo yum yum >< sorry for getting to this so late sniff

✧ tw. smut (18+ mdni!), riding, praise, unprotected sex

heeseung's arms are lazily wrapped around your waist as you both have just awoken, his eyes fluttering open. oh.. and he's already hard against your thigh.

"please baby," he murmurs, voice needy and hoarse, "wanna feel your warm pussy.."

you giggle sleepily, propping yourself up as you straddle heeseung's lap, his cock already out, flushed and leaking. you shift your hips over him, his hands guiding your thighs as you sink down onto his cock, your wetness making it all too easy.

he lets out a broken whine, head tipping back further against the pillow as he fills you up.

"fuck, baby.. you feel so good."

his fingers squeeze the flesh of your hips, eyes barely open as he watches you ride him, your body still heavy with sleep as the morning light shines through the curtains.

"just like that," he whispers, hands moving up to your waist. "take your time, pretty girl. m'all yours."

your thighs shake as you slowly, gently bounce up and down, his cock nudging your sweetest spots, soft praises spilling from his lips with every thrust. you're both sticky, warm, and messy—moaning into the quiet room with each lazy bounce.

your gummy walls suck him in so perfectly, he just can't handle it as his cock twitches inside you.

"m'gonna cum, princess.. fuck, fuck.." he breathes out, eyes squeezing shut before warm spurts fill you up.

© emisluvr 2025. all rights reserved.

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Can I just say your write amazingly. One of my top favourite writers. I was wondering if I can request a dad lando fic where reader is like 4 or 5 and when lando dose his drive to survive interview thing he takes his baby girl and the whole crew just love her. And she gets to snap the 🎬

Lights, Camera, Action!

The Netflix crew was already buzzing around the sleek, sunlit studio set when the door creaked open, and in walked Lando—hair a bit tousled, hoodie slightly rumpled, and one hand holding onto the tiny fingers of a girl no taller than his thigh.

She peeked in first, big eyes blinking at the brightness of the room, her other hand clutching a squishy pink bunny that had clearly seen better days.

“This her?” asked the producer, grinning as he pulled off his headset and came forward.

Lando nodded proudly, crouching down to her level. “Go on, love. Say hello.”

Yn blinked at the man, then mumbled, “Hullo…” in a shy but unmistakably British accent that made three crew members audibly coo.

The producer beamed. “And what's your name, sweetheart?”

“Yn,” she said, barely above a whisper.

“Yn, that’s beautiful,” he said, genuinely charmed. “How old are you?”

She held up five tiny fingers. Lando chuckled, brushing a curl from her cheek.

“She just turned five last month,” he said. “And she’s very excited to help Daddy today. Aren’t you, bug?”

Yn nodded shyly but clung tighter to his hoodie.

“She’s a little shy at first,” Lando told them, smoothing down the back of her hair. “But she warms up fast. Just give her a few minutes and maybe a biscuit.”

The whole crew laughed at that, already softening under the spell of the little girl with the bunny and the shy smile.

The Drive to Survive crew had seen drivers in every emotional state: victorious, furious, hungover, nervous, indifferent. But this—this was something else entirely.

One of the assistants knelt beside Yn and held out a small tray of juice boxes and individually wrapped cookies.

“Would you like a snack while Daddy does his interview?” she asked gently.

Yn looked up at Lando, and he smiled reassuringly. “It’s alright, poppet. You can sit just over there and watch me if you want. Or hang with the nice lady.”

“Can I watch you?” she asked in a tiny voice.

Lando melted. He really did.

“‘Course you can. You’ve got the best seat in the house.”

He helped her into a small canvas director’s chair just off camera, close enough to him that he could sneak her smiles between questions. One of the sound guys handed her a set of child-sized headphones—not plugged into anything, just for fun—and Yn lit up like it was Christmas.

“All ready?” the producer called out, watching Lando settle into his seat with an amused look.

Lando looked to Yn, gave her a wink, then turned to the camera.

“Ready when you are.”

The interview started normally.

“How does it feel being one of the more experienced drivers now, after all these seasons?”

“Old,” Lando deadpanned, and the crew laughed. “I mean, I still get carded when I try to buy wine, but I’ve been here a while now. It’s weird.”

“And now you’re not just a driver—you’re a dad.”

Lando’s whole face changed. His shoulders relaxed, his eyes softened, and the smile that crept across his lips was involuntary and impossible to miss.

“Yeah,” he said, glancing to the side where Yn was swinging her legs, watching quietly. “I’m a dad. And it’s the best job I’ve ever had.”

“What’s it like, being a single parent and a full-time F1 driver?”

“Hard,” he admitted. “Like, really hard. I won’t pretend it’s easy. The schedule’s mental, the travel’s constant, and trying to make sure she has stability in all of that—it’s a lot.”

“But?”

“But I wouldn’t trade it for the world,” Lando said. “Not a second of it. That little girl is my heart walking around outside my body.”

Someone behind the camera whispered a soft “awww” and a few heads nodded.

“I try to take her with me as much as I can,” Lando continued. “Because I don’t want her to feel like I’m always gone. And she actually loves the paddock. She’s got uncles everywhere.”

The interviewer laughed. “Who’s her favorite uncle?”

Lando smirked. “Now that’s dangerous territory.”

“Come on, give us something.”

“She calls Carlos ‘Uncle Giggles,’ because he always makes her laugh. And Max taught her to say ‘chicane’ properly, which is weirdly adorable coming out of a five-year-old. But I think Charles is her favorite.”

He leaned in conspiratorially.

“He sneaks her gummy bears and lets her press buttons on the simulator when no one’s watching.”

During a short break in filming, Yn walked up to her dad and tugged on the hem of his hoodie.

“Can I sit with you now?”

Lando lifted her up effortlessly and sat her on his lap.

“She’s very well-behaved,” one of the crew members commented, watching her tuck herself comfortably into his arms.

“Yeah, I’m lucky,” Lando said. “She’s a bit shy, but she’s got a kind soul.”

“Do you like being on set, Yn?” someone asked her gently.

She looked up and nodded. “I like the big camera. And Daddy talks nice.”

Another wave of chuckles rippled through the crew.

“Think you could help us with something, Yn?” the producer asked.

Her eyes widened, curious. Lando looked intrigued too.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Well,” the producer said, holding up the old-school film clapper. “We usually let the talent snap the board before we roll. Think she’d like to do it?”

Lando looked down at his daughter. “What do you think, bug? Wanna help Daddy start the show?”

She considered it for a second, then nodded with an eager smile.

“Alright then!” Lando grinned and helped her down from his lap. “Go on, big moment now.”

The assistant handed Yn the clapper, and she held it in her small hands like it was a sacred treasure.

“Can you say ‘Scene One, Take Two’?” someone prompted.

She took a deep breath and in her clearest little voice said, “Scene One, Take Two!” Then she clapped the board shut with both hands.

Everyone applauded. Lando’s smile could’ve lit up the whole building.

“That was amazing,” the producer said, genuinely delighted. “You’ve got a future in film, miss.”

Yn giggled and ran back to Lando, who scooped her up with ease.

“She’s gonna be insufferable after this,” he joked, kissing the top of her head. “Hollywood’s gone straight to her head.”

Lando let Yn stay in his lap for the second half of the interview.

Her bunny rested on his thigh. She leaned against his chest, occasionally whispering questions into his hoodie like, “Why does the man ask so many questions?” and “Can we get ice cream after?”

“Yes,” Lando replied both times, the second one earning her a quick kiss on the temple.

The crew was utterly smitten. One of the camera operators whispered to the sound guy, “I’d watch an entire show just about him being a dad.”

The questions turned more personal toward the end.

“What do you hope she remembers when she’s older?”

Lando went quiet for a beat.

“I hope she remembers that I tried,” he said softly. “That I tried to give her everything. That even if I wasn’t always home, I was always hers. I hope she remembers feeling loved. Safe. Seen.”

There was a lump in the interviewer’s throat. He glanced at Yn, who was now playing with the strings of Lando’s hoodie, humming quietly to herself.

“You’ve made a beautiful little human.”

Lando smiled down at her. “Yeah. She’s everything.”

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-♡○♡

[cameronsbabydoll]

more blunt!simon but it’s him walking in on you after the shower (sorta implied that your roommates)

you’re in the bathroom, towel barely hanging on, brushing your teeth with the fan humming. steam’s still thick in the mirror. you didn’t lock the door. didn’t think you had to—he was supposed to be out.

then the door creaks open.

you whip around, mouth full of foam, heart jumping. and there he is. simon. leaning in the doorway like he’s been standing there a while.

he doesn’t flinch. doesn’t look away.

"towel’s thin, love," he says, voice like gravel. "can see the outline o’your cunt through it."

you choke on the toothpaste.

he grins.

you scramble to cover up, fumbling for the hem, cheeks burning. he still doesn’t leave. eyes drag over you like he owns the sight. arms crossed over his chest, relaxed like he’s watching tv.

"wearin’ it like you want me to look. like you want me t’see every little line."

"i didn’t know you were back—"

"mm. didn’t care."

you squeeze tighter at the towel. he steps forward. doesn’t touch—just gets close enough to see your lashes trembling.

"don’t worry. just wanted a look. m’not gonna touch ya."

he backs up, eyes never leaving you.

"not yet."

and then he’s gone. door half-shut behind him. like it never happened.

but your towel’s still slipping and your thighs are still shaking.

[maskerat]

Hornet gettings wings in Pharloom...

[floredaqueen]

♥︎¡¡𝐒𝐀𝐉𝐀 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒!!♡

𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐒𝐨𝐝𝐚 𝐏𝐨𝐩, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐬𝐤—

[gojoest]

a shape that could be ours — gojo satoru

synopsis: newlyweds are always asked the same question: “when will the babies come?” sometimes, the questions are harmless. other times, they get under your skin. you start to think and you start to imagine. maybe you tuck a pillow under your shirt one time, just to see. and maybe… your husband, gojo satoru, sees it too.

warnings: f!reader (she/her), established relationship (you are newly married), pregnancy/baby talk, pet names (pretty, baby), domestic fluff, not proofread, wc: 2.6k, dividers by @/cursed-carmine

“what? don’t you want a baby with me?” satoru asks as he sets the plates down on the counter and walks over to you. his voice is low and teasing. but not teasing in the usual carefree way; there’s something softer threaded through it, something almost serious. like it isn’t really a question he’s asking at all, but a quiet hope. a request. one he’s afraid to say out loud too often.

you blink up at him, unsure whether to be flustered or frustrated.

dinner had just ended. it was the first time you invited family over since the wedding. a small gathering, really, that still somehow managed to feel like a full-blown event. everything had to be perfect. you spent the whole day cleaning, organizing, cooking. and not just because you’re a perfectionist, but because…

…his clan is, well, intense.

polished and traditional in all the wrong ways where every smile hides a critique, every compliment is laced with a condition. you knew it wouldn’t be easy to deal with them tonight but it mattered to you for the dinner to go well.

and in many ways, it did. except for that constant baby talk. family pressure.

“so, when are we going to hear the pitter-patter of little feet?”

“you two are married now. it’s about time, don’t you think?”

“i give it three months.”

‘three months? i’m hoping to get good news by the end of this month. the gojo blood is impatient.”

the laughter at the table was warm and lighthearted on the surface. but all of it made you want to disappear into your bowl of rice. every eye was on you and satoru — some amused, others expectant. as if you two were a machine that could be activated at any moment to start producing the next generation.

throughout the entire dinner you could barely take a sip of your drink without actually chocking on it.

meanwhile, satoru was just grinning like the menace he is — relaxed, smug and completely unfazed as always.

“we’ve been practicing”, he said brightly, “when the time comes, you will all know. it will show”, while caressing your belly shamelessly.

you nearly dropped your chopsticks. that idiot.

no matter how many times you jabbed his elbow, perhaps at times hard enough to leave a bruise, he kept chuckling, leaning over to kiss your temple like the world’s most supportive husband, and carried on with his antics. entertaining everyone with far too much confidence and far too many innuendos. not embarrassed at all, not for a second trying to avoid the topic when it was brought up. in fact, he kept leaning into it. perhaps because he enjoyed the idea a little bit too much and loved making it known since it involved the two of you becoming even closer. or perhaps as a subtle way of signaling you that he’s ready even if you aren’t. either way, he was absolutely in his element.

you, however, were ready to crawl under the table and stay there until the end of time, embarrassed.

by the time everyone was finally saying goodbye, you could barely fake another smile. several relatives winked on their way out, whispering things like “go work on that baby now” as if they didn’t already do enough damage to your nervous system, but now this too.

hours later, you’re standing in the kitchen rinsing plates, trying to scrub both the dishes and your embarrassment clean.

satoru is still watching you. he tilts his head, eyes a little softer now, like he’s peeling back the layer of jokes he wears so well. he steps closer to you and reaches out, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. then his hand tilts your chin upward, coaxing you to meet his gaze.

“i mean it”, he says quietly. “don’t you want a baby with me?”

as a reflex, you try to turn away, but his hand holds you steady. not forceful, but firm enough, like he’s not ready to let you run from the question again.

“i…” you mumble. “i never said i didn’t want that.”

and that’s all he needs. a slow smile spreads across his lips. not a cocky one, but soft. almost relieved. he lets you go, brushing his fingers along your jaw as he pulls back. “good”, he says. “because i already think about it way too much.”

indeed, satoru has been imagining this, fantasizing even, for far too long, before you even got married. and all of his earlier teasing wasn’t just for show.

but on your end, it starts slowly. quietly. like how you start noticing flowers blooming only after winter has begun to fade.

a toddler’s giggle catches your attention in the park. you weren’t even really looking, just sipping on your coffee and scrolling mindlessly on your phone. but the sound draws your eyes up. a little girl in pink overalls is running after bubbles, squealing with laughter. her parents sit nearby on a bench, watching with contentment.

you don’t even realize you’re standing until the bubble pops and the girl turns to look at you, grinning. you smile back.

and just like that, you find yourself looking more often. at playgrounds. at babies wrapped in slings. at tiny shoes lined up in store windows. at couples who walk slowly because they’re pacing themselves with the unsteady toddle of their child between them.

you tell yourself it’s just because everyone keeps bringing it up. that your brain is on autopilot, stuck on a topic you never gave much thought before.

but then, you catch yourself lingering in the baby aisle at the store. just a second too long and just enough to picture what it might be like… a tiny hoodie with a little bear face. a pair of miniature sneakers that could fit in your palm. but alas, you shake your head and move on like that’ll erase the softness creeping in.

of course, satoru doesn’t help.

in fact, he seems to notice the shift in you immediately, even if you haven’t admitted it to yourself yet. one night, while you’re brushing your teeth, he appears in the mirror behind you, eyes sleepy but still, mischievous.

“if it’s a girl”, he says softly, “i want her to have your eyes.”

you pause, toothbrush still in your mouth. you look at his reflection in the mirror, he’s smiling. he says it so casually, like you’d been in the middle of that conversation all along.

pulling the toothbrush out, you gasp. “…what?”

“i mean it, pretty”, he says, leaning lazily against the doorframe. “your eyes. she’ll have me wrapped around her tiny little finger, obviously. but if she takes your eyes? i’m done for.”

you blink at him, unsure if your heart is skipping a beat from his words or because you brushed a little too hard… “satoru—”

“and i want to teach her how to fight”, he adds, grinning now. “so i can pretend i’m cool and strong before she decides i’m not.”

you stare at him. “looks like you’ve put way too much thought into this”

he shrugs, utterly unbothered. “of course i have. i think about it all the time.”

you turn away, rinsing your mouth, pretending your hands aren’t a little shaky from how serious he sounded underneath all the teasing.

another time, you’re curled on the couch, scrolling, when he flops next to you and plops a tiny onesie in your lap. it says: strongest baby alive!

“what— how— why do you even have this?” you ask, holding it up like it might detonate.

he grins. “came across it online. couldn’t resist. look, it’s perfect!”

“satoru.”

“what? just prepping for greatness”, he chuckles. but there’s something in the way he watches you after. like he’s waiting. measuring your reaction. seeing if your fingers linger on the fabric. and when they do — just a second too long — his smile falters. softens and turns quiet.

he doesn’t push it, though. doesn’t mention it again. instead, the next morning, you find your favorite mug already filled with coffee, and beside it… a baby spoon.

you roll your eyes. but you also don’t through it away.

and that night, while helping your friend babysit her toddler, you let the little boy climb into your lap. he has chubby fingers and impossibly soft hair, and he tugs at your necklace while babbling nonsense. at one point, he rests his head against your chest and sighs. you feel something in your chest flutter, crack open…

when satoru comes to pick you up, the boy doesn’t want to let go of your hand. satoru says nothing on the ride home. but he doesn’t let go of your hand, either. one hand on the wheel, the other resting gently on yours, warm against your thigh.

a few days later, satoru was abruptly called by the higher-ups about something last minute. nothing new. he kissed your cheek, told you not to wait up and vanished with a sweet little wink before putting on his blindfold.

now hours later, the silence he left behind still lingers. there’s no hum of his laughter, no echo of his dramatic commentary from the hallway, no footsteps chasing you down for one more kiss. just you.

you’re folding the laundry — a pile of shirts, a few of his socks that somehow always get lost in pairs, and then… a pillow. an extra cushion from the couch that ended up in the wrong basket.

you pick it up absently, ready to toss it aside, but… your hands hesitate. your eyes lower, thumb smoothing across the fabric. your heartbeat shifts a little and almost without thinking, you press the pillow against your stomach. a little too high at first, then you adjust it lower. tuck it in and pull your shirt over it.

just to see, to feel.

you walk to the mirror, barefoot, and look at your reflection. the shape is awkward and lumpy. not real. but the illusion is enough. your hand rests on the makeshift bump and then, slowly, one starts to move, caressing lightly over the curve.

you know it’s silly, but something within you responds. your face warms. you start to imagine satoru’s hand covering yours. you imagine him kneeling in front of you, placing a kiss against your stomach, whispering some ridiculous name idea he’s already picked out. you imagine tiny clothes, sleepless nights, holding something small and warm that’s half you and half him… you let yourself smile.

fingers brush gently over the fabric again. this could happen — you think — it’s possible. it’s real — and for the first time, the idea doesn’t make you want to run and hide. in fact, it makes your eyes sting a little. you lose yourself so deeply in the fantasy that your ears don’t catch on the sound of the front door open.

satoru didn’t mean to get home this quietly. usually, he makes a noise on purpose — jingles the keys, sings something stupid in the hallway, says something lovesick as soon as he opens the door just to hear you laugh.

but tonight, something stops him. he’s got that feeling. a pull.

the house is dim, soft with the kind of stillness that suggests you’re somewhere in thought. then he hears the faint shuffle of feet — yours — and he follows the sound like a thread, guiding him toward a barely cracked bedroom door.

he’s halfway through taking off his blindfold when he sees it through the narrow crack. you, in front of the mirror. a pillow under your shirt. your hands on it like it’s real.

he doesn’t move at first. his eyes track the curve of your body with something close to awe and he forgets how to breathe, or perhaps he’s afraid that if he breathes the moment will vanish. something primal and visceral hitting him all at once. you’re not smiling in the mirror like it’s a joke. you’re dreaming. touching the false belly like you’re already connected to someone that doesn’t exist — but could…

he thinks he might die on the spot. this is the future he’s been aching for in silence. this is the image that’s kept him up at night, one hand over his eyes, the other gripping the sheets, wondering when (if) you’d want the same…

and then, you see him. in the mirror just beyond your shoulder. startled, you turn. your hands fumble the pillow, cheeks heating up from embarrassment. “i— i was just… you know—it’s nothing. i was just being silly—”

he opens the door fully now and steps in slowly as if he’s approaching a dream he doesn’t want to wake from.

“stop”, he says, his voice barely above a whisper. he walks over to you like he’s being pulled by something magnetic. his hands are warm when he places one over the bump. even if it’s fake, it doesn’t matter. his fingers tremble anyway.

“you look beautiful. so beautiful, baby”, he murmurs, eyes not leaving you. “like it’s already real”, he swallows hard.

god, what i wouldn’t give to make it real, he thinks. to watch you grow round and soft with his child. to see the way your body would change — carry the weight of something made by both of you. to feel your skin stretch under his palms, life blooming inside you because of him.

he would worship you. he already does. but like that? pregnant with his child? he wouldn’t survive it.

he plants a soft kiss to your temple, hand curling protectively around your back, the pillow pressing between you. “i want to give you everything, you know that?” he whispers, but his voice sounds strained like he’s holding back too much all at once.

you nod against him. but, it’s not enough. not when you’ve looked at yourself in the mirror like that, not when you’ve imagined it too…

“say it”, he breathes against your hair. “tell me you want it too”

you look up at him, eyes vulnerable. that same look you gave your reflection.

“i want it”, you whisper. “i want a baby with you”

…and that’s it. that’s the thing that unravels him. letting out a shaky breath, he presses his forehead to yours. eyes fluttering closed as he cradles your face in both hands. he’s barely holding himself from dropping to his knees and pressing his mouth to your stomach, kissing it until you forget every reason you ever hesitated.

“let me give you a baby”, he says it now. clearly. openly. reverently. “let me make you a mother”, his thumb stroking your cheeks as his voice falls like a prayer and a plea all at once. “i’ll take care of everything”, he promises. “you’ll never lift a finger. just be mine. just carry ours.”

his lips find yours into a kiss, slow and aching, full of thousand nights he spent dreaming of this exact moment. and in the back of his mind, there’s only one thought echoing over and over.

she wants it. she wants this. she wants me. she wants us.

…and that’s enough to break him, rebuild him, and start everything new.

he gently scoops you into his arms, carefully — like you’re already carrying something precious inside you. your hands fly to his shoulders, your face closer to his. and it’s one of those rare moments where there’s no teasing on his features. only something quiet, something tender. something that longs.

he carries you to the bed like he’s bringing you home, and when he lays you down, he takes a moment. just a moment, to look at you. the fake curve of the pillow under your shirt, the way your hands settle over it instinctively. the way your eyes never leave his.

satoru sinks to his knees beside the bed, presses a kiss low on the fabric over your belly. one hand slides over the curve gently, and then, looking up at you through his lashes, he murmurs,

“i’m going to make this real now.”

[cherrygirlfriend]

OPPOSITES ATTRACT? ✮

✮ pairing: nerd!rafe x pervert!reader

✮ summary: agreeing to go to a party with you and meeting your friends for the first time causes rafe to have insecurities and doubts.

✮ warnings / tags: angst. fluff. hurt and comfort. punching someone. insecurity. nudity. them being ridiculously perfect for each other. wc: 2k

✮ author's note: what’s been up with me making these two suffer lately… tbh i just wanna deepen their emotional bond!! but dw i have freaky smut coming up for them soon!!

PERVERT MASTERLIST ✮ 5K MASTERLIST

people say that opposites attract, and that saying was a fact when it came to you and your boyfriend. you and rafe were like day and night; all the bouncers at all the clubs and bars within a five-mile radius of your university campus knew you by name, meanwhile every professor on campus knew your boyfriend by his name, all of them delighted whenever they found out they got to teach him. sometimes, a single outfit of yours had less fabric than one piece of rafe's outfit. rafe did more studying in one weekend than you did in a month. he was a virgin when you started dating, and you were... experienced.

and your boyfriend was definitely not a party animal.

"c'mon..." you coaxed, "i can't go alone. besides, i want you to meet my friends!" you whined, "your friends are gonna hate me." rafe deadpanned, his brows raised. "no they won't. so what if you're different from them? i'm sure you can find something to talk to them about." "like what? shoes and purses?" "like how much you adore me." your lips quirked up into a grin and you pressed a soft kiss on his cheek, "pleaaase?"

honestly, rafe's assumption wasn't that far from the truth; when you'd first told your friends that you were dating him, they all looked at you like you'd grown a second head. but it never mattered to you; you adores rafe, and even though you two sometimes got strange looks from people and your friends got weird whenever you mentioned him, it never bothered you.

"pleaseeee?" you stuck out your bottom lip, doing your best to put on a 'sad puppy dog' look. "fine." rafe grumbled, running a hand over his face, "only because you're cute."

"this is gonna earn you a reward..." you giggled, biting down on your lower lip and running your manicured finger down rafe's chest, the suggestive tone of your voice and the feel of your long nail against his muscles through his shirt causing his own voice to go hoarse, "i didn't... didn't even ask for that." "don't care." you give rafe a quick peck, "good boys get rewarded."

you'd told rafe that it'd take you around an hour to get ready, but the two of you had finally gotten to the frat house nearly three hours after you'd told rafe it'd take you an hour, but you'd just mumbled, "fashionably late..." into his ear.

but once you got to the frat house the party was being held at, you got past with ease... but the random dude at the fraternity door who acted as the bouncer looked at your boyfriend up and down and let out a disgusted 'eugh', making rafe look down at the ground, his cheeks starting to redden as he switched from one foot to the other, the other boy letting out a belittling chuckle, "sorry, but you're gonna have to ditch him."

you could see your boyfriend's face fall and him starting to step back, only for you to pull rafe back to you and looking at the boy standing at the door with the bitchiest smile you could muster up.

"he's my boyfriend." you said as calmly as you possibly could, even though you truly wanted to punch the living hell out of that dude, "and if you don't want him inside, it's gonna take me about two minutes to get every girl at your shitty ass party out." you smiled widely, "so, if you want a sausage party, then go ahead."

the boy's gaze went over rafe once again, a small groan leaving his lips. "alright, go in…" the faux-bouncer mumbled, and your smile widened as the boy stepped aside, making sure to bump into his side as you passed him.

"you didn't have to do that… i could've just gone back to the dorms." rafe leaned closer to you so you could hear him through the blaring music, only for you to take his hand in yours and squeezing it, "please. like i'd let someone get away with talking to you like that." you smiled up at him, "should we go find my friends?" rafe took in a deep breath before turning to you with a tight-lipped smile and nodded.

rafe felt out of place. when you'd introduced him to your friends with a cheerful, "this is my boyfriend, rafe." and brought his hand to your mouth, pressing a kiss on the back of his hand that left a glossy imprint there.

after your friends had awkwardly introduced themselves to rafe, looking at him up and down the same way the guy outside had, they went back to how they'd been before; chattering about something had no understanding of, with you joining in while your friends acted like he wasn't there.

lately, he'd been noticing all the ways you were different in. you went out nearly every weekend while rafe stayed in his dormitory either studying, reading, or gaming. you felt so confident you brightened up every room you walked into, meanwhile he felt like he was nothing but a dark cloud that followed you around. you seemed to get along with everyone, being able to make a friend in almost any setting, meanwhile most of his friends were ones that he'd met online.

even now, with the two of you being surrounded by crowds of sweaty people pressed to one another, music blasting so loudly the floors sticky with spilled booze were shaking, you looked like there was nowhere you'd rather be; meanwhile rafe's flight instinct was kicking in.

he leaned close to your ear and quietly said, "hey, i'm gonna go to the bathroom." pulling back and trying to give you a convincing smile. "okay." you nodded, and when he freed his fingers from your own, you reluctantly let go of his hand, watching as he made his way through the crowd, a small frown on your lips.

rafe gripped the bathroom sink, his knuckles turning white as he took tried to steady his breathing, his heart beating to the rhythm of the bass he could hear through the bathroom door. "get it together..." he mumbled under his breath. rafe took off his glasses and placed them down, turning the faucet on, splashing cold water on his face, wishing it could wash away all the thoughts plaguing his mind.

all the thoughts about how much happier you'd be with someone who you didn't have to beg to come out with you. all the thoughts about how much your friends would be more accepting of someone they thought was more suitable for you. all the thoughts about how he wasn't good enough for you. how he would never be good enough for you.

rafe was startled by someone beating their fist against the door, swiftly turning the faucet off and drying his face on a towel before turning to the mirror, "just be normal. just... be normal." he mumbled, putting his glasses back on.

the boy spotted you almost immediately as he was making hi way through the crowd, recognizing the outfit you'd spent too much time choosing, but it seemed like you hadn't spotted him. rafe's brows furrowed as he got closer to you, a dark-haired guy leaning close to you, a cup in his hand, his other hand on your arm, your jaw clenched.

"c'mon. we had fun last time, didn't we?" rafe overheard the guy say, almost as if he was boasting, deciding to stop a small distance away to see how the situation would play out. "let's just ditch the party and go to my room."

"that was ages ago. i have a boyfriend, thomas." "so?" the boy laughed, "your little einstein doesn't need to know. everyone knows you're just dating him so you can better your grades." "you think i'm that big of an idiot that i need to date someone to get better grades?" you scoffed, shaking your head, "then, what's it for? you pity him because he has like three friends?"

"i know this concept might be strange for you, but some people actually like others because of who they are and not just because of their bodies." you remarked,

"well, you weren't like that before." thomas rolled his eyes while you narrowed your eyes, "what do you mean by that?" you asked, cocking your head to the side. "i mean, you used to fuck anything that moved, fucking slut. now you're just with some nothing loser who probably doesn't know how to fuck." thomas laughed, rafe's jaw clenching, intending to interrupt until—

THUMP!

your fist made contact with thomas's face, the drunk boy falling to the ground as you took in a sharp breath, shaking your hand with an 'ouch'. "just so you know," you look down at him, your words coming out slightly clumsily, "he's better than you. and bigger. take that." you turned to walk away from thomas, but when you noticed rafe standing there with a stunned expression on his face, you froze, looking like a deer in headlights. "rafe."

but rafe simply chuckled, taking the hand that hadn't just greeted thomas, pulling you through the crowd, hurrying you outside.

you were breathing heavily, goosebumps forming on your skin from going from the hot, packed party to the chilly outside air, looking up at rafe, "rafe, i can explain, i know i shouldn't—"

but you were silenced by rafe leaning down, pressing his lips on yours, his large hands going to cup your cheeks, and as his lips moved on yours, he hoped it conveyed everything he thought, everything he worried about, and everything you somehow managed to make him feel.

when rafe pulled away, he tucked a strand of stray hair behind your ear, his thumb going to stroke the soft skin of your cheek. "weirdly, that was the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me." rafe looked down, gently taking the hand that you'd punched thomas with as a hiss left your lips, the boy noticing some bruising on your knuckles, a few of them even bleeding, "let's get back to my dorm and fix this up, yeah?"

every time the antiseptic made contact with one of the cuts on your knuckles, you let out a quiet hiss, each of them sounding unfairly adorable to rafe.

"this is the cost of punching dickheads." he jokingly mumbled, "well, i had to protect your honor." you shrugged, making rafe furrow his brows as he applied lotion onto the cuts, "my honor?" "he called you a nothing loser. i'm not gonna let that slide."

"i thought you punched him because he called you... that." "oh, no. i've heard it many times. if they wanna shame me for liking sex then they can go ahead and do that. but i'm not gonna let them say something like that about you."

your words made rafe's lips quirk up a little, "so, are you my knight in shining armor?" "only if it's one of those ridiculously skimpy armors they give to female characters in games." you grinned, rafe shaking his head. once your boyfriend had applied band-aids onto your knuckles, he pressed a kiss on each of them.

it wasn't long until the two of you were under rafe's blanket, your naked bodies pressed together, rafe holding the hand he'd patched up, "you know, sometimes i worry that i'm not good enough for you." he mumbled, "why would you think that?" "i'm... i'm not like guys you've been with before. i'm not into parties, i'm not cool and confident..." "you're also not a total dickhead." "yeah, that." rafe chuckled softly, "i don't know. what if you were happier with someone more like you?"

"the thing is... i think you are like me, rafe." "how's that? we're... so different." "yeah, we have different interests, we have different personalities..." you bring your hand to rest over his heart, "but when i'm with you... i feel connected to you in a way i haven't before. like we're one."

"that's weirdly poetic." rafe chuckled softly, "i think you're secretly a sap." "shut up." you rolled your eyes, "but i know what you mean. like we're two sides of the same coin."

"yeah. and for me, that's better than anything or anyone else. i don't care if i could have the world's most perfect person. because they'll never measure up to you. i wouldn't want to love anyone else but you."

rafe smiled, bringing his lips to your forehead, "no one else." he whispered, pressing a kiss there.

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[dollzstrology]

⋆.ೃ࿔ 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐍’ ᝰ Smoke stops by your shop, coming to check on you and the baby. After he’s with you for a while you realize he’s here for more than a welfare check, he interested in what’s between your thighs.

𝑭𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑼𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮… Elijah ‘Smoke’ Moore

𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑻… Explicit; smut + fluff, porn w/ plot, fem!reader, spiritual!reader [hoodoo], envisioned as black!reader while writing, half-canon & half non-canon, very similar to Annie x Smoke dynamic, established relationship [married couple], mom!reader & dad!smoke, pregnancy [second trimester], pregnancy sex, oral [fem!receiving], p in v, dirty talk. 1930’s time period. southern/country dialect used.

𝑫𝑼𝑹𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵… 3.5k words

𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑫𝑺 𝑭𝑹𝑶𝑴 𝑾𝑹𝑰𝑻𝑬𝑹… This is my first ‘Sinners’ fic and I’m soooo excited to be posting it! I’m already obsessed with Micheal B. Jordan but this movie made me love him 1,000 times more! All my Smoke lovers lmk how you like this fic! As always feel free to comment and reblog, I love reading y’all reactions! I hope you enjoy!!

𝑳𝑰𝑵𝑲𝑺… Sinners M.List ・Sinners Taglist ・Main M.list

It’s a slow day at the shop, the perfect time for you to catch up with creating some batches of fresh herbal teas and home remedies for your customers when they come by. You have your radio humming low in the corner, keeping you company as you sing along and work, grinding some dried yarrow in your mortar and pestle.

You’re about to reach for the peppermint to add into the blend when a quiet shift in the air makes your skin prickle. You feel a presence come behind you before it can even make its way into your line of sight.

Your hand slips to the straight razor beside your tray and you spin around, steel flashing in the light, holding it right under their chin. “Elijah…” you say slowly, drawing out the vowels as if you’re warning him. “How many times I done told you ‘bout sneakin’ up on me while I’m workin’?”

“Put that blade up, woman, ‘fore you nick me.” Smoke replies with his gold tooth gleaming in the sunlight, unfazed by the weapon at his throat, knowing you would never actually harm him, plus it’s not the first time you’ve had a razor blade to his neck. “I jus’ came to love on you a lil’ bit.”

You stare at him a second longer, eyes narrowed, then you huff through your nose and lower the blade onto the table. You set it down with a little clatter and let him gather you up in his arms. His hands cradle your small belly bump, lips pressing gently against yours. “You always sneakin’ around. One day I’ma really cut your ass.” You mumble in between kisses while still embracing his love, spewing out out a threat you know will just end up being empty.

“And you still gon' love me, jus’ like I love you with that fire in yo’ mouth.” He replies, referring to your slick tongue and the feistiness within you that’s always making an appearance. Before you know it he’s kissing you slow and tender, like he don't plan on leaving anytime soon.

You lean into it, breathing in his scent: woodsmoke, Irish beer, and gunpowder. You rest your hand on his chest, right over his heart, giving him one last kiss before pulling back. “What you doin’ here in the middle of the day? Thought you and Stack was gettin’ the juke ready for tonight.”

“We are. I just… wanted to check on you. And the baby.”

“We alright.” You say with a smile, loving how he’s become even more attentive since you told him you were in the family way. “She movin’ more lately. Likes when I sing to her in the mornin’.”

“She? You still holdin’ onto that?” Despite you having all the hoodoo abilities to tap into the spiritual and supernatural realm, your husband swears he knows the gender of the baby. “I’m tellin’ you, it’s a boy. Gon’ be just like his old man.”

“Lord, I pray that ain’t true.” You tease, laughing while walking over to where your candles are, grabbing a match and lighting the wick. Having to deal with Smoke and Stack everyday, trying to keep them safe, and make sure they stay out of trouble is enough to worry about, you can’t imagine having to deal with that times three.

While your husband watches you light a candle, his eyes wander to all the things surrounding you; herbs, mojo bags prepped like the one he has around his neck, and other things you use as a hoodoo practitioner, makes a frown appear on his lips. “I don’t like you doin’ all this magic shit while you carryin’. You don’t know what kinda spirits you callin’.”

Smoke’s never been able to grasp the in and outs of hoodoo, he’s never been the type of man to believe in things like that but it doesn’t stop him from supporting you and taking your word on everything because he believes in you. He’s always been fine with it and never interfered with your work but now that you’re carrying his child he’s concerned.

“I been doin’ this since before you even knew my name.” you calmly reply, understanding his point of view but wanting to reassure him everything is fine and the baby isn’t in harm's way. “I was born into this. My momma did it carryin’ me, and her momma ‘fore her. You know I don’t call nothin’ dark in here.”

“I know. But still, it makes me nervous.” He finds his way behind you again, wrapping his arms around your mid section, resting his chin in the crook of your neck. “You my whole heart and this lil’ baby too. I don’t want nun bad happenin’ to y’all.”

You lean into his embrace, letting his warmth wash over you like a river. You close your eyes a moment, feeling a sense of peace settle in your bones from his presence. “I’ll be alright. We both will.” You place your hand over his, gently rubbing your thumb against his skin. “I promise.”

Smoke turns you in his arms, kissing you deeper than he did earlier, this interaction feeling more fueled by lust than love. You feel the pull of him, the same pull that causes you to gravitate towards him when his body is calling for you.

Things with Smoke are always easy, you and him have the type of chemistry where certain things don’t have to be explained, like you and him don’t have to discuss how he yearns for you, how just you touching him makes him feel like he’s about to crumble. You’ve always been his safe place so when he comes to you needing comfort, to blow off steam, or some sweet lovin’, you’re always happily ready to provide.

Without breaking the kiss he takes off his jacket, throwing it somewhere on the floor before gently lifting you onto your work table, sweeping some of your jars to the side so they won’t get damaged. Your hands are already at the buttons of his shirt, and his mouth trails down your throat, his tongue swirling over the place where your pulse beats strong.

The ceiling fan above spins lazy circles above the two of you but it doesn’t cut down on the Mississippi heat or the fire burning between you and him. Smoke’s palms slide up your thighs, rough and warm, pushing your flowly dress up bunch by bunch ‘til he’s gets you exposed, your panties already damp from the way he's been touching you.

“You wet f’me already, mama?” he hums low, his thick fingers pressing against the wet cotton, a smug expression comes across his face that’s filled with pride. You bite your lip, nodding as he hooks his fingers in the waistband and pulls them down your legs, letting them fall to your ankles before taking them off.

“Always wet for you, ‘lijah,” you whisper, voice breathy and thick with need for what lies beneath his waist. “You know that.” He groans at the sound of his name on your lips, the only person on Earth who’s allowed to say his birth name, the only one who says it so sweetly it makes him want to hear it again and again.

He drops to his knees, kissing the inside of your thighs like he’s praying at an altar. The farther he moves up your body, slowly making his way to your sweet sweet center, you can feel your heart pounding with anticipation. Once he’s done teasing, his mouth meets your core, warm and wet, tongue parting your slit nice and slow, allowing your delicious taste to settle on his tongue before he starts to really ravish you.

You gasp when the warmth from his mouth comes in contact with your pussy, trying to control yourself before shoving his head deeper between your legs. His tongue gives your folds the most attention in the beginning, repeatedly moving up and down, giving you a nice warm up before he turns things up a notch.

Smoke’s starts giving your clit some love, the tip of his tongue gently grazing over it before applying pressure, causing your hips buck instantly and him to groan into your heat, making you moan from the vibrations. The more he eats your pussy, smearing your slick across his face, and him angling his mouth and sucking your clit so well it feels like your spirit is levitating, edges you closer and closer to releasing all over his face. “Mhm! Smoke, right there!”

If you could see the look on this man’s face there would definitely be a smirk across his lips, hearing those words from you, spoken in that needy tone you use when he’s hitting all those right spots, makes his dick rock solid. Of course with him being a gentleman ‘n all, his first priority is making sure his wife is taking care of, so he’s gonna make sure you get one off before he does… but not without making you work for it first.

Your fingers thread through his coarse hair, hips rolling up into his face to create more friction and help you chase your high faster. The moans that fall from your lips aren’t as soft as they were earlier. They’re raw, hungry, each one more whiny than the next. You can feel that pressure in your stomach beginning to build up and when you feel his fingers protruding the entrance of your pussy, you already know you’ll be cumming in a couple minutes or less.

When that feeling starts growing stronger and intense, about to take over your body and allow you that sweet release, Smoke pulls back making you glare at him as if he has two heads. “I know you ain’t gonna jus’—”

Smoke give you the smallest smirk as he stands up, licking your juices off his lips, already knowing how you’re about to finish that sentence. “I ain’t, baby. I jus’ wanna feel you wrapped ‘round me when I make you cum.” He undoes his belt, slow and deliberate, his predatory gaze looking at your body. You watch as he frees himself from his slacks, thick and undeniably hard, the sight alone making your mouth fill with saliva, wanting him to just fill you up already.

He helps you get off the table, lifting you by your waist and gently placing you on the ground. Once your feet hit the wooden floor he’s barking out orders. “Turn ‘round and put them hands on the table.” You obey without question, leaning forward and angling your ass in the air.

Once you're in position Smoke comes up behind you, pushing your dress up until it’s past your hips, giving him a full view of your ass that he’s practically obsessed with. He takes a moment to take in the sight in front of him, your pretty ass on display, your juices slowly dripping down your thighs, and your hole clenching around nothing, begging to be stuffed.

Your husband bites his lip, his dick twitching against his thigh in anticipation of what’s to come once he wrapped around your velvety walls. He gives himself a few strokes before gliding his dick across your folds, allowing your slick to gather on his tip and mix with his precum, using the fluids as a lubricant. He grounds himself in his stance and places himself at your entrance, slowly pressing himself inside you, stretching you wide open with his girth.

When he enters your wetness, a groan slips through his bared teeth, his hands wrapping around your full hips as he lowers his eyes and watches his dick begin to disappear into your heat. Even though you’ve had sex with Smoke a million times, every time he fucks you it somehow feels the first time. A sound flies out your mouth, something that’s a mixture of moan and cry when you feel him stretching you out every time he pushes another inch of himself inside you.

You’re not in pain, it’s just the delicious burn that comes with being with a man that’s well endowed. Your hands begin to grip the end of the table, needing to balance the pressure you’re feeling in your lower region. “I got you, baby. Jus’ relax.” Smoke whispers while placing a few soft kisses on your back, reassuring that he has everything under control.

Feeling his lips press against your skin makes you clench around him, so tight that he lets out sharp breath, trying to keep himself from busting on the spot. He's not even fully inside you yet and he’s already teetering on the edge of having his own orgasm. He allows both of your bodies to adjust, for both of you to become one flesh, slowly nudging his dick further and further into your pussy until he bottoms out.

After a few moments his pelvis is flush with your ass and he just holds there, waiting until you’re ready. Once you relax and he feels your body loosen up, he takes that as a green light to continue and start applying some real pressure. He slowly slides out, pulling out almost halfway before rolling his hips and pressing back into you, beginning a series of long strokes into your pussy.

Your mouth flies open, moans filling your small shop as Smoke thrusts into you with no plan on stopping anytime soon. He angles himself slightly upward, giving himself the perfect position to continually hit your g-spot until you cum around him. At this point you and him are both dripping in sweat, droplets traveling down your face and towards the spillage of your breasts and his trickling down his chest and torso.

You decide to not let your husband have all the fun and start throwing it back against him, meeting him in the middle of each thrust, creating an echo of your skin slapping together. Smoke groans, loving the sound of your skin colliding each time he pushes himself deeper inside you. “Pussy feels so good, baby. Makes me wanna get yo' ass pregnant all over again.” He mutters before throwing his head back.

Ever since you’ve become pregnant Smoke swears your pussy has become even better, which he didn’t think was possible. He doesn’t know if it’s because you’re more sensitive now, that you’ve been able to become so wet to the point he sometimes slips out, or your body is just preparing for the baby but either way he loves it.

“You talkin’ like I ain’t already carryin’ your baby.” you manage to pant between moans, lips curling up into a soft grin. “Lemme get this baby out first before we talk about another one.”

Smoke chuckles low, a sound that doesn’t come from him too often but when he’s around you it easily emerges. “Can’t help it.” he murmurs, breath hot on your skin. “You so damn good to me. Make me wanna keep you knocked up, full a’me all the time.”

He punctuates his words with a deep roll of his hips, hitting that spot inside you that makes stars explode behind your eyes. Your fingers curl around the edge of the table, knuckles white as you brace yourself against the slow, deliberate strokes that are unraveling you, thread by aching thread.

The scent of yarrow, rose, and the musk of your joined bodies hangs heavy in the air, brewing in the humid Mississippi heat. You feel like a woman possessed, bent and spread in the middle of your sacred space, lost in the kind of pleasure that only Smoke can provide.

It doesn’t take long before Smoke starts going harder and faster, his thrusts becoming relentless as tears of pleasure stream down your face. His pelvis slams against your backside with every stroke, the table rocking from your tight grip and his rough movements, causing a few jars of herbs to fall on the floor but you’re too fucked out to care. You cry out each time he hits the spot that makes your knees weak, your nails scratching at the wood while his balls slap against you.

“Say my name, baby.” he pants, giving your ass a nice hard love tap before his hand return to your hips. “Tell the whole Delta who fuckin’ you this good.”

Your breath catches, your body trembling with the raw fire he’s stroking inside you. You bite your lip, eyes squeezing shut as the waves of pleasure crash over you. “You fuckin’ me so good, Elijah.” Your voice trembling as the words spew out your mouth. “Can’t nobody fuck me like you can.”

He growls your name back, deep and full of hunger, sends a shiver straight down your spine. His hands dig into your hips harder, pulling you flush against him, every thrust driving deeper, more urgent. “You my woman.” he snarls low, voice rough like thunder, his possessive ways making an appearance. “Ain’t no woman on this earth meant for me but you.”

His words break through all your control and with a cry, your body collapses against his, your muscles convulsing in waves as you fall apart, every nerve ending going up in flames, breathes coming in sharp gasps as you let go. His name spills from your lips again and again, one of Smoke’s many weaknesses when it comes to you.

Smoke grunts as he continues to thrust inside you, repeatedly brushing against your g-spot until you quiver tightly around him again, your walls rapidly pulsing around his shaft. Your orgasm rips through you and a loud whine fills the air, your legs beginning to shake and your balance falter, causing your husband to tighten his grip around you so you won’t collapse on the hard wooden floor.

Soon after you Smoke’s body succumbs to its own pleasures, his orgasm washing over him as he releases his hot seed deep inside your walls, the thick sticky fluid reaching the depths of your womb, his body shuddering until his high levels out.

Smoke exhales a deep, satisfied groan as he gently pulls out of you, careful not to move too fast, not wanting to overstimulate you. Your body jerks slightly, a soft whimper slipping from your lips at the sudden emptiness. He leans down immediately, pressing a line of kisses along your spine like an apology, his strong hands gliding up your sides with a gentleness that replaces how rough he was just being.

“You okay, baby? I ain’t hurt you, did I?” he murmurs, voice low as always, but sweet, filled with a certain softness that only you are allowed to hear. He’s usually not rough with you, he hasn’t been since you’ve become pregnant but he’s been wound up, things with Club Juke and business deals, he needed this as an outlet for his issues but now that his brain fog has cleared he wants to make sure you’re alright because he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he ever hurt you.

You shake your head, resting your forehead against the table, lips parting with a small, breathless laugh, still trying to regulate your breathing. “You ain’t hurt me, ‘lijah. I’m doing good, real good.” you whisper, eyelids heavy, wanting to just go home and soak in the tub. “But I don’t think I’m gonna be able to walk right for a while.”

He chuckles at that, one that’s filled with satisfaction of his previous actions, that he once again fucked you ‘till you can barely walk. “Lemme help you out then.” Smoke easing you up into his arms, bridal style, like you don’t weigh a thing and placing you into the chair in the corner of your shop. He grabs a clean towel from the hook near the window and dampens it with some fresh water before he starts cleaning you up, making sure he's as gentle as possible.

When he finishes, he presses a kiss to the curve of your belly, whispering something low to the baby that makes you melt all over again. Smoke pulls up a stool and sits beside you, pulling you close until your head rests against his chest. “Think we scared off the spirits in here.” you mumble, giggling softly, knowing that your ancestors probably wouldn’t approve of you having relations on sacred ground.

Smoke chuckles at that, his hand stroking lazily over your thigh. “Well, they need to let grown folks do what they s’pose to do. Don’t need them watchin’ us no way.”

You hum softly, nuzzling closer, feeling his lips press against your temple and his hand making its way to your belly for the millionth time today, his thumb rubbing slow circles against your warm skin. “Gon’ be a good daddy to this baby.” he adds after a beat, his voice steady now, that rare, open affection in his tone. “Better than mine ever was.”

You lift your head just enough to meet his brown orbs, looking up at him with pure love in your eyes. “I know you will. You already are.”

For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of the wind brushing against the shutters, the faint creak of the old ceiling fan above, and the gentle rhythm of your breathing syncing with his. “I love you, Elijah.”

“Love you too, mama. Always.”

𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻 — @Yungblud423 @nostlicions @loveabledovee @secretisme4 @pinkkycherrish @bl3ssyn @shamansha @queenofklonnie22 @rios-st4rs @Secretlifeofpreshap @bxrbie1 @t-wylia @bendoverboo18 @milesf4vg1rl @secret89sblog @gabbysbl0gg

— all rights reserved ©𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐙𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐘. all fanfics belong to me, do not copy, translate, repost repost on other platforms (ex. AO3 or Wattpad) nor recommend on tiktok any of the works seen here.

[nanakorobiyaokii]

𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖺 𝖼𝗎𝗍𝗂𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖺 𝖼𝗎𝗍𝗂𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖺 𝖼𝗎𝗍𝗂𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖺 𝖼𝗎𝗍𝗂𝖾 ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡

[anglbunny]

RIDING NERD!GOJO'S FACE

smut mdni, nerd!gojo, kinda long, face riding, cheetah!reader

He looked so cute like this—spread out on his twin bed, books shoved off to one side, mouth slightly open as he blinked up at you from behind thick-rimmed glasses.

“S-So, um…” Gojo licked his lips, clearly flustered as you straddled his chest. “You sure about this? I-I’ve never really—well, I mean, I have, technically, just not with someone on me, you know? On my—uh—face. Your fac-” You grinned.

“Relax, genius. You said you wanted to help me de-stress before finals, right?”

“Yeah, but I thought you meant like… a back massage,” he squeaked, then immediately clamped his mouth shut when you started shimmying out of your shorts.

“Does this look like I want a massage, Gojo?”

His throat bobbed in a swallow. “No! Definitely not.”

He was still wearing that stupid sweater vest, his tie a little crooked, his pale cheeks flushed like he was running a fever—and yet his hands instinctively gripped your thighs as you crawled up, settling above his mouth like it was your throne.

He whimpered. Actually whimpered.

“You’re not gonna, like… suffocate me, right?”

You smirked. “Only if it's bad.”

The second you lowered yourself onto his mouth, everything shy about him evaporated. One long, slow lick had your hips twitching. He moaned under you like your taste was better than any cheat code, hands tightening on your thighs as his tongue flicked and circled your clit with shocking precision.

"F-fuck, Gojo—where'd you learn that?" you gasped, grinding against his face.

His glasses were already fogging, nose pressed deep between your folds, his tongue doing filthy things that made your head spin.

He pulled back just long enough to pant, breathless, “I, uh—read some stuff. Research. Y’know. For science.”

You laughed—until he sucked your clit between his lips and you choked on a moan.

That tongue of his? A little awkward at first, but the man was a fast learner. Every whimper you made, every time your thighs clenched around his head, he adjusted—flicking faster, licking deeper, humming like a damn vibrator until your hips were jerking and you were close. “Just like that, nerd boy,” you panted, one hand gripping his messy white hair. “Don’t stop.”

He couldn’t stop. He was drunk on it—tongue gliding through your slick folds, nose bumping your clit, mouth soaking, desperate to make you come on his face like a star student.

You rode his tongue shamelessly now, using him like a toy, grinding your pussy into that flushed, eager face with no hesitation. He looked so wrecked. Glasses tilted. Lips shiny. Whimpering beneath you.

“Gonna come,” you moaned, hips stuttering. “Satoru—shit—fuck—”

And when it hit, it hit hard. You cried out, riding the waves of pleasure as his mouth kept moving, overstimulating you, tongue greedy and starving for more. He only stopped when you collapsed forward, trembling, thighs slick against his flushed cheeks.

You looked down.

His lips were glossy, his chin wet, glasses askew.

“…You okay?” you asked. lifting yourself off just enough for him to breathe.

He blinked, voice cracking adorably. “Y-Yeah. Just, um… when can we do that again?”

"christ, satoru.." you huffed, laughing but your legs were still trembling

TL: @samm1e13 @syleepy @werfiedeii @mikemsmm @yanderebluelockfan @cyberheartrebel @arwawawa2 @valexqpt @snowsilver2000 @mitsurisupporter @meikstv @ravenbc @mihyas-dieehefrau @laslowchan

A/N: idk what this is. also i dont write about him enough

ꨄ︎Anglbunny | Do not copy, steal or translate my work and pngs. you'll be blocked.

Masterlist

[emisluvr]

hii pretty emi! ^^ idk if u already wrote something about this but what do u think about face riding with jake? more specifically his nose, like actually sinking on it....

i wrote a v small blurb for this before, but i love writing about face sitting/riding with jake, so naturally.. i'm gonna turn this into an actual req hehe

✧ tw. smut (18+ mdni!), face/nose riding, oral sex, dirty talk

jake could care less about being able to breathe when you're sitting on his face. he's gripping your thighs tight, tongue lapping slowly at your slick folds as his nose presses perfectly against your clit. unintentionally, you grind down, the tip of his nose slightly slipping inside your entrance.

"fuck.. ride it, baby," he groans against your pussy, his voice muffled but needy. "want you to use my face, just like that."

you roll your hips more as your clit keeps rubbing against the bridge of his nose, the friction making soft moans spill from your lips. everything’s messy—your slick dripping down, his nose shiny from how deep it sinks into your pussy every time you grind down.

his hands squeeze your thighs tighter as he moans into you, tongue still licking long stripes up and down your slit while you chase your high on his face.

"that’s it, pretty girl. fuck yourself on my face," he pants, nose and chin soaked from your wetness, eyes fluttering shut as he loses himself in it. the last few seconds before your release are filled with heavy whines, slurping noises, and you desperately grinding your pussy into his nose while his tongue keeps licking and sucking on you.

he doesn't stop until he feels your thighs shaking around his head, your cum spilling onto his tongue while he catches every last drop of it.

"you taste so good, pretty girl," he breathes once you finally lift off, spit and arousal smeared across his mouth and chin.

© emisluvr 2025. all rights reserved.

[cameronsbabydoll]

you’re followin’ him around the house like a little duckling in heart-print pajama shorts, pink fuzzy socks, and a tank top that says ‘daddy’s girl’ in glitter letters.

he’s tryin’ to clean his guns on the coffee table. hasn’t looked up once.

“simonnn…” you whine, ploppin’ down beside him.

“what now.” flat. not a question. a warning.

“i just… i missed you…” you blink up at him, resting your chin on your hand. “also… if a plane crashes on the border of two countries… where do they bury the survivors?”

he finally looks up.

“what the fuck did you just say?”

you smile real pretty. “y’know! like… which country do they bury ‘em in?”

he just stares. dead silent.

“…jesus fuckin’ christ.”

you blink. “did i say something dumb?”

“they’re survivors, love. they don’t fuckin’ bury ‘em.”

you giggle. “ohhh…”

he sighs so hard it rattles the windows. tosses his rag onto the table.

“m’gonna lose my fuckin’ mind, swear to god.”

“simon…” you whimper, crawling into his lap. “don’t be mad…”

he leans back, big hands gripping your hips. jaw tight. eyes dark.

“what am i gonna do with you, huh? my soft little wife. can’t even figure out where a fuckin’ plane goes when it crashes.”
“was just askin’…”
“dumb girl.” he squeezes your hips hard. “head full of sparkles n’ nothin’ else.”

you whimper again, softly, nuzzling into his neck. “but i’m your wifey…”

“fuckin’ right you are.” he grabs your ass and pulls you down onto his cock, already hard beneath his sweats. “mine. my stupid little wifey who follows me ‘round like a lost fuckin’ puppy.”

“’m not stupid…”
“you are.” he kisses the corner of your mouth. “but that’s alright. i like you like this. soft. dumb. needy.”

he pulls your tank top down, lets your tits spill out. sucks a bruise into your skin.

“c’mon, then,” he mutters. “ride me. use that dumb brain for somethin’ useful.”

you bounce in his lap, messy and breathy, moanin’ into his mouth. he holds you like a toy—hands bruising, voice gruff.

“look at you,” he groans. “fuckin’ brainless, ain’t ya? all sloppy on my cock.”

“simon—simon, m’your wifey—”
“you’re my fuckin’ problem is what you are.”

you cum all over him with a high, shivery cry, babbling nonsense. he doesn’t stop. not even after.

“you ask me one more stupid question,” he pants, “and i’ll bend you over the fuckin’ oven.”

[emisluvr]

this is really random but could we please have a soft heeseung fingering reader ,, it’s so messy and she’s just drooling everywhere cus’ of how good he is, i need that so bad🗣️🗣️‼️

yess, i love your brain >< i might've made this a lil too filthy help

✧ tw. smut (18+ mdni!), fingering, praise, overstim, v messy !!

heeseung has you straddled on top of him, him laying down as you lay on top, bodies pressed close. your panties are pushed to the side, legs spread so they hug each side of his hip, and your pretty pussy already soaking.

"you hear that, pretty girl?" he hums, two fingers sliding in so easily it makes your breath catch in your throat. "this pussy's so wet for me already."

his pace picks up by the minute, fingers curling right into your sweet spot with every thrust. your thighs begin to shake as your drool falls onto the pillow that heeseung has his head laid on, your lips parted and eyes barely open.

"aw, baby.. you're so messy," he coos, kissing your cheek as your head rests on his chest, fingers still pumping in and out of your sloppy core. "feels that good, huh? just from my fingers?"

you can’t even speak—just moans and breathy gasps slipping from your lips as your pussy clenches tighter around his digits, slick dripping down onto his sweatpants.

he keeps going, his thumb beginning to circle your clit while his fingers keep stroking your insides. you’re a perfect mess for him, all pretty and drooling, twitching, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the sheer amount of pleasure.

"gonna cum for me? come on, baby," he whispers against your ear. "make a mess on my fingers, okay?"

© emisluvr 2025. all rights reserved.

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Hiii. I live your stories so much and I just wanted to say you are my favourite author on Tumblr. Could I maybe request Carlos 16 year old daughter celebrating her quinceañeras (it sometimes gets celebrated in Spain). And maybe she smokes a it of weed and Lando and Oscar try to help her hide it. Like in Superstore (that's a show on netflix).

Thank you so much. I love you and your stories.❤️❤️❤️

Quinceañera

The music was loud. The lights were soft. The pastel pink decorations, gold balloons, and flower garlands twinkled in the overhead chandeliers. In the center of the ballroom stood Yn Sainz — fifteen years old, radiant, and more than a little overwhelmed. Her baby pink gown shimmered as she turned slowly, cheeks rosy, eyes wide.

Carlos stood at the edge of the dance floor, jaw tight, hands clenched behind his back, tears welling in his eyes.

“She’s grown up,” he whispered to no one in particular.

“I know,” Rebecca said from beside him, dabbing her eyes with a tissue, but also sipping champagne like a woman who knew this night was going to turn sideways eventually.

“I still remember when she tried to eat a tire at the McLaren garage,” Carlos said, voice cracking.

“That was a Lego tire, Carlos,” Rebecca said gently. “And she was three.”

“She’s still my baby.”

From across the room, Uncle Lando and Uncle Oscar were arguing over who got to cut the cake. Not help cut the cake — cut it. With a sword. Which neither of them was supposed to be near.

“Why would you get to hold the sword?” Lando huffed.

“Because I’m trustworthy,” Oscar replied, holding it up like King Arthur.

“You once got locked inside a portable toilet for forty-five minutes.”

“That was sabotage.”

“By a child.”

“That child had a vendetta, Lando!”

“Okay, boys,” Rebecca interrupted as she passed them, grabbing the sword with ease. “If you want to cut anything, go dance.”

“Fine,” they both mumbled, watching the sword disappear like it had just been taken by a Hogwarts professor.

Meanwhile, Yn and her gaggle of best friends — Valeria, Sofía, and Luna — snuck away from the buffet. They all looked like angels. If angels wore rhinestones and whispered things like “Okay, if we just go around the fountain and past Tío Javi, we can light it there.”

The joint, a skinny thing passed from Valeria’s older brother, was unceremoniously lit behind a floral arch made of artificial roses and pure teenage rebellion.

“Oh my God,” Yn giggled after her first hit. “I think I saw the balloon arch blink.”

“You did not!” Luna wheezed, coughing dramatically into her elbow.

Sofía, the chaos gremlin of the group, took an especially long drag, holding it like she was training for the Olympics. “No, wait. She might be right. That arch is looking at me funny.”

The four of them were now officially high at the most extravagant quinceañera southern Spain had seen in recent memory.

Back inside, the music had shifted from soft salsa to full reggaetón. Carlos was visibly vibrating.

“Who let Bad Bunny on the playlist?” he demanded. “That’s too suggestive.”

“It’s her birthday, cariño,” Rebecca replied, calmly eating an empanada. “She’s not going to become a criminal because Daddy Yankee came on.”

Carlos’s expression said he wasn’t convinced.

Meanwhile, Yn re-entered the ballroom like she was walking on pillows made of glitter. She was high. Blissfully, surreally high. And doing her very best to look like a normal, not-at-all-buzzed young lady.

“Smile,” she whispered to herself. “Smile like you don’t hear colors.”

She made her way to the table where Lando and Oscar were now seated with a plate full of churros between them.

“Uncles!” she greeted, a little too enthusiastically.

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Hey, sweetheart. You okay?”

“Of course! I’m totally... ceiling.”

“...Ceiling?” Lando repeated.

“I meant feeling!” Yn said quickly. “I’m feeling great! So much...pink! Did you know your faces are wiggling?”

Oscar blinked.

Lando dropped his churro.

“Oh no,” Lando whispered. “She’s on drugs. She’s high. She’s stoned at her quinceañera. WE’RE GOING TO JAIL!”

“Calm down!” Oscar hissed. “She’s not going to jail — we are if you keep shouting like that!”

Yn sat down slowly, her hands hovering above the chair like it might disappear. “Is this chair...conscious?”

Oscar leaned forward. “Yn. What did you do?”

“Nothing! Nothing bad! I’m just...you know...a little elevated.”

“ELEVATED?” Lando shrieked. “You’re fifteen!”

“I was peer pressured!” Yn said quickly. “Valeria’s brother gave us a joint. It smelled weird and then we laughed at a balloon for twenty minutes.”

“Oh God,” Lando muttered, staring at his own hands. “What if I accidentally inhale second-hand weed smoke? What if I fail a drug test at McLaren?”

“You haven’t been at McLaren in years, Lando.”

“I still want to pass things, Oscar!”

Oscar, ever the steady hand, turned to Yn. “Okay. You’re clearly high. How do you feel?”

“Like the churros are talking about me,” Yn replied solemnly.

“Okay. She’s not dangerous,” Oscar nodded. “Just deeply paranoid.”

Carlos, meanwhile, was hunting for his daughter with the same intensity he brought to qualifying laps. “Has anyone seen Yn?” he asked random guests. “She was supposed to be back for the father-daughter dance!”

“Maybe she went to the bathroom?” someone offered.

“I’m checking all the bathrooms.”

He stormed off.

Rebecca calmly ate another empanada.

Back at the table, Oscar was coaching Yn like she was about to take her driver’s test.

“Okay, listen. Blink slowly. Don’t talk about chairs having souls. And if your dad asks how you are, just say, ‘I’m happy and grateful.’ Got it?”

Yn nodded solemnly. “I am a rock. I am a professional. I am...toast.”

“Oh for the love of—” Lando stood up. “We have to hide her. We need a closet or a dark pantry. Something neutral.”

“We’re not locking her in a pantry, Lando! What is this, Breaking Bad: Quinceañera Edition?!”

“She needs water,” Oscar said, standing. “And bread. I read that carbs help.”

Lando looked horrified. “She’s in heels and a tulle dress. She can’t exactly go full carb coma in the middle of the ballroom!”

Just then, Carlos returned.

“There you are!” he said, eyes lighting up. “The dance is about to start. Yn, come on.”

Yn turned very, very slowly.

“Hi Papa,” she said, blinking one eye at a time like a confused owl. “You look very...horizontal.”

Carlos froze.

Oscar jumped in. “She’s just tired! Emotional day. Hormones. Gowns. You know girls!”

Carlos narrowed his eyes.

“She smells like burnt leaves,” he said.

“She fell into a bush,” Lando blurted.

“WHAT?!”

“Not a real bush,” Oscar corrected. “A metaphorical bush. The bush of...growing up.”

Rebecca, who had walked up silently behind them, took one look at her daughter and burst out laughing.

“Oh my god,” she said, grabbing Yn’s cheeks. “She’s baked.”

Carlos nearly fainted. “YOU WHAT?”

Yn’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry, Papá! I didn’t mean to, I just wanted to be cool and now I feel like I’m on a rollercoaster that smells like cinnamon!”

Lando was fanning himself with a plate. “This is a disaster. We’re going to be deported.”

“We live here, Lando,” Rebecca pointed out.

Carlos was pacing in a small circle, muttering in Spanish. “Mi hija...mi niña...marijuana?! On her quinceañera?!”

Oscar sat Yn down gently. “She’s not hurt. She’s just high. It’ll pass.”

Carlos rounded on her. “Who gave it to you?!”

Yn whimpered. “Valeria’s brother, but please don’t tell her parents! They’ll never let her hang out with me again and she helped me pick this dress!”

Carlos stared at the ceiling.

Rebecca sat beside Yn, patting her hand. “Sweetie, listen. We’re not mad.”

“We’re not?” Carlos demanded.

“We’re concerned. There’s a difference. You made a bad decision, but you’re not a bad person.”

“I smoked,” Yn whispered.

“I once accidentally shoplifted a roll of toilet paper when I was sixteen,” Rebecca replied. “We all do stupid stuff. The important thing is that we learn.”

“Thank you, Mamá,” Yn whispered, eyes brimming with tears.

Carlos sighed heavily, sitting on Yn’s other side.

“You scared me,” he said softly. “I just want you to be okay. No more joints.”

“Never again,” she said solemnly. “Everything smells like glitter and sadness.”

“That’s because you’re sitting next to Lando,” Oscar muttered.

“HEY!”

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you!

-♡○♡

Special love to my hermosa @kaworusgf