#I'm getting weepy again

[amygdalae]

Yesterday I started feeling really hormonal and emotionally low so this evening I asked my partner if maybe I cld have some space (we often spend days on end hanging out) and he was super understanding and appreciated me communicating this to him so he went home. but I also feel guilty because I do love him so much....this is my first time making such a request and this is my first serious relationship I feel guilty essentially being like "go away for a little bit" even though that's literally normal. I think

[toasteaa]

ENOUGH MOPING. My friends that I love and cherish are on my dash and I couldn't ask for better beloveds in my entire life 😤💕

[hibernating-stag]

Need to replay psychonauts 2 and get my ass handed to me by PSI Kings Sensorium again

[ghostzzy]

like the sadness is just not LEAVING

[tonycries]

Girl, I'm Into It!

Synopsis. Jus’ take it, girl, doesn’t matter if someone sees.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, EXHÍBITIONISM, cúmplay, the elders, Geto’s cúlt, creampíes, getting interrupted, cóckwarming, GOJO’S POWERS, face-sítting (fem), true form!Sukuna, dp, semi-public, spítting, VERY pússydrúnk Geto, overstím, spánking, bréeding (Gojo), marathons, showing off, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 5.9k

A/N. Hope you have a lovely week <3

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - A mouthful, woman!

“Mhm—” Toji’s babbling out a drawn-out groan, dragging the sharp bridge of his nose down your drooling slit. Veering slow and syrupy where your clit was just throbbing, “Yeah, that last job- actually. Gimme a sec, Shiu.”

And you can only gasp when he’s trapping that glaring phone screen between his ear and his shoulder, sliding the calloused expanse of his palm up, up, up your arched spine. 

Curling gently around your throat, “Now, who said you can stop sittin’ on m’face, doll?”

It’s said low - dangerous - loud enough that it just reached your ears above those saturated squelches. 

“B-but-” you shudder. “Shiu can-”

“B-b-but what?” He’s licking his slick-glossed lips, pooling your sweet sweet juices on his pinkish tongue. And oh just that one taste makes Toji moan, makes his eyes roll to the back of his head, thick fingers coming down in a swift smack! to hurry your honeyed answer. “S’not good to ah- leave someone hanging, y’know?”

His best friend on the other end of the line be damned, Toji was going to taste your pretty pussy one way or the other. 

“Yo, Fushiguro- where the hell did ya go?”

That makes you just jump, earning a rough snicker from the man underneath you. Words puffing out against your hole in a feverish pant, “Relax, girl, m’muted already.” 

And the rest of Shiu’s crackling voice can’t even register in his melty brain right now, can’t even be heard over that sudden gruff murmur ripping from his throat at the needy little drip! drip! drip! of your weepy cunt down his lolling tongue. Sliding all the way to the back of his throat. “For now.”

Toji’s prominent Adam’s apple bobs ravenously, before he’s just dragging your pliant body with a harsh tug - until your entire body weight is seated on his slutty mouth.

Exactly how he liked- no, loved it.

“See?” Sharp canines nip gently at your puffed-up pussy lips, you could feel Toji’s leering smirk widen, only plunging his pretty face deeper and deeper where you needed him the most. “Was that so hard?”

“N-no–” you’re mewling out, the truth babbling out of you when he slips past your swollen folds easily. Drinking in languid, calculated strokes up and down up and down up and-

“Helloooo? Ya better not have fucked off again, Fushiguro.”

Ah, yes. Toji’s rolling his eyes, taking his frustration out by giving you another stinging swat along your ass. 

And it’s so messy - you’re so sloppy on top of him that it takes a few glissading taps down his phone before Toji can finally unmute himself. Eyes bleary, ears thundering, mouth so drunken that he could barely speak - your pussy coating him in a sticky sheen of your slick with each ounce of pleasure. 

“Whaddaya say again, Shiu?” he’s slurring out - hoarse, strangled. The solid curve of his thumb gliding in a sopping wet dance across your sensitive clit, “Sorry was- eating.”

Toji laughs - he laughs - muffling the deep sounds by suckling on your leaky clit. Lapping at each and every pearlescent bead of your juices, high cheekbones hollowing out to scratch his obscene little taste buds roughly against the very peaked tip.

“You’re really eating mid-call?”

Shit, Toji can already feel the way you grow even more drenched at that, gushing out in a silken wave that dribbles down his chin. 

Smack!

It’s as if he was taunting you to break - to whine loud enough that Shiu would hear. Toji’s free hand is tightening around your neck, hauling you all over his face to meet in the messiest French kiss. “Oh you have no hah- idea.”

It’s just about the last thing said before Toji’s bullying his long tongue past that taut entrance to your sloppy hole, only needing one, two tiny grinds before your gummy walls are sucking him up deliciously. Molding around each one of his hazy drags, every saturated swirl around your cozy channel. 

“Well can ya be so fuckin’ loud-” You’re biting down on your lower lip hard enough to draw blood at Shiu’s little complaint. “Seriously- what are you even eating, you animal?”

“Jus’ a lil’ something sweet. The cutest of desserts.” Nosy prick, he’s musing half-deliriously. “Now are ya gonna t-talk business or do I needa hang up?”

But Toji knows he won’t be hanging up - not by the way every rattled-off detail about his next mission has you grinding your pussy down even more desperately onto his mouth. Snapping those delicate strings of spit and slick with each slobbering drag. Addicted. Hypnotic. 

Enough so that he doesn’t even know the date of his next job - and right now, Toji didn’t care. 

And you half-wonder how his tongue wasn’t cramping up right now, how his voice wasn’t just raw from those faint grunts of affirmation dragged out at Shiu’s conversation - non-stop, purposeful. 

And so was he.

You didn’t know who wanted you to cum more - you, or him. 

But when you do - you’re utterly sure that it’s your dear boyfriend. 

“Sh-shit-” you whisper, breath hitching with each desperate moan threatening to break free. And your nails just claw down his sculpted abs, hips gyrating in drippingly wet swivels with his tongue. Sure Shiu could hear now- “M’gonna cum-” They grow longer - sloppier. “Toji, m’cumming m’cumming- f-fuck-”

All Toji can do is giggle, as if he was fucked-out already. Shakily dipping his head further to ride you through your high, his nose nudges past your spread folds, into the base of your pussy, pointed chin kissing up against your puffy clit. Placing wet thrust after thrust that have you convulsing on top of him, the tiniest ah! ah! ah! leaving your ragged mouth when you feel his big beefy biceps flexing in a vice-like grip around your neck to hold you still. 

Addictive.

So much so that he’s barely even registering Shiu’s little, “You got all that?”

And you swear you hear Toji’s tough baritone crack at the very end, verging on a whine when he mumbles, “Y-yeah yeah- got all of it.”

“Alright, and- Fushiguro?”

“Mhm?”

“At least let a man join next time.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Over-overtime

“Ken-”

“Shh, my love.”

“But Ken!”

Immediately, you’re feeling the soft graze of all five of Nanami’s thick fingers curling over your jaw-dropped mouth. Your shared, golden wedding ring cool over your heated skin when he puffs out in a feverish heave, “Please ah- quieten down those pretty moans, unless you w-want to be caught, darling.”

Honestly, Nanami wouldn’t even mind right now - wouldn’t even care for anything other than swiveling his hips into yours in a slow, sultry cadence.

Angry, red tip pushing you further and further into those important documents he should really be working on right about now. Your tight silken skirt riding high, hands scrambling towards the ends of his cool office desk-

“B-but-” you’re whining, muffled through his digits. “-but it feels so hck! good-” 

You little minx. Nanami can feel himself just gush out a trail of steamingly hot precum in response to your pretty moans, jaw clenching while he tries to hold back the deepest of guttural groans from breaking free. 

It was the first time he’d ever ignored any form of overtime for something like this. But feeling the slight shiver in your thighs, the way your pretty tits heave with each gasping inhale - shiiit, did he wish he did this sooner. 

Every night of overtime, every lunch break, every meeting. 

“S-s’that so?” he’s rasping, and the desk rattles when he picks up the pace. Ricketing after every smack! of his thick, hefty balls against your ass, girthy cock stretching you out maddeningly. “My cute lil’ wife w-wants so badly to moan out? To scream my name?”

“Yes–” you sob, and your trembly fingers can do nothing but snatch the yellow velvet of his favorite tie. Hauling your husband even pressingly closer, “D-don’t care if they hah- hear, need you, Ken-”

Fuck, that’s enough to have him gasping, entire body wracking with an almost-violent shiver. 

Moaning.

Frantically, his sweat-slicked head snaps towards the door - the shut door. 

Breathing out a sigh of relief, he nuzzles down the tender column of your neck. Nosing into your sweetened spots, “Hah- wouldn’t- wouldn’t even mind being fired for this heavenly pussy, my love-” he confesses. But for all how sweet his words were toned, Nanami only pounds you deeper against the desk. Now clattering against the wall with how roughly he was spearing into your melty depths. “But I don’t want them seeing my wife.”

The hand around your mouth was nothing more than a little formality at this point, and Nanami himself was getting so dangerously loud-

Each grunt is punctuated by a meaningful slam into your drippingly wet cunt. Slurring out a little with each one, loosely whispering saccharine praises in your ear. 

“So pretty-” he kisses the corner of your lips, your chin. Ravenous thumb reaching down to pull at your neglected clit, “So fucking sexy- ah you feel s-so good.” Leering smile too unlike him, growing at every one of your plush squeezes. “So- so loud-”

And, truly, the stuffy corporate room was so heady with the hypnotic smell and sound of sex - the sound of you two. 

But Nanami still wasn’t done.

“M-move your hand, darling.” he hiccups out, and you already know what he’s talking about. Scrambling to shift away the now-sopping wet hand you’d cushioned to deter the wet thwack of his cum-filled balls against your ass, his toned pelvis on your ass. They ring thunderously in your ears, “Yeah- yeahhh, fuck- jus’ like that.”

Without the barrier of your hand in the way, he’s hiking up one powerful thigh onto the smooth plane of the desk. The change in angle nudging his fattened tip against your bulging g-spot, drawing swift, sopping glides. He was so out of control now. 

And whatever’s left of his rational self knows that maybe he should slow down - be more mindful of the resounding squelches that your slutty cunt was drumming up.

But he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Not when your slicked walls are clamping down around him so tight. Your eyes fluttering shut, spine arching definitively, mouth dropping open with the most honeyed call of his name when you cum. 

The noise so addictive - his favorite song - that Nanami isn’t too far behind. Overfilling your poor cunt over and over with thick globs of his cum. 

And god it was so much of it that Nanami doesn’t even realize when his arm falls down limply to cup your cheek, messily kissing your puckered-up lips. You whine into the heated kiss of teeth and lips when he gushes out in velvety ropes of potent seed. 

So fucking much. Enough to paint a glossy ring around his thick base, soaking those tufts of blond, dribbling down in a creamy pool at his polished work shoes, slippery.

“O-oh fuck yeah-” he’s spitting profanity after profanity. Twitchy cock still fucking you through the peaks of your own high, “Shhh- sh- c’mon now, milk me- milk fuck, take it all f’me–”

So caught up in his own bliss that Nanami finds his head lolling to the side when he’s finally cracking his eyes open - more to take a look upon that gorgeously fucked-out expression on your face than anything. When his gaze catches on something else-

The door. 

Open. 

A stunned Higuruma standing right by it, one hand holding a pile of documents that were sure to be the work he was actually supposed to be doing, the other adjusting his too-tight pants.

Which, while Nanami understood - hell, he could feel his still-cumming dick spurt out another gripping load of wispy white - didn’t mean he was going to let it slide. Not even for his closest coworker. 

“O-on the other hand…” he muses, throat shot. Looking right into greedy, alarmed eyes when he rubs a lazy gyration on your throbbing clit, bring the glossy, sheened digits up, up, up to his mouth. Tongue lingering on his glistening wedding ring, “Why dontcha be as loud as possible f’me, my love?”

♡ GETO SUGURU - So? Let ‘em see.

“Fuck-” Geto’s panting out, dark brows knitting tighter together after each wrenched-out moan. “Fuck.”

God, it was just about the least he could word out right now - words a ragged pitch, head throwing backwards with each smooth squeeze of your sopping wet pussy around into his swollen cock. Slow, languid glides that only made him impossibly harder. 

And part of him knows, he should keep up that cold, cult-leader facade in front of the group gathered around you two this very moment. To show off how calculating he really is when something is done wrong.

How no one’s safe - not even you, his sweet, special second-in-command.

But you’re looking over your shoulder at him with those glassy, tear-filled eyes and he’s already defeated. Nothing against you. 

“S-Sugu–” you whimper, drool dripping down the side of your lips - which he cranes down to lick away with a lazy swipe. Pinning you down with the weight of his hulkingly sculpted body to prevent your mindless little gyrations.

But Geto already knows that won’t stop your trembly fingers from wrapping around the base of his pretty red cock, hot and heavy in your hand. Begging, “I need you to fuck me so bad- need you ngh-”

He was painfully rock-hard, cum-filled balls pulled so taut that he almost looked like he’d burst if he wasn’t pummeling inside your gummy walls this very second. And just squeeze of your soft palm has Geto’s thick, round tip coating down your wrist in a swelteringly hot coat of his precum. Glossy and translucent. 

Needy.

“Heh, ya sick of cockwarming already, gorgeous?” he’s leering down at you with a sexily smug smirk, pearly white teeth biting his bottom lip raw to hold back his tiny grunts. “M’not sure you’ve m-made it up to us already-”

“Please!”

Smack!

His slender fingers soothe over the stinging imprint across your ass, Geto’s leaning back to take in that heavenly view with his half-lidded eyes. The way your greedy pussy drips! down onto the tatami mats, how you shiver so prettily on all fours for him.

Taking only a split-second to drench his slender digits on the mess you were trailing down his cock, bullying them unapologetically between your lips. Geto’s chest rumbles with the vibrations of his ragged whisper in your ear, “Watch it, pretty girl.”

You’re choking around his thick fingers - such a sweet, sweet sound that almost hurts Geto to talk over. 

Turning to the rest of the eagerly-watching room- “So, d’you think my gorgeous girl deserves it? After she-” Swirling his digits around your tongue, pressing hard into the narrow back of your throat. “-failed our last mission?”

Your ears are ringing, eyes too bleary to look up at any of the expressions of your fellow members. “Sugu-”

“Shhh–” Geto’s deeply rich tone is soothing, though the way his leaky tip just twitches is anything but. “We’re holdin’ a vote- s’rude to interrupt a vote.”

And fuck, Geto didn’t care about a fucking vote, didn’t care what any one else has to say. Honestly, he doesn’t think he even got through counting half the hands raised - or what it was even for.  

But you feel the way his achy cock swells up even thicker, expanding your clingy channel to your limits. His fat, bulbous tip only grows toastier inside of you, throbbing in a thrumming tempo. Faster. Desperate. 

“Sh-shit- s-so deep-” you’re hiccuping, hands trembling with fatigue where you were holding yourself up. And had it not been for one of Geto’s big, strong arms circling firmly around your waist, it would’ve been absolutely impossible to stop yourself from collapsing into a needy mess right in front of him. 

Ah, but right now Geto felt like a needy mess - having teased both of yourself to the ends of your insanity by now.

He has to blink back the overstimulated tears in his eyes, huff and puff that guttural whine in his voice, the sheer excitement in his eyes. “Well then…” Geto’s purring, planting a path of hot pecks down your neck. “Majority wins.”

And then it feels like you’re being split apart, like you’re being thrust all the way into the ends of your lungs with how hard Geto’s pounding into you. Not even giving you a split-second to accommodate before he rummages his heated cock around your tight pussy. The very outer rides of his prominent veins peeking into your sensitive spots. 

You scramble to grab onto the carpet, the silken sheets, anything when his powerful hips reel back and forth back and forth back and-

“What?” he heaves out as a voice pipes up nearby. Taking a few sloppy seconds to actually register the words let alone the language, with how good you felt milking the fucking soul out of him. “Oh- you’re right-”

Suddenly, he’s sitting back on his knees, dragging you with him like some glorified ragdoll. Geto snickers into the tender crook of your neck, your body all limp and pliant on top of him, seated until you were spearheaded so thoroughly on his messy erection. 

Eyes rolling to the back of his head, long strands of his inky hair sticking to his sweat-sheened forehead, picking up such a merciless cadence. Sharp hip bones dig into you, Geto’s hefty balls sure to leave a raised circular imprint on your thighs, his tip on your cervix - your lungs. 

“Don’ be shy~ let ‘em see, they’re- they’re sayin’ you’re trying to ah- r-run away–” he’s whining in your ear, defined canines sinking down into your ear lobe. “Begged to be fucked n’ this is the th-thanks I get? M’heartbroken, gorgeous.”

But oh, he didn’t sound like it - not even close. 

Dragging his wet, wet lips in a sodden kiss against your sagging mouth, Geto sounded like he was about to laugh. “Now- does everyone here think she deserves a lil’ punishment for that, too?”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - “Sh-shh, baby…”

Choso can’t do anything right now, can’t even say anything other hushed, broken praises and urgent warnings in your ear to quiet down. 

But oh he should’ve known that your teasing self wouldn’t listen. He should’ve known that you’d be toying with his sanity the second you slipped under those blankets with him for Itadori family movie night. That you’d run your greedy fingers across the sensitive curve of his dick - taunting. For just a second - before escaping towards the bathroom with a wink, taking his rationality right along with you-

“Spacing out, Cho?” you’re giggling from the smoothened marble counter, batting those sultry lashes up at him in a way that makes his overworked cock twitch. “Or are ya just thinking about me again?”

And, well, the movie probably ended hours ago.

The sound of your pretty voice is enough to make him whine, to have his thick fingers bunching up at the hem of your translucently drenched panties - still pulled just enough aside to have him grind up deeper into you. 

“N-no-” His lower lip wobbles with that panted-out answer, burning cheeks hidden away when your sweet boyfriend swipes over the curve of his thumb to your leaky cunt. Smearing that glossy trail of cum from your sodden slit, “Jus’- hngh, don’ squeeze me like that, baby- jus’ thinking that maybe we should h-head back.”

He says this, but you feel the way Choso’s reddened cock just weeps out another sloshing gush of milky precum, stretching out your already-overfilled walls with another coat of his. Just once. 

And then again. And again.

“Sh-shit-” He’s suddenly rutting his hips unsteadily, ferally, pulling out the most drippingly wet squelches when he bullies the very rotund tip of his fat head into your cervix. Sweat-sheened forehead drooping against yours, rosy red lips  slacking open, “Shit shit shit shit- have to- have to go- but I’m so hngh! so addicted, ahh my pretty girl-”

Just one, powerful jackhammer was enough to get him pussydrunk all over again.

“Y-yeah?” you ask, struggling through fucked-out gasps. Your hands find their way around his broad shoulders now, tracing over those deep red nail marks clawed across his creamy skin. “What about the m-”

“Don’t you d-dare mention the movie-”

Choso finds it impossible to hide the broken sob in his words, to not let a big fat tear splatter onto your own lips when his furious cock massages your plush walls back and forth. 

“S’probably o-over and-” And shit, he can’t hold back anymore, muffling those honeyed moans with pressurized peck after peck. Leaving your lips ragged and half-bruised. “And I ngh- d-didn’t even get to pay attention and-” Abruptly, Choso’s head is thrown back, brows scrunching, voice whimpering. “-fuck we’re gonna get- caught-”

It was so loud - those saturated slurps emanating out from your needy pussy every time you were milking him dry. 

That sodden slap! of skin-on-skin echo across this snug, heady bathroom and making Choso’s cheeks flush with embarrassment. And he’s sure his family outside can hear it through the door. Fuck- 

Yet, he’s pounding meanly into your gummy pussy, dewy eyes locked onto that heavenly view of his glistening cock disappearing with each one. Your swollen folds rubbed raw with every kiss against his thick base, bulging outwardly, snapping delicate strings of cum and you you you-

“Then- then why don’t we oh- stop, baby?” you’re purring, tugging on his damp strands of hair. “If you’re so scared of g-getting caught we can-”

“No!”

If it was any other moment, you’d have toyed with poor Choso just a bit more for interrupting you - and he’d apologize and apologize until you crack.

But right now, the only thing you could focus on was how he was fucking you into the counter even harder, to indent that cool surface onto your skin, to mark the round divot of his tip into your g-spot. Over and over.

“Then what do you w-want, sweetheart?” you gasp, feeling blood pump rapidly into every solid inch of him. Growing him even bigger, even girthier - stretching out your very insides until you could feel Choso brush over every single nook and cranny inside you. 

“Want you-” he’s moaning. Voice lilting higher in pitch and volume with each wrenched-out word. “Want you want you want- want you ngh- d-don’t even care anymore.” 

Drunk on your pussy, he barely even realizes it when he’s smearing his fingers across that sopping wet gloss of around your inner thighs. Pooling each thick dredge, before just plugging them back into your overstuffed pussy.

“Hngh!”

“Shhh sh-shh…” His mouth hovers agonizingly closer to yours, and for a second, you think that Choso is going to place a sweet kiss upon your lips. But, insead, he’s tilting his head ever-so-slightly to suck on your tongue.

“Gotta be q-quiet-” he’s keening like a mantra, riotous digits now swiveling around and around your clit. Tired, sloppy but still never-ending - swollen twitching wildly inside your dripping cunt. “Quiet- ah fuck gotta-” Mouth running a mile a minute, you were so soft inside every time he was mashing into your sweet spots. He was out of control now. “Can’t be- caught- ah- please-”

And maybe at this very moment, Jin is turning up the volume to the tv even past its maximum, grandpa Itadori takes off his hearing aid - Sukuna just cackles. 

Because in a split-second, Choso’s slamming his hand down on the counter beside you, groaning huskily into your ear, spitting out curse after curse when he cums and cums against your snug walls until he couldn’t anymore. 

You feel his spazzing wet shaft heaten up inside you, pumping out blanks now. Heavy balls squeezing like he’d run out of his voluminous, thick cum. “W-wait did you just hah!”

“M-maybe….fuck-” Choso drags his lips down your jaw, sharply nipping tiny bites for everyone to see. “Y’know, baby- I think I hear another movie playin’.”

Shit.

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Queen of curses

Ryomen Sukuna would never admit it - would never even think to hint at it - but oh, how he loved having you like this.

With your bleary head lolling into his pecs, drool swiping a glossy glide across his smooth skin, hips squirming and just jittering atop where he had you sat all prettily on two matchingly aching cocks. Unmoving. Unrelenting. 

All in front of them.

“Well- whaddaya think, brat?” Sukuna’s leering down into your dazed eyes with his devilish red ones. “You think they hah- deserve death?”

Everyone - everyone - in Sukuna’s decadent throne room flinches. All the way from the spattering of lower curses groveling at the much larger demon’s feet, to you. The staggering curvature of your spine bowing only deeper, batting your teary lashes up at him. 

“I- I don’t-” Each gasped-out little answer catches in your chest at the rabid thump! thump! thumping of his furious heads against your gummy walls. 

His true form was so incredibly massive. Pressing up thoroughly in an indenting little swivel - god, no matter how many times you took him, the intense stretch of his girthy shafts always left your clingy walls struggling to accommodate him, scrambling for your sanity. 

“Don’t?”

And it comes out higher-pitched than Sukuna’s usual rumbling baritone. An almost-believable little look of shock splattered all across his handsome face as he tightens two beefy arms around your body. 

“My queen is sayin’ she doesn’t know?” He’s bouncing his muscular knee in both annoyance, and to drag your slobbering pussy down each length. Tiny, punishing gyrations back and forth. “Can ya believe this?”

It takes you a few more sloppily spent seconds to realize with a jolt that he’s not addressing you in that last sentence - your glassy gaze fixated on how he tilts his head at the few curses behind you two. Snickering out a bout of dark laughter, “My lil’ human- the queen, s’too cockdrunk to even hand your sorry asses your fates.”

Huffing, you pound at his broad chest in a way that he thinks almost tickles. Mumbling with the sort of pout that makes him throb, “S’not m-my fault, Kuna!”

“Not your fault” is an understatement - because Sukuna’s hips were slowly but surely rocking upwards into your sopping cunt. Busying one of his hands with gripping your hips roughly, rummaging your insides with every thorough ram, one of his swollen cocks branding against your g-spot, the other making circular indents along your cervix.  

“Awww, you’re absolutely right, woman.” he slurs out. “S’my fault you w-wan’ed to ride my cock while I hold court, hm?” Jostling you on top of him to manspread, holding on tight to the armrests of his throne to just fuck up into you. “My fault your p-pretty pussy’s too selfish?”

You can only keen when his hefty set of balls sting against your ass, and the tiniest of jolts to your body has Sukuna seizing the opportunity to dip his hand down to your throbbing clit. 

Toying. Pulling. Rolling. 

“P-please-” you’re whining out a syrupy string of profanities that make him titter, and the stupefied curses behind you gasp. Stupidly, “M’not selfish- hngh-”

Shit, your pretty moans were such music to his ears. And one glimpse at the scum behind you two revealed that they thought so too. Heh, which is probably what’s spurring him to slam into you even deeper, to thumb your pussy lips apart and show off how well you were milking inch after inch of him. 

And those other curses could already spy the way Sukuna bulged even bigger inside of you, the way your dewy eyes rolled to the back of your head. 

They almost had half the mind to be concerned if it wasn’t for that uncharacteristically sappy smile on their king’s face.

“Damn. Is that so?” his hips grind up into yours faster. Sloppier. The hard lines of his hip bones making themselves at home imprinting against yours. Sukuna cranes his head down to bite at your slack lips, dangerous. “Then why dontcha hah- give these little heathens their punishment for disrespecting your king?”

It’s just about all you can do to whirl your teary gaze backwards, meeting widened sets of cursed eyes. Watching. Waiting. Greedy gazes dipping down-

“J-jus’ finish them off-” you’re squealing, sputtering to get out your words in full when Sukuna’s thick fingers move inhumanly fast on your clit. Quick, taunting circles. “Jus- fuck-”

That earns you the tiniest of swats on your sensitive nub - and he was being nice. “Ah ah- what a naughty mouth. Honestly, m’thinkin’ you should be the one to be punished - wouldn’t you trash agree?”

You don’t get to hear their answer - but you don’t have to, either. 

Because just then, two, thick fingers tap on the side of your cheek - and you already knew what that meant. You didn’t even have to think about it before letting your mouth fall open in haste, tongue lolling out perfectly. 

His absolute favorite part when Sukuna spits - once. Twice. A thick wad of honeyed saliva right onto the middle of your taste-buds, splattering in a translucent puddle down the side of your mouth. All despite his famously perfect aim. 

Sukuna grins, wiping another one of his thumb across your lower lip. On purpose, of course. 

“There- one punishment down and…” In only a split-second, you feel yourself being flipped - easily, pliantly - to have your back pressed up against all the ridges and curves of Sukuna’s muscles. Two bulging cocks still spearheaded all the way into the very back of your poor pussy, rough palms weighted underneath your legs, spreading you open almost shamefully in front of your audience. “-one more to go.”

The audience that Sukuna was pussydrunken enough to half-forget by now. 

“Ah, you pathetic scum are still here.” His chest vibrates with hissed-out words, breath hot against your ear. He’s whispering - to you, this time, “Whaddaya say- if ya squirt on m’cock I’ll finish ‘em off, my queen?”

♡ GOJO SATORU - POWA

Not one. Not two.

Not even the entire council of elders could stop Satoru Gojo from taking exactly what he wanted - you. 

Not the way your joints were protesting at this rude mating press he had you folded into, how his poor, overworked cock was twitching a mile a minute trying to keep up with his vigorous cadence - not even the fact that the two of you were being heard.

“T-Toru–” you’re begging, but it comes out as more of a strangled little mess of moans than anything. Your nails claw rawly down his back - yards upon yards of red, red lines. “The elders are just- out- the- door-”

Oh, but it was so hard to spit out any coherent sentences with the way that your husband was ramming his swollen cock into your with reckless abandon. Each and every ragged thrust like his hips were moving before his very mind - like he was just chasing that toasty hug of your walls. 

It takes a few more sloppy spearheads into the very back of your cunt before his pussydrunk brain can manage to find the words, “So what?”

You’re gasping when his palm comes down in a shuddering smack! right onto the smooth tatami of your living room floor. Too depraved. Too restless to have taken you anywhere else. 

Those pressurized waves causing the tiniest of tremors in the ground underneath you - more to piss off the grumbling elders outside than anything, if those muffled whispers were anything to go by.

For them to hear, to imagine. But not to see - no, because Gojo Satoru was a possessive bastard over his dear wife. 

“They sh-show up to my Estate-” he gasps out - voice dragged hoarse, each word spat with the utmost venom you haven’t heard Gojo talk with to even his deepest of enemies. “Interrupt my time with my wife to demand hah- shitty talks of clan politics and- heirs.” And you swear his cerulean eyes just glow in the dim lighting, biting down hard on your earlobe, “And expect not to get a firsthand experience on makin’ an heir, heh-”

You’re keening when it seems like he’s hitting all your sweetened spots at such an inhuman pace. Scrunched eyes tinging with slight blue lightning when he glides a splayed-out palm across your stomach-

“F-fuck, Toru-” your own greedy gaze widens when his long index draws an invisible line halfway across your stomach. Deftly feeling for that bulging nudge of his fattened tip denting into your g-spot, smirking at that feeble recoil. “Are- are you using six eyes?”

At this, Gojo’s babbling out a humorless bout of laughter - broken, higher-pitched, murmured into the corner of your mouth. 

“And?” His aching cock was just sobbing swelteringly hot precum with every surging ram, and so was Gojo - the stimulation of your plushy walls and the use of his jujutsu too much that he can feel his eyes well up with big, bulbous tears. “Hafta- hngh! hafta give ‘em a lil’ lesson on how strong our heir’s gonna be, right, sweetheart?”

You finding yourself clinging desperately onto Gojo’s snowy locks, boring up into his half-lidded, red-rimmed eyes. “Y-yes- gonna hafta- hngh- just hafta have you fill me up, Toru–”

Clearly, that was not what he was expecting.

Because this little answer leaves the strongest heaving in deep inhales of air. Barely even realizing the slow, lazy nod he’s giving you - a fucked-out grin spreading across his pretty features when he tilts his head towards your firmly shut sliding door. 

“Mhm- jus’- hngh-” he groans, head throwing back at the mess of gooey translucence that dribbles its way down from your snugly filled cunt. “Jus’ need ya to say it a ah- little louder f’me, my wife- p-please?”

“Wan’ you t-to give me an heir-”

“Louder, sweetheart.”

“Wan-”

“Louder-”

You scream - you moan. And you cum, crashing into your orgasm headfirst, faster than either of you expected-

“Fuck- fuck yeah, gonna fill ya up-” Gojo’s gaping in awe, unable to rip his eyes away from your beautiful face all twisted in ecstasy. Just the very furrow in your brows, the trickle of drool at the corner of your lips, the way your hot insides massage him so snug makes him fuck you into the tatami faster. “Gonna make ya a p-pretty momma- hngh- all round n’ glowing- Give you all my cum until all they can see is me- fuck- me me me.”

Forehead pressed up damply against yours, his abs burn at the fervent drive of his weeping dick. Sensitive shaft feeling his thick precum slosh around your insides with each aggressive grind. 

And he’s fucking wondering already how you two haven’t broken bones yet. 

Much, much later, he’ll figure out that it was his reverse cursed technique. That his cock runs red and raw after tonight, that the power bursts out in all prefectures in Tokyo when Gojo Satoru finally cums. 

Halfway on purpose - letting loose of his jujutsu a bit more than necessary. 

He snickers at the chorus of gasps from outside when shards of lightbulbs flow across the room, whimpers spilling from his ravaged mouth. “Heheh- serves ‘em right-” Drilling into you sloppily, so deep. “Gonna f-find out- gonna fuck a baby into ya- hngh- an heir- fuck serves ‘em right–”

Oh, he’s running his mouth a mile a minute with little nonsense - and you can’t speak at all. Feeling those darting spurts of his potent seed at your very lungs, the sheer volume knocking against your womb. Over and over in a silky white gloss. It drools out of your sopping wet slit, soiling a puddle underneath your sweat-slicked bodies. 

“Oh, sweetheart-” Gojo simpers, and shit, you already knew his tone didn’t bode well for your poor, overspilling pussy. His eyes lock on the door, “I don’t think our guests have left yet-”

“Because you froze them with your jujutsu-”

“How about another round?”

A/N. These poor side characters do NOT get paid enough lemme tell ya that.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[lunarlesbeing]

Ughhhh so way back at the end of last year I went for a regular check in with my psychiatrist and she was concerned about my heart rate being really rapid so that office basically just set me up the same day with the first regular doctor they could find that had an opening, I ended up wearing a heart rate monitor for a week and it confirmed that I have frequent racing heart but it’s otherwise normal rhythm. She changed me to a different medication (both the old and new meds are non-stimulant options for ADHD) to see if it was a side effect from the other one and nothing changed so she’s told me the last few times I’ve seen her that I should schedule a follow up just to check in on it again. (I’m hoping once I do I can get the clear to go back on the other med because it worked better and I really don’t think it was ever a factor with my heart tbh, I'm just anxious as fuck and also have hEDS/dysautonomia)

I’ve been putting it off because I’ve been super overwhelmed just in general (and also the new med doesn't do as much for executive dysfunction which doesn't help) but finally went to schedule something today. I actually was thinking of just seeing the same doctor as last time for the sake of continuity (and I don't normally like male doctors but he was actually pretty chill) but could only find him currently listed for a center a few towns over (my local hospital has a bunch of connected offices and it’s one of them but further than I was hoping to drive if I can avoid it) so I figured I’d try first with the doctor I’ve seen for other things in the past. But when I called they said she was booked up and I was like “yeah that’s fine I haven’t seen her in awhile” and agreed to see someone else with more availability.

But then when they asked what the appointment was for they were apparently super confused by my explanation (probably because of how much time has passed tbh) and ended up putting me on hold while they tried to figure it out and then said they’d call me back when they got more details from my psychiatrist and the other doctor I saw (who apparently might actually be practicing at the main center but just wasn’t listed there? Which would make things easier but it wasn’t really clear) about what they actually wanted me to do but I never heard back from them before the end of the day so…hopefully they call me back tomorrow? Ugh it sucks though, I get so much phone anxiety even under the best of circumstances so this is literally like my nightmare scenario, I had to have a stress cry about it once I got off even though the receptionist was super nice the whole time

[postracehair]

fracture

max verstappen x reader | 3.5k

max breaks his wrist during the first week of the off-season.

cw: max breaks his arm, r is a bit rattled, some blood, a naked shower, intimacy, mentions of sex

a/n: c'mon. you know he'd be so annoying. good thing we love him. [i wrote this before the season ended and then...never posted it. so, here, have it before we start all this shit over again in a few weeks.]

__

You are not there when it happens.

You're asleep, actually, curled up on Max's couch with the cats while he enjoys the first week of the off-season. The celebrations have ended and there is a great deal of work to be done in the next few months, but everyone gets a little bit of respite.

Vacation will come after the holidays. That's the plan, anyway. The last few days have seen you in Monaco, mostly inside Max's place. Just spending time together, relaxing, watching movies, rumpling his sheets. Today, though, he and Danny decided to go on a world-class-athlete-level bike ride.

Which is why you're on the couch. They've been gone all day and you don't expect Max to get home until later. You ran errands, cleaned a little, and then took an afternoon nap.

As you rouse from it, you fumble for your phone to check the time. The screen lights up and you're greeted with --

35 texts. 4 missed calls.

"What the hell?" you mutter, sitting up and opening everything.

DR: sorry for the three calls don't freak out but i think max broke his arm

DR: he says you're probably napping but i'm going to document this for when you wake up

DR: he's fine but yeah that shit is fucked

DR: he says not to tell you he fell off his bike but he fell off his bike

DR: he braked for some animal in the road and went over his handlebars

DR: oh he also scraped his face but he's still pretty, don't worry

DR: his palms are fucked though which is why he's not texting you

DR: we're on the way to the hospital, btw

DR: you're gonna be so pissed when you wake up

It goes on like that. Daniel, to his credit, has given you a play-by-play of the whole situation. You've only been asleep for about an hour and based on the time stamps this started right after you fell asleep.

You get up as you read, grabbing your things and trying to find your shoes as you read. You need to -- you need to go and be wherever they are. You need to help. Heart racing, chest tight, you need to be near Max as soon as possible, even though Danny said he's okay. If this was you, Max would already be there. God, why did you take a nap?

According to the texts, they got to the hospital and he was seen immedietly, x-rayed, and bandaged up. Broken right wrist, Danny had said. He's pissed more than anything.

You're about to call him back when your phone rings in your hands.

"Danny," you say as soon as you accept it.

"Oh, thank fuck," Daniel exclaims. "I thought I was going to have to surprise you in person with the whole thing."

"I'm about to leave, just give me 15 minutes to get there--"

"No, no, no," he interrupts you. "He just got discharged. I'm bringing him home."

You stop in your tracks, one foot shoved halfway into your sneaker. "Really?"

"Yeah, we'll be there in like, 20 minutes?" You can hear Max saying something in the background. "He wants to talk to you," Danny sighs. "Mate, you'll see her soon--"

He's cut off and there's some muffled noises and then Max is saying your name.

"I'm fine," he says. "I only made him tell you so it wasn't a surprise when I came home."

"Max," you sigh, shoulders creeping away from your ears at the sound of his voice. "I'm so sorry, I was asleep!"

He laughs. You feel a bit weepy, which is both an overreaction and cathartic. "Good," he says. "The whole experience has been a pain in the ass."

"You're coming home now? Are you in pain?"

"Eh," he says, dragging out the sound. "They gave me something while they set it so I don't feel it much. Daniel says we'll be home soon. Oh, hold on --" There is some muttering, Danny's voice in the background. "Okay, I'm going to give you back. See you soon, liefje."

"Okay," you say softly.

"Be there in a flash!" Danny says brightly. "Seriously, don't worry."

You hang up and just stand in the hallway, at a loss. Something bad happened to Max and you weren't there. It feels wrong. Not that he's in poor hands with Danny -- quite the opposite. He's probably the only person aside from yourself that you'd want there for Max in a crisis. But, god. You wish you had been there.

The cats weave around your ankles as you pace, waiting for Danny to call or for the door to open or, anything at all to happen. Your mind is running a million miles a minute. Objectively, it's the best time for Max to break something. There isn't even a car for him to test right now and he had at least another week of time off before needing to go back to Milton Keynes. This might throw a wrench in your holiday plans but you couldn't care less about that. How long will he be in a cast? You assume he's in a cast. What kind of help will he need? Will you be enough to provide it? What if he --

Noises in the hall make you freeze and then you hear Danny's voice. You bolt to the door, unlatching the locks and pulling it open. You're greeted with the sight of the two of them -- Danny looking down at Max's keys in his hands, both of their backpacks on his back. They've both changed out of whatever ridiculous bike outfit they must have been wearing for the ride, but you devote your attention to your boyfriend.

You can see the bandages on Max's knees and forearms where he must have scraped himself up on the road. His wrist -- it's in a black cast that runs the length of his forearm. He cradles it to his chest in a sling they must have given him and then you make your way to his face. A few scratches along one cheek, hair a mess, mouth drawn into a frown. A frown that relaxes slightly when you meet his gaze. Your eyes well with tears.

"Max," you breathe. He steps in front of Danny and meets you in the doorway, his cast-free hand cupping your face through the bandages on his palm.

"I'm fine," he says. "You're looking at me like I'm in a coma."

"Sorry," you whisper. "I just --"

He tugs you to him gently, pressing your face into his neck and rubbing your back. You try to be careful of his arm as you breathe deep and will yourself not to actually lose it.

"Guys, can we at least go inside?" Danny asks.

Max huffs and you pull away. He drags his thumb under both of your eyes but doesn't comment on the dampness he finds there. "Inside, liefje."

Danny drops Max's stuff and passes along the documents from the hospital. He's quite the personality but he's all business when he needs to be. "Pain killers in his bag. Call me if you need anything, guys."

You step away from Max long enough to throw your arms around Danny. "Thank you," you whisper. "For looking after him." For calling. For bringing him back to me. For doing what I should have been there for.

He chuckles. "Alright," he says. "Max should break something more often."

Once Danny leaves, it's just the two of you. Max has settled on the couch, head leaning back into the cushions.

"Come sit with me," Max calls. "God, I forgot how much I hate hospitals."

His eyes are closed and he holds his arm gingerly. It's not the first time you've seen him injured -- you've been at his side in the medical tent before after watching him careen into a wall at 190mph. And yet, right now, you're still so upset.

You settle into the cushions on his left side and just watch him.

"I'm sorry," you say again. Max's eyes open. "I can't believe I was asleep when Danny called."

Max shakes his head. "What would you have done?"

"I could have come to get you and take you to the hospital, or just met you there, or--"

He puts his hand on your knee. "Come on," he says. "Don't be silly."

How do you explain it to him? How do you tell him that something happening to him feels like it happened to you? That not being there feels like a personal failing?

"Will you tell me what happened?"

He sighs and you pull his palm from your leg to hold it in your hands.

"It's stupid," he grimaces. "You don't need the details."

"Max."

He folds. Other people in his life have called this your superpower -- Max's will is iron clad. It is very difficult to get him to do something he does not want to do. But one word from you, one soft look, one gentle touch, and he often relents. It's like you can peel back that layer of him that has hardened out of necessity. To protect himself and his heart, to make sure he's taken seriously, to stop things from hurting.

It's like you remind him that it's okay to feel, even when it's hard.

"Daniel summed it up," he grumbles. "We were biking down a hill outside the city and something ran out into the road in front of me. I stopped. Or tried to, at least." He mimes squeezing the breaks, fingers curling in towards his bandaged palms. You stroke his unbroken wrist with your thumb.

"And you went over," you finish.

"And I went over. Got my knees, my forearms, my hands. My wrist, obviously. Just landed badly."

You reach for his face ever so gently, dragging the pad of your thumb over the shallow scrapes on his chin, his cheek. He allows it, knowing that you need to touch him to be sure he's okay. Whenever he has a crash on track you have trouble letting him out of your sight for hours. You just need to look at him, feel him warm and alive under your hands.

"I'm going to write a letter to your helmet manufacturer," you say, not entirely kidding. You slide your hand over his temple and into his hair. It's dirty, you can feel it, but you cradle his skull all the same. "Thank them."

He laughs once, amused with your sincerity. "I need to shower," he says. "But I can't get this wet." You finally direct your attention to his broken wrist, the entirety of his forearm and hand encased in the cast under the sling.

"Does it hurt?" you ask again. Max would tell anyone else off for badgering him so, but he keeps his face soft and reassures you.

"It's strange," he says. "I'm sure I'll feel it later."

"Did it hurt?" you whisper. "When you broke it?"

You know that Max has felt a great deal of pain in his life. His day job requires it -- physical, mental, emotional. He knows how to handle it and get over it. But he's also honest with you, always.

He wrinkles his nose. "It wasn't nice," he confesses. "I knew right away."

You grimace. In the silence, you match your breaths to his and just sit together for a little while.

And then Max's stomach growls.

"Whoops," he says, grinning crookedly. Still an athlete, still a boy with a fast metabolism. You can't help but laugh.

"How about this," you begin, unfolding yourself from the couch and standing in front of him, hands on your hips. Max looks up at you like you're the best thing he's ever seen. "I order some food and then we get you showered while we wait for it. Let the scrapes breathe and keep your cast dry, then we eat and watch a movie and go to bed. Okay?"

"We get me showered?" He sounds skeptical.

"You think you can wash your hair on your own?"

He smirks. "I can do a lot with one hand."

You roll your eyes. "So you're turning down an opportunity to shower with me, is what I'm hearing."

Max gets himself off the couch and rests his palm on your hip. "No," he says softly. "I'm not that stupid."

He kisses you lightly and heads for the bathroom.

"I guess we can wrap it in a plastic bag, or something?" you call after him. It takes a few minutes of opening and closing cabinets for you to find one. You put in a delivery order and make your way to the bathroom. Max has already turned on the shower and you find him shirtless and peeling off his bandages in in front of the mirror.

"Let me do that." He doesn't put up much of a fight, not even wincing when the tape pull at his skin. You see the gashes on his forearm, the raw skin of his palms. "Arm, please." The plastic bag goes around his cast and you tie it at his elbow.

"You planning to wash my hair while wearing your clothes?" Max asks with a straight face.

You stare at him, trying to seem unimpressed. He breaks first, mouth pulling up at one corner before he shucks off his soft shorts and briefs in one go. He pecks you on the cheek and gets in the shower, still smirking at you through the glass door.

"Alright, alright," you mutter. "So dramatic."

You feel Max's eyes on you as you undress, leaving your clothes on a pile on the floor.

The shower is unnecessarily big but Max does not give you much space. The hot spray is at his back and he keeps his plastic bag-clad arm mostly out of the way.

"Feel good?" you ask. Max sighs but nods. You'll bet he's aching but hasn't admitted it. He turns to the side so you can catch some of the spray, too, fighting off the chill outside the warm water.

"I might fall asleep in here," he mutters.

"That'll be the painkillers, darling," you tell him. "C'mon, get your hair wet."

Max tips his head back. You readjust so that you can card your hands through it. You shampoo him gently, taking your time and massaging his scalp. It's a miracle he stays on his feet, but he does. You hum as you work and Max's breaths get deeper, slower.

"Head back," you say softly. He obeys. You do the same with some of your conditioner because you know he likes how it smells.

This shower feels more intimate than the countless hours you've spend in his bed, tangled up in one another. He's been inside you and yet this feels more vulnerable. He's totally ceding control, trusting you to take care of him. You're naked, slick bodies brushing, always touching whether it's your hands in his hair or Max's own fingers reaching for your skin just to feel.

One time, when you were sick, you couldn't muster the energy to take a shower. Max ran you a bath and washed your hair for you, talking all the while because you asked to hear his voice. It's obvious that you'd do the same for him, as you're doing now. It's just how you love each other -- all the way, all the time. When it's easy and when it's hard.

"Danny was right," Max says, words slurring half from bliss and half the fatigue of the day catching up to him. "I should break bones more often."

You finish rinsing him and just stand there in the spray for a few moments.

"Please, no," you groan, brushing wet strands back from his forehead. "If you want me to wash your hair I will, Max. You don't need to break anything."

His eyes flutter open and find yours. He smiles lazily and you turn off the shower.

"If you say so," he says. "Can we take this off, now?"

Bag removed, skin patted dry, comifes on. The food comes when you're settling Max on the couch with a pillow for his arm. In all likelihood he'll manage a few bites of take out and fall asleep 15 minutes into the movie. But he needs the rest, you think. And besides, he'll have you to watch over him.

__

It becomes clear remarkably quickly that Max is an awful patient. You sort of knew this -- he's been sick a few times when you're around, but you figured that was just man-disease. Whining, refusing to sit still. This is 10x worse. He won't let you do anything for him until he's proven that he can't do it himself. You consider locking him in your bedroom to keep him from trying to do things he shouldn't do.

Max just wasn't made to sit still.

But you can empathize -- it's frustrating to not be able to do any of the things he really likes to do. Drive, use his sim, even play regular video games. It's a lot of movies and long walks and leg days with his trainer.

And then there's the way he just won't ask for help. That's a Max Verstappen original and you know it gets worse when he's frustrated. You do it too -- everyone does. But Max wants to do everything himself, wants to prove that he can.

You try to sit back and let him work it out. About a week after he comes home with his arm in a cast, he calls your name. You're in the kitchen, staring into the open fridge and wondering if you should order more groceries or just go to the shops yourself.

"You okay?" you call back. "Where are you?"

"Bathroom,"he shouts.

Ah, you think. Here we go.

He hasn't shaved yet. You've always loved when he keeps his facial hair a little longer. You love the feel of it on your skin and how it lightens along with his hair when you're on holiday somewhere nice. It's more likely that he keep it long in the off-season. Hot races are a nightmare with a beard, he's said. It itches like mad.

"Coming," you call.

Sure enough, you find him in front of the sink, razor in hand and frown firmly in place. He makes eye contact with you in the mirror and even though you can feel his annoyance from here, the set of his jaw softens.

"Do you think you could help me shave?" he asks. No lead up, no hem and haw.

"Of course, Max."

You quickly work out that sitting on the counter next to the sink while he stands between your knees works best. His broken wrist hangs at his side, the other hand resting on the counter next to your leg.

You lather him up, carefully applying the white foam of his shaving cream on his cheeks, his chin, his neck. He's got a fancy razor, one that will probably make it hard to cut him. Still, you feel the way he's basically handed you a blade and asked you to use it on him. In so many ways it's one of the most intimate things you've ever done. Even more than the showers you've had this week, just chatting and washing his hair.

"I'll be careful," you say softly.

"I know." He tilts his chin up, showing you his neck. "Go on, then."

It's quiet work. You're focusing hard and Max seems content to allow you. Stroke after stroke, rinsing the razor in the sink. You keep one hand at the base of this throat as the other works, gliding it over his skin. Cheeks, jaw, upper lip. Chin, neck.

"I like your beard, you know," you say when you're almost done. He waits until you're rinsing the razor again to reply.

"I do," he says, smirking. "You aren't quiet about it."

The last patch comes off as easily as the rest and you grab a damp towel to clean the rest of the shaving cream. Max appears to have relaxed enough to become pliant, leaning into your touch as you finish. He lets you rub moisturizer into his cheeks, eyes fluttering closed. His hand ends up on your leg, fingers pressing into the flesh of your thigh.

"Cheeky," you mutter. He smiles, boyish and easy. You take your time, pleased that he's letting you, but also because you could touch him forever. "Schatje," you whisper, trying to make it sound like it does from his lips. "All done."

Max doesn't move. You frame his face with your hands and lean in until your lips touch. You feel his smile against yours, but he dutifully tilts his head to deepen the kiss. His freshly shaved skin is so soft. You've kissed thousands of times by now, but you can never get enough of him. The way he responds to your every move, meeting your pressure with some of his own. Your tongue with his, swallowing your moans and giving you his own like a gift.

It's Max who pulls away, dragging his lips over your cheek.

"Dankje," he whispers. It means more than that, you know. From Max, it means thank you for dealing with me, for taking care of me, for loving me.

He doesn't think any of that is easy for you. But he's wrong. It's the easiest thing in the world.

[sturniphone]

── ⌗ older!matt . . . bunny!reader

❛ bunny's period is a little late ❜

It starts quietly.

Matt’s brushing his teeth late one night, sleeves pushed to his elbows, collar open from a long day. His glasses are low on his nose, hair a little rumpled, and his phone glows beside the sink, calendar pulled up—his private one. Pink hearts mark the days you’re usually late. But now, the space between them stretches. Three weeks. Three whole weeks.

He freezes mid-brush, staring at the screen, foam on his lips. He scrolls back. Forward. Counts. You’d been tired lately. Nauseous, a little weepy over commercials. Moody, sure, but clingy too, crawling into his lap mid-morning, falling asleep on his chest, pouting when he left for work. He thought it was just one of your bunny phases.

He doesn’t say anything. Not yet. But the next night, he comes home late, tie loosened, tired, and finds the apartment too quiet. You’re not in the kitchen. Not in the living room. He finds you in bed, wrapped tight in the duvet with your back to the door. Your shoulders shake.

❝Bunny? What’s wrong? What happened?❞ You turn slowly, eyes red, cheeks tear-streaked. ❝Matt... I think I messed up. I didn’t track it. I thought it would come, but it hasn’t, and it’s been weeks.❞ Your voice cracks again. You wipe your nose on his sleeve. ❝What if I’m pregnant?❞

He kneels at the edge of the bed. ❝Hey. It’s okay. You’re okay. We'll figure it out. I'm here.❞ You sniff, curling into him when he leans in to hold you. ❝You can’t get the test here. I can’t go to the pharmacy on Main—they’ve known me since I was four. They’ll know, Matt.❞ He kisses your forehead, serious and soft. ❝Okay. Then I’ll go to the next town. It’s only thirty minutes. I’ll get everything. You just stay in bed. Rest. You’ve been so brave, bunny.❞

❝Secret mission?❞ you whisper. ❝The most important one.❞ He leaves quickly, still in his slacks, throwing on a hoodie over his button-down. He drives with the windows down to keep awake, palms tight on the wheel. The next town’s pharmacy is still open. It smells like peppermint and hand lotion. He buys three kinds of tests, a new Jellycat bunny with a pink ribbon, your favourite berry juice box, and a bag of mini strawberry marshmallows.

The cashier gives him a funny look, but Matt just smiles and adds a lollipop to the pile. He’s home before ten. You’re still in bed when he enters, curled under the blanket like a little pearl. He sits beside you and runs his fingers through your hair. ❝Hey. I got the soft test. No scary packaging. And look—your bunny’s got a friend now.❞ You peek up, watery eyes locking on the plushie in his hand. You giggle weakly. ❝She’s cute.❞

The silence between you stretches like bubblegum—sticky, sweet, and a little bit sick. Your fingers twist in the sleeves of Matt’s hoodie, oversized and warm, your eyes puffy from crying, face buried into the worn fabric where his cologne still clings.

He kneels in front of you in the soft light of the bathroom, test box in hand. His glasses are slipping down the bridge of his nose, and he smiles gently even though something aches behind his eyes.

❝Not as cute as you.❞ He passes you the test, brushing your knuckles with his lips. You hesitate, clutching it like it might bite. ❝Do I really have to do it now?❞ you whisper, voice thick. ❝You don’t have to do anything, bunny. But if we wait, you’ll just keep worrying. Let’s know. Together.❞ You nod, but your legs won’t work, and Matt stands, helping you up slowly.

❝I’ll be just outside. Blanket’s there, juice box too. The berry one. Your favourite.❞ He steps out, leaving the door just cracked. A second later, his fingers reach through the gap, just the tips. ❝I’m right here. Take your time.❞ You lace yours through his, breathing slow and shaky. The test sits on the counter, unopened, and you stare at it for too long. Finally, with trembling fingers, you open it, read the instructions twice, and do what it asks.

Minutes pass. Long ones. Thick with breath and silence. ❝What if it’s real?❞ you whisper. ❝Then we figure it out. I’d take care of you both. I already do.❞ His voice is soft, barely a breath. ❝You’d be the sweetest mama. You already are, to everyone around you.❞ You squeeze his fingers tighter.

Inside, his mind is running. Pictures flood in—the soft cotton of your sleep shirt pulled tight over a round belly. Your sleepy, tear-bright eyes blinking up at him while he rubs your back. The two of you tucked up in bed, whispering baby names in the dark. You, glowing.

But the images are gilded with guilt. You’re so young. Still wide-eyed and giggly and full of bunnyish wonder. He loves you more than anything—but maybe it’s selfish, the way he wants so much. Wants you like that. Wants a forever. The beep pulls you both back.

You open the door slowly, holding the stick between your fingers like it’s made of glass. ❝Negative.❞ Relief breaks through you in sobs again, and he catches you before you fall, arms wrapping tight around your waist. He lifts you gently, cradles you so close your feet don’t touch the floor.

❝It’s okay. We’re okay.❞ He kisses your temple, breath warm and grounding. Later, you’re curled into his chest on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, juice box half-finished on the table. A plush bunny tucked between you. The lollipop he brought you clicks against your teeth.

❝You’re not mad?❞ you ask, voice small. ❝Never.❞ He nuzzles your hair. ❝We’ll get there, bunny. Someday. When you’re ready… we’ll be ready together.❞

⋆˚꩜｡ lola talks . . . this need like 1 billion notes because I fucking love this and it's my peak

── ʚ contacts . . . @chrepsi @ph3ebssturniolo @sturnsxbbyeilish @j21l91 @pip4444chris @mattslutt @sophand4n4 @mattscoquette @mi-co-uk @tezzzzzzzz @emely9274 @oopsiedaisydeer @theowensturniolo @httpssturns

⌗ © sturniphone

[angelkhi]

Sevika x f!reader

rushed as fuck i'm not entirely happy with it and i actually don't know what it says okay bye. minors/men/ageless blogs dni or i'll fuck your mom 😘

your eyes are barely open yet they still focus on her, the way her body looms despite its distance, her own half hooded eyes intently watching the less than subtle motions of your fingers. she had disappeared for a few moments, riled you up and left you to stew in an uncomfortable heat and wet underwear. your whimper is quiet, high pitched as your fingers sink inside your wet cunt once again, focusing on her. on the way her chest rises and falls with each laboured breath, the way her stomach dips and her hips jut, catching nothing but air. Her surprisingly soft hands cover your own, an arm pressing into the mattress as she leans over you, lips nipping against your warming skin. that small bit of contact alone is enough to make your motions stutter, but only for a moment as she pushes her hand against yours, thrusting your fingers for you. 'baby d'you know how pretty you look right now.' her hand pushes against yours a little harder, delivering harsh mind numbing thrusts and you feel yourself clench down in your own fingers, body jolting, a languid whine spilling from your open lips. 'yeaah, this slutty pussy takes whatever i give her huh?' her words vibrate against your skin and you feel her smile as she sinks her teeth into you ever so slightly. She's mean with it, marking you up and moving at her pace, her teeth nipping at your stiff nipples and back up along your shoulders, small purple marks noting her path. your quiet whimpers turn to louder moans and your head tilts towards her, cheek resting against hers, mouth agape, a small, warm trickle of drool running from your chin into your neck. her chuckle is dark, low, and entirely comforting when it reverberates off of your skin. she makes quick work of running her tongue along the path, straight to the source. at first you think she's going to kiss you, but she doesn't. just brushes her tongue against your lips, her hot breaths mingling with your own, her eyes glinting mischievously. your own tongue flicks out, the wet muscle sliding over hers. it's a messy, obscene image, one you wish you could see. your broken moans grow muffled as you suckle on her tongue, your free hand unclenching from the sheets and grip at the band of her jeans. she indulges you for a little while, those icy eyes catching yours, a languid smirk on her lips as she pulls back. it's embarrassing to admit, that you can't get yourself off like she can, and she knows it. There's a frustrated edge to your whines as you try and emulate her movements, try and make yourself come. All the while she just watches, stomach flexing at each messy squelch, each shift of the light across your pretty wet thighs making her eyes gleam. 'need me to fuck you properly huh? can't fuck yourself as good as i can.' she kneels back on her heels for a moment, hands sliding across your hips and down your thighs, pulling your hand from where it draws lazy circles on your clit. her eyes meet yours, never leaving as she inspects the glistening, wrinkled fingertips in a debased display. she's quick to slide them into her mouth, tongue sliding over them, between them. She's suckling and savouring the taste, languid movements that shoot straight to your core. your hips flex and thrust against the air, searching for friction, gaze never leaving her, the quiet pop and guttural groan as she releases your fingers like music to your ears. her eyes dip to your glistening folds, spreading them open, watching your clit jump under the slightest touch, your weepy hole clenching and leaking. the pads of her fingers touch you everywhere but where you need her to, skimming the hood of your clit, sliding around your clenching cunt. you cry out, a frown etched onto your pretty face, one that makes her chuckle as she slides one, two fingers into the warm and waiting heat. god she feels so good, her slightly thicker fingers stretching you out just right. 'such a greedy fuckin cunt, god she's swallowin me baby.'

she hooks her fingers ever so slightly, that cocky smirk on her lips driving your hips against her. when she drops a quick swat your clit you're pretty sure not even the concentrated power of the sun could match the heat of your skin, ears buzzing, your clenching heat pulling her another groan and chuckle from her lips. you can't decide what you need the most, hands torn between rigid muscles along her abdomen, that trail of hair begging to be tugged, or her exposed tits, dark and pebbled for your attention. the soft curve of her calloused fingers, harsh thrusts against your gummy walls, palm open just for you to grind your aching clit on. she's a woman on a mission and you're pretty fucking sure that mission is to kill you. she shows no mercy when she pushes a hand against your lower stomach, not even an inkling when a particularly hard thrust goes to your head, your walls calming down on her, hands gripping at whatever they find first. when your eyes roll closed, she just chuckles, and you can imagine that proud ass smirk on her beautiful face. ‘thaaat's it baby, c'mon, come all over my fingers. fuck- so fuckin beautiful.’

—

she's gentle when she slides her fingers from your twitching hole, dirty when she licks them clean. she lays down next to you, softly brushing a few stray hairs out of your face, kissing your cheeks, your forehead, your nose and lips.  she tastes like her, but hints of you come through each time she brushes her tongue against yours. it's soft, unlike the needy exploration she'd allowed you earlier. her fingers brush against yours stomach, the ticklish touch stirring that quiet hum beneath your skin. she secures the harness with expert precision, her muscular body looming over you, the small trail of her on her stomach beaconing you closer. her hands find your hips again, all but dragging you to the edge of the mattress, the slight brush of smooth silicone over your sensitive nub making you shiver. 'we're not done yet pretty, c'mon, spread that needy pussy for me'

—

new year. i'm not getting railed physically or emotionally so there's nothing happy about it.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Hi, I was wondering… could you write a scenario/one-shot with the player Player(Reader) where instead of the final battle with Doey we manage to calm him down and comfort him after Safe Haven was destroyed.

idk I just want to hug the Dough Boy

Ngl I had this one requested to me by like 5 people. So here's that much-needed fix it fic <3

.........

Hearing the distant screaming of who you could only assume was Doey, you rushed through the tunnel with a pounding heart.

You've never felt more terrified than you did right now.

Not long after killing the Doctor, the Prototype decided to make his move and lay waste to the Safe Haven. Ollie alerted you to the situation and told you how to repair the generator while Doey and the others fended off the outside threat.

Then you headed down to the foundation at Poppy's insistence, setting up the explosives you collected and eventually running into the doughman again within the caves.

He seemed utterly confused, having been chasing the Prototype away from Safe Haven...

Only to realize too little too late that was his intention all along..

An explosion suddenly rocked the sanctuary, prompting the two of you to rush back to see how bad the destruction was. It took you a while to get there considering your limitations as a human wearing a grabpack, so you could only imagine what Doey was seeing to make him scream that loudly.

When you finally made it through the infirmary, past a handful of Mini Smiling Critter corpses, your heart sunk into the pit of your stomach, horrified at the scene before you:

The decrepit yet colorful place the toys once found safety in...was totally reduced to rubble. Small fires burned all around you---and in the midst was a little Bobby Bearhug, who Doey was currently grieving over.

They might have been a nuisance to you in the playhouse, but these ones--the ones who refused to give into their savagery during the Hour of Joy--were innocent little souls. Doey had sworn to protect them over the years, keeping them sheltered from the outside..

And in an instant, they were gone.

All of them.

Because he wasn't there.

"I'm sorry...I'm so, so sorry." He choked out, seemingly unaware of your presence. "I failed you. I was never what any of you needed. I-I was only made to hurt things. My fault...my fault..." With a small sob, he brought his hands to his face.

You were utterly devastated, too.

How could this happen?

How could you let that damn machine trick you?

"Doey, I'm..." You stepped forward, only to freeze as he suddenly turned to you, now eerily silent.

The look in his big hollow eyes...was nothing short of pure anger.

"Hurt...everything hurts." He snarled, his nubby fingers balled up into fists. "Hurt back. ALWAYS hurt back. Parents. Scientists. Everyone! Have to-"

His body experienced a tremor, and he now looked utterly grief-striken once more, his voice now sounding depressed and weepy. "My friends! He killed my friends!" He sobbed, wiping at his tears.

At first you wondered what was going on with him, until you remembered the tapes and notes you've gathered throughout your journey--quite a handful discussed his time as an experiment and how he came to be, well, Doey.

Apparently the mad scientists here had the brilliant idea to take three children--boys to be precise--and blend them into one 900 pound pile of dough and bring it to life, thinking that nothing could possibly go wrong.

One of them, Kevin, had anger issues that drove him to become violent towards other children--even those who were his friends. The other was Matthew, who seemed to be the calmest and most mature, and the one you've most likely been talking to this whole time. Then there was Jack, a very young kid who fell into a dough mixer and was forced to become part of Doey as some "life-saving" measure.

Had it not been for the information you discovered, you never would've understood what was happening to the toy you've allied yourself with.

But now you realize he was unstable.

Because of the sheer trauma of Safe Haven's destruction.

"You. It all started with you." Doey pointed at you accusingly, Kevin dominating the conversation once more. "You and her...IT WAS YOU WHO RUINED EVERYTHING!!" He screamed.

"What?" Your eyes went wide, horrified that he'd blame you for all of this. "No, that's...you seriously think this was all my fault?! I had no idea this was going to happen!"

"LIAR!! You two led him to us." He growled. "You shouldn't have come back...NEVER SHOULD HAVE COME BACK!!"

His body wriggled once more, with Matthew trying his best to stay in control, afraid of what he'd might do. "No, no. That's not true. They jumpstarted the generator, they--" He smacked the side of his head, and he was lost again, Kevin's rage being too overbearing. "DESTROYED EVERYTHING!! I'LL KILL YOU!!!"

'No..no, no, no...' You panicked internally, slowly backing away as you saw sharp orange teeth starting to break through his mouth. 'Please, god..don't make me hurt another one...'

Why did this have to happen again?

You were so, so tired of having to fight.

After he saved you from Pianosaurus, made his sanctuary a home to you, and kept you smiling throughout your trip inside this hellhole....it was now going to come down to either you or him walking away alive?

In a blind rage, Doey's enlarged fist swung at a concrete pillar beside him, and as it crumbled....so did the ceiling above him that was barely supported by that single pillar.

Now nothing could stop the rubble from crashing down onto him--

Except for you and your quick thinking, using both grabpack hands to grip his arms and drag him towards you with all your might. Upon release, you jumped back as he fell to the ground, looking to see the massive pile of debris he would've been buried under.

It made you feel relieved, afraid of what might've become of him.

"You...why did you do that? You think that makes you a hero?!!"

Before you could blink, Doey suddenly had you in his grasp, holding you up high in the air with both hands, itching to crush you and eat you alive. "WHY DID YOU DO THAT?!!" His features began distorting, looking more reptilian in nature. "I said I'd kill you!! KILL EVERYONE WHO HURTS ME!!!"

For a brief moment, you thought you saw a few pairs of glowing red eyes within his widening mouth, but they quickly retreated--except for one angry-looking set.

Yet you stared at them, your resolve unwavering. "You're an idiot, you know that?"

"....what?" He was shocked by your cold answer, and that only fueled his outrage. "IDIOT?! I'M NOT THE IDIOT!! YOU'RE THE IDIOT!!!"

"Don't you get it?! This is exactly what the Prototype wants! He wants to see us fight and tear each other apart! Destroy whatever unity we had left!" You snapped, despite your voice trembling. "You think I wanted this to happen?! You think I wanted Poppy to drag me into this mess?!"

"......."

"I only came here because of a stupid note. From somebody I knew who claims they're still alive. But...they can't be. I was tricked by him. I tried to leave, but Poppy...she redirected the train that was my only way out of here, saying I'm "the only one" who can help her...but I never wanted that responsibility, Doey."

For once, "Kevin" remained silent, although he still had you in his clutches. But he looked surprised to hear that she took away your chance at escaping this place.

She never mentioned that to him.

She only said you came willingly..

"Something's not right with her. You know it. I know it. And I'm sure Kissy knows it even if she can't tell us. We've all felt used by her. To do the dirty work that somehow keeps bringing the Prototype closer to us."

"...you could have talked her out of it.." He finally responded. "Yet you...you went along with her plan anyway. YOU KILLED THEM!! KILLED MY FRIENDS!! Our friends.." Jack briefly returned, sniffling. "T-They thought you were good...they thought you were nice..I-I thought Poppy was, too."

"I know, and I'm sorry. I should have heard you out. I had no idea it was gonna lead to all of this. I swear to god..I didn't know.." You sighed shakily, hoping he'd be willing to listen to reason. "You have every right to blame me. But..we can't let them die in vain. The Doctor's gone, so all we have to do is get to him. But first...I need you to put me down."

"......"

"Please, Doey. I don't care if you hate me for this. I don't expect your forgiveness. Let's just....kill the Prototype..and you can do whatever you want to me afterwards. I'm tired of fighting people I've come to see as friends. I've got enough blood on my hands."

At first, it seemed like all your attempts at resolving this without violence were futile, as he was just breathing raggedly, like he were an animal who was too far gone.

But then you saw his features twitch, resembling what they were before. His eyes also had that familiar sad look to them, indicating Matthew had somehow regained full control--at least for the moment.

"I..." He sniffled, setting you down on the ground. "I'm sorry. We--I was just...so hurt by what happened. And....And I just looked for somebody to blame. I shouldn't have lashed out. I shouldn't have-"

"Hey, it's okay, Doey. I know you didn't mean it." You reassured him, happy he returned to his senses, before you turned around to see that same Mini-Bobby still laying on the floor, who somehow didn't get crushed by the rubble.

Without saying a word, you crouched down to pick up the little Smiling Critter, cradling her despite the blood. You saw a piece of playmat that managed to survive the explosion. Although it wasn't much, it was better than her laying on the ash-ridden concrete, so you decided to set her down on it.

Doey just looked on in silence, removing his hat as a show of respect, still mulling over his angry words and how he threatened your life.

There's no way you could have predicted the Prototype's next move.

Then, as though a miracle were sent from above...Mini-Bobby suddenly gasped, coming back to life.

Both of you were initially shocked, although you were quick to comfort her as she coughed a few times, smoking clogging her senses. "Hahh..gah..wh-what happened?" She hoarsely asked, seeing you two and the surrounding flames, before it all clicked. "The Safe Haven...it's..."

"I'm sorry. It's no more." You frowned a little, helping her sit up. "Go through that tunnel and stay quiet. I'll be there to retrieve you. Just keep yourself away from all this smoke."

She nodded managing to get up and limp towards the tunnel you came from.

Doey was astonished. "Bu....But I thought..she...."

"Looks like not everybody perished. There might be more survivors-" You turned back to face him.....only to get engulfed by his arms, and for a moment you thought Kevin returned and was about to crush you like a grape.

Until you heard loud sobbing and felt his entire body tremble, realizing it was Jack instead, and your relief returned.

"There, there, big guy." You hugged him back, smiling sadly. "You're okay. We're gonna get through this together. He'll pay for what he's done to our friends. I'll make sure of it."

"I-I don't wanna be here anymore..I just want mommy...a-and daddy..." He cried.

"I know. I don't wanna be here, either. We're gonna find a way out."

"...I'm so sorry. I-I didn't mean to get so angry.."

"I know you didn't. I forgive you."

[notarmedandnotdangerous]

i know you’re planning on making bucky eventually dom reader

i just wanna ask if you could make a fic where we punish bucky into a drooling mess, forcing orgasms and everything (as a part of not:3)

i'm not planning to make it fully dom!bucky, cuz there's already so much content 💔 i got carried away with this idea, and kept expanding on it til i reached 10k words so.. i'll seperate it into a few parts, cuz 10k words all at once is not for the weak

+18 mdni! watch your mouth; a fic where bucky's your boss, and you're his secretary. he ends up getting himself into a lot of trouble with you.

cw: dom!m!reader, sub!bucky, somnophilia, overstimulation, bucky has a wet dream, delirious bucky, sleep deprived bucky, praising, use of 'sir', softness (??) at the end

word count: >3.6k

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9.1] [9.2]

!! @swiftie-fault

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

by the time bucky fell asleep, the world was spinning. his thighs ached, and his skin hot. his cock was flushed, and throbbing, untouched for hours because you didn’t let him. he had whimpered into the pillows, sprawled across your sheets, until sleep finally dragged him under.

but even in his sleep, he wanted.

the dream was hazy, all pressure, heat, and soft touches. he was dreaming that you had tied him up. he couldn’t see you in the dream, he could only feel you.

the bed dipped with weight, and a hand stroked up his thigh.

‘you don’t need to think, buck. not right now.’

he shivered in his sleep, legs shifting restlessly beneath the sheets.

‘you’re so good when you let go.’

bucky’s cock twitched in his sweats, already hard, and leaking. that voice, your voice, was closer now, firmer. he imagined a thumb brushing over the tip of his cock, and physically jolted. he gasped, legs parting slightly. he was drenched in the dream, all pulse, and sensation, lost in the submission.

then he whined, audibly this time.

---

it started as a sound.

you stirred in the dark, barely awake. you reached for your phone, it was 6 am.

the room was quiet, but not still. a whimper threaded through the silence again, and again. it was soft, breathy, and weirdly familiar.

“mmh- nnh..”

it was bucky.

you blinked slowly, turning your head towards him. moonlight spilled in through the curtains in soft slivers across the bed, just enough for you to make out the shape of his body beside you, flat on his back, legs splayed under the covers. you slid closer towards him, only to find him grinding against the sheets.

the movement was barely there, subtle, and desperate, as if he was trying to not wake you, even in his sleep.

“need.. it..” he mumbled in his sleep.

that got your attention.

you turn fully now, silently watching as bucky’s hips rolled with precision, a little sharper this time. a tiny, shaky moan slipped out from his lips as his tongue darted out to lick his lips.

bucky was dreaming, and so fucking needy in it.

you exhaled once through your nose, eyes half-lidded. you watched him rut against the sheets once more, then shifted the covers down, careful to not wake him. your hand trailed lightly up his thigh, pulling his sweats down just enough for his cock to spring out. when you finally wrapped your fingers around that pathetic, weepy cock of his, he gasps, but doesn’t wake up. instead, his hips jerk helplessly into your grip.

“so hard, even in your sleep. so desperate.”

your hand brushes over his cock, and he whined, letting out a small, pathetic sound.

“sir.. i.. mmgh.. sorry.” he moaned softly, too tired to move, yet too far gone to wake up. his hips shifted weakly, chasing your touch. he thought he was dreaming, no, he had to be. there was no way you would.

“you’re so good when you’re quiet like this, letting yourself be used without fighting.”

bucky whimpered, his whole body was boneless, and limp. you were in the dream, he thought vaguely, you had to be. because you wouldn’t be this gentle in real life. your hand around his cock stroked a little faster, and he moaned helplessly, head turning against the sheets.

he’s still dreaming, he doesn’t even realise what you’re doing to him.

“still dreaming, sweetheart?”

he mewled, not answering. he didn’t have words, not when he was asleep. his cock throbbed in your hand, overly sensitive from being teased in his sleep. your fingers stroked him with quiet patience, steady, and cruel.

in his dream, you were saying something about how pretty he was like this, but it was all muffled, dreamlike.

“you don’t even know this is real, do you?”

bucky moaned, hips rocking helplessly, but still caught up in his dream, not quite awake enough to process it all.

“i’m so tired, sir..” he whined.

“i know, but you’re still hard for me.”

it was true, his weepy cock was leaking all over your hands.

he moaned again, a high, fragile sound. his thighs shifted uselessly under the sheets, trembling with each slow drag of your hand on his cock. he was so hard, and so on edge that he couldn’t tell if the pressure on his cock hurt, or felt good, maybe both, but he didn’t have the capacity to know anymore.

“you’re such a mess, so wet.” you leaned down, and kissed his jaw. your hand kept moving, fingers slick with pre-cum as you dragged every drop of sensation out of his body. you kept the rhythm lazy, just enough to keep him in that floaty, dreamy headspace.

bucky whined into the mattress as his hips bucked. the dream hadn’t faded yet, your voice still echoed in his head, while the in-dream version of you, and the real you blurred together.

‘you want to be good for me, don’t you?’

his body answered for him, hips jerking at every slow pump of your hand, leaking steadily onto your fingers. he was so sensitive, as if his nerves were exposed.

you pulled the sheets away, fully this time. you pressed a kiss to his temples, and wrapped your hand back around the base of his cock, though just a little firmer this time.

“bet your whole body’s sore, all that tension from last night. poor thing couldn’t sleep, could you?”

bucky tried to shake his head, but gave up halfway. his mouth opened, but only a breath escaped. he was panting now, soft, and rhythmic, like a puppy.

you chuckled, and shifted, kneeling beside him. you spread his thighs with gentle pressure.

“you have no idea how much i love it when you’re like this.” you whispered into his ear. “so fucked out, tired, and dazed you can’t even talk.” your other hand came up to toy with his nipple, rolling it slowly, but with firm pressure in between your fingertips, all while your grip on his cock became more deliberate. you stroked, squeezed, and dragged your hand in all the right ways.

“mm.. haa..” a strangled moan slipped out of his throat, his whole body jolting away from the bed. he was close again, his spine arched, painfully almost, and a full-body shudder that made you pause just long enough to pull a desperate whimper out of him.

“you’re going to cum for me.” you spoke softly. “and i’m going to do it again, and again, until you’re too tired to grind on me like a needy little brat.”

bucky gasped as he came with a helpless cry. his cock twitched in your grip, his body completely at your mercy.

you didn’t stop, just kept stroking him through it, slow, yet cruel, keeping him right there.

“that’s it, you’re not done yet.”

his thighs trembled, while his body flinched from every single touch of your hand. he wasn’t sure how long it had been, he couldn’t think, or speak. he didn’t end up cumming a second time, you just drove him far enough for his brain to turn to mush.

the dream still clung to him like sweat. he felt wrung out already, he must’ve came already, hadn’t he? his whole body throbbed like he had, so why did it feel like this?

reality slammed into him like a wall.

‘oh fuck. fuck. i’m awake? that’s- that’s his hand.. on me.’

bucky’s eyes snapped open, the ceiling swam, his mouth parted, but no words came out, just a high, helpless sound that cracked into a moan.

‘he’s still going. didn’t even wait for me to wake up.’

‘i was dreaming. i thought i was dreaming? he was whispering, saying i’d be good for him.. had me tied down.. and now it’s real?’

the thought was disbelieving. your hand never slowed, just kept dragging stroke after stroke on his cock. his cock pulsed in your grip, overstimulated and so hard it fucking hurt.

“wa- wait..” he gasped, voice completely wrecked. he couldn’t even breathe right.

you didn’t answer, didn’t need to. you kneeled beside him on the bed, calm yet cruel. his whole body jolted when you circled the tip with your thumb again, dragging out another spill of pre-cum.

his cock should’ve been soft by now, it wasn’t though.

“fucking- fuck..” he sobbed against the sheets, the aftershocks hitting him like electricity. he was awake now, but you weren’t letting up.

you were using it, taking advantage of his morning sensitivity, the rush of testosterone still thick, making every touch feel sharper, heavier, and harder to endure.

bucky wasn’t going to last, no fucking way he could. you knew exactly how to make it worse for him. the way you pressed your thumb under the tip, the slow twist of your wrist.

‘did he even let me sleep? was i dreaming at all?’

‘he just keeps pushing my thighs apart, as if it’s nothing.’

‘he’s making me think i belong here, shaking in his hold, whining, cock soaked, and twitching in his hand like a toy.’

‘at least i’m his toy..’

his stomach clenched, and his legs splayed wider, as if he was admitting defeat.

“took you long enough.” you leaned in, voice low beside his ear.

bucky’s panting now, his chest rises, and falls in quick, shallow bursts, fingers clutching weakly at the sheets.

‘i already came.. my cock, fuck, it hurts. there’s no way i can-’

your hand slid up, slowly, tracing a tight circle around the tip that makes him jolt violently. a whimper escaped him before he can swallow it down.

“f-fuck.” he gasps. his hips twitch, but you pressed your other hand into his thigh, holding him down with firm pressure. he shudders under it, whining lowly.

‘he’s going to keep doing it. i can’t- can’t handle another one. it’s too much.’

it felt like pressure in bucky’s spine, like every nerve of his is on fire. he keeps twitching in your grip, wet, and overstimulated, his mouth hanging open, barely making any coherent noises.

‘i should ask him to stop.’

he doesn’t.

because you’re looking at him like that, in that sickly sweet, yet condescending way, like this is exactly what he deserves for grinding on you the night before. he had wanted this, and now you’re giving it to him, just slightly meaner.

even now, even when it’s too much.

bucky lets out a choked-out noise when your thumb slides under the tip, pressing just right, and his whole body spasms.

“ah- fuck, fuck, i-” his voice cracks into a sob, hands going slack against the mattress. his body jerks again, hips twitching up, uselessly trying to escape your touch. he doesn’t say it, doesn’t beg for you to stop.

‘i should ask him to stop.’

‘but if i do, he might actually stop.’

‘but i don’t want him to.’

‘not if he’s going to stop looking at me like that.’

‘not if it means i don’t get to feel this.’

another stroke.

bucky’s hips jump, and his eyes roll back. his cock twitches again, it was too soon. there was no way he’d be able to cum again. he can’t, but he’s going to.

and you knew it.

he whined in a weirdly high pitch. and then he came again. there was no warning, just a wrecked, ruined sob as his cock jerked in your hand, oversensitive and hot.

and you didn’t stop.

bucky doesn’t say anything. he can’t. his lips parted, eyes unfocused, chest trembling with every shallow breath that he took, and your voice pours in again.

“you’ll keep going for me, won’t you?”

he moans, just barely. the motion was jerky.

you stroked him once.

his entire body jumps as if he just got electrocuted. a strangled noise escaped him, half-sob, half moan.

‘it’s too- too much.’

‘but it’s him.. it’s- fuck, fuck.’

another stroke, and he can’t stop shaking. his thighs twitch open wider, while his cock leaked against your fingers, dripping like it’s trying to apologise for how greedy it’s being.

‘i already- did i? i came- didn’t i?’

‘feels like.. like..’

another swipe of your thumb over bucky’s tip, and he wails, hand holding onto your bicep. he can’t tell if he’s begging you to stop, or to keep going. his brain is gone, all the thoughts crashing into each other like waves.

‘i can’t- can’t.. ’

‘it feels- i don’t.. know’

‘hurts.. so good..’

“you’re doing so well.” you said with a gentle voice, as if you aren’t slowly destroying him, as if you weren’t dragging him towards another orgasm with the same slow pressure that makes him forget his own name. “just like that, let me take care of you.”

all he did was just moan, weirdly high-pitched, hips jerking forward as his body answers for him.

‘his voice, fuck.’

‘wait- i can’t.. can’t think.’

‘please.. don’t stop. he- he can’t stop. not right now.’

another stroke, slow and sure, and bucky’s breath catches while his body coiled tight. his thighs keep twitching, opening wider, and wider. his cock pulses, and throbs in your hand, flushed, and leaking as if it was trying to catch up.

‘is this- fuck?’

‘already? did i-‘

‘did i cum?’

‘no way. i.. i don’t’

your thumb rolls over the tip again, and he mewled. he doesn’t know if he was begging or thanking you now. his brain is gone, just static, just warmth, and your hand dragging him closer to something he doesn’t have a name for anymore.

‘fuck- fuck, i can’t.. can’t..’

‘so.. warm..’

that’s the only thing bucky’s body could register, warmth. it was sudden, flooding through his chest, all the way down to his toes, and spreading like a wave. he doesn’t even realise what it is, only that it’s soft, and full, makes his back arch without permission.

‘what was that..?’

he twitches. his cock pulses in your grip, but the connection’s gone. all he knows is that something hit him, and he’s dizzy from it.

“that’s it, baby, i’ve got you.”

he shudders all over, his skin is so tender, his muscles feel like jelly.

‘still.. going?’

another stroke, wet, and slow, and he mewls.

‘did i..?’

‘did he make me..?’

‘i didn’t even- fuck.’

bucky’s crying now, he doesn’t even know when that started. his thoughts are crashing into each other in loops.

‘please, please, i don’t- don’t..’

‘hurts so good but- fuck, fuck..’

his body keeps giving, even if his mind can’t make sense of it anymore.

he sobbed, it wasn’t loud, wasn't clear. it’s just this cracked, helpless sound that slipped from his mouth. he lifts his hand, barely, and with shaky fingers, he reaches for your wrist, closing his hand around it. he doesn’t tug, doesn’t try to stop you, just held onto it, like he didn’t know what else to do.

his thumb brushed over your skin, the touch was featherlight, his grip barely there.

‘please.’

please what? he doesn’t even know anymore.

everything feels the same now, pleasure, and pain blurred together to the point that he didn’t know where they ended. he opens his mouth to speak.

“mmm- ah- s..” and then a gasp, a cry.

your hand strokes again, slick, and steady.

bucky’s entire body arched, he didn’t even know he could cum again. he doesn’t know if he just did. it’s all just heat, and wet.

‘i can’t..’

‘but it’s.. it’s him.’

‘he’s touching me.. like i wanted..’

his grip on your wrist tightens slightly, as much as he’s capable of. his lips form another shape, but it’s not a word, just a soft, broken sound.

you leaned in closer, your hand slipping under his jaw, and tilting his face towards yours.

“shh, you’re okay.”

‘am i?’

‘i don’t know, i don’t-’

“i’ve got you.”

the bedroom was quiet now.

bucky was still trembling in your arms, flushed, lashes damp with leftover tears. he feels as if he just had his soul ripped out, then forcefully returned, boneless in a way that only comes after being completely wrung out over, and over again. he barely remembers anything, just the heat, and the ache of it. his eyes are barely open, glassy, and unfocused.

now, you’re holding him close, a warm palm rubbing lazy circles along his back.

“you’re alright. did so well, baby.”

he makes a choked sound in response, he can’t quite form words yet.

“easy now, don’t have to move.” you didn’t expect him to answer, instead you reach for the damp cloth he brought earlier, and begins to carefully clean his thighs, and stomach.

bucky’s fingers twitched, as if he was searching for something.

you grabbed them, and squeezed gently.

“i’m here.”

once he was clean, you shifted him, gently, and slowly, onto his side, and curled around him. your arm draped over his waist, while you pressed soft, grounding kisses to his shoulder.

“still with me?”

he let out a tiny, broken exhale.

“can’t speak yet? that’s alright.” you spoke, while rubbing soft circles into his back.

bucky’s skin was warm, and sticky with sweat, but pliant. his body was pliant, like a puppet with its strings cut.

you don’t rush, just let him feel safe. every now, and then, he makes a soft noise, his breath catching as the last tremors ease out of him. when you speak again, it’s a whisper meant just for him.

“you were so good, such a good boy.”

a broken sound escaped his throat once more, and you soothed him.

“that was too much for one morning, wasn’t it? maybe that was a little cruel.”

he nodded into the pillow.

you shift just enough to grab the glass of water from the bedside table, then pressed the rim to his lips. then, you set the glass down. you let him stay wrapped around you for a little longer.

when bucky finally shifts, blinking slowly up at you with sleep-heavy eyes, you kiss his forehead.

“you ready to get up?”

he gives you a small, almost reluctant nod.

you sit up first, helping him slip into a soft t-shirt, and ease boxers over his shaky legs.

the both of you move slowly into the kitchen.

bucky’s trailing behind you, fingers curled into the hem of your shirt, as if he needed the contact to ground himself. he sat quietly, watching with wide, glassy eyes as you cooked. there was something soft, and vulnerable in his expression. he was completely blissed out, and now he’s drowning in euphoria.

‘how does he ruin me, take me apart until i don’t know my own name, and then turn around, and treat me like i’m something fragile, like i’m worth tending to, like i’m worth feeding.’

‘he’s the same person who made me cry, and now he’s watching over scrambled eggs like they’re fucking sacred.’

‘he scares me more than he thinks he does.’

by the time you set a plate in front of him, he’s already sitting up more upright. his fingers still trembled when he picked up the fork, but he manages a small bite.

“you okay?” you ask softly.

bucky nodded, chewing softly.

“yeah..” he cleared his throat. god, his voice was so hoarse it was embarrassing. “just.. floaty.”

you grinned, brushing your knee against his underneath the table.

the both of you ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, until you break it with a glance at your phone.

“so we’re back to work tomorrow. you’ll have to go back home.”

“don’t remind me.” bucky groaned.

“we should talk about cues. for the office, i mean. can’t have you going glassy-eyed every time i go into your office.”

“i do not go glassy-eyed whenever i see you.” he muttered, face heating up.

“you got flustered when i stood behind your chair.” you raised a brow.

“you were breathing down my neck, of course i would be flustered!”

“right.. so we need a system.”

bucky swallows a mouthful of orange juice, and props his chin in his hand.

“okay.. something subtle?”

“mhm.” you nodded. “non-verbal, if possible.”

“i.. can’t think of anything.”

“i wonder why.” you joked. “no ‘sir’, no hesitation, don’t act different.”

“what if i mess up?”

“you won’t. but in the event that you do, you’ll find out just how creative i can be with office furniture.”

bucky almost whimpered at the sheer thought of it.

“okay, if i call you by your last name, that’s neutral. if i use your first name, that’s cue for.. you know.” your hand slides along his arm, and he twitches.

“and if i call you into my office, and say it’s about a ‘performance review’, that’s a command.”

“great. i’m never surviving this.” he sighed, thinking about just how difficult tomorrow would be.

“you’ll live.” you took a slow sip of your coffee. “tap of the pen means you’re reacting too much.”

“so.. no obvious reactions.”

“if i say ‘check the printer’?” you asked.

“uh.. bathroom?”

“which means?”

“you.. want me to meet you there..?”

you nodded.

“if i ask for your schedule, that means you need to stop squirming. and if i fix my sleeves while looking at you, you stop what you’re doing immediately.”

bucky nodded.

by the end of the discussion, the both of you had finished breakfast in contentment.

[9.2]

[yandere-romanticaa]

I'm having thoughts about Zhongli again and I am compelled to share.

Just imagine what it would be like to be united in holy matrimony with this man. How did you even end up in such a situation? The possibilities are endless but the one I'm personally thinking most of at the moment is how you feel the need to find a husband.

Due to familial and societal pressure, you are at that age in which you are expected to be wed. You are far too old to be alone, one needs a life companion!

Enter the gentle and kind Mr Zhongli, who you befriend in mere minutes. The man is like sweet, cool spring on a hot summer day - exactly what you need. He listens to your hour long rants with a gentle smile as he nurses his drink carefully as the sun sets peacefully across Liyue Harbor. The topics are not always related to your issues as you feel bad to pester him so much, despite his insistence that you are just fine.

He enjoys hearing you talk. He stated so countless times.

You just don't believe him.

His golden eyes shine so brightly whenever he sees you approach him - how could they not? The former archon cannot recall such a peaceful time in his entire existence but with you added into the mix, he feels his old heart best just a smidge quicker than it ought to.

It was not difficult to worm his way in your life, truly. He has the charisma, character and looks to help him achieve anything he might need. He's not above setting up some chance encounters with your family and friends to put a good word for himself by being kind to them. It's all very practical and tactical.

On a fine spring evening, you happened to indulge in too much wine for your own good. And like little fox, he proposed the question of you marrying him. He has a job, a comfortable place to live in and your family already approves of him. Not to mention that you already get along so dashingly well!

Naturally, you didn't take him seriously. You also didn't take the piece of paper in his hand seriously at all.

You don't remember the pleased smirk on his face when you signed that document. Nor do you remember him walking you home, tucking you to bed and placing a gentle kiss on the crown of your head.

All was a foggy blur.

Come daylight, you awake, groggy and feeling like throwing up yesterday's breakfast.

The commotion outside your room forces you awake however.

The moment you crack open the door, your family was all over you - Mr Zhongli had come to pick you up! Weepy aunts and jealous cousins swarmed you like crazy, congratulating you on your new marriage. With large smiles they said that your now husband had dropped by earlier to check up on you, but did not wish to disturb your slumber.

He's so kind!

Your family had already packed your bags for you as you slept. Zhongli even helped out a little.

Oh how lucky you were to have a husband like him.

[earthlyangelbby]

Hii! Your writing is so cute 😭 idk if you take requests but could we get Eddie x reader when she plays her secondary music taste? Like she enjoys mainly metal, but then she starts playing The Smiths and The Cranberries, and Eddie's a little bit caught off guard because he didn't know she liked much other music? Tysm, and I'm excited to see what you do with this!! 🤍

Words Count: 565 Warnings: None just fluff :) A/N: Oh my god !This is such an honor! thank you for the request!! Feel free to send stuff my way I'll try to come up with something:) Come out of the shadows dear anon so I can kiss you! THAT MEANS SO MUCH TO ME!!!! I did my due diligence and listened to the smiths and the cranberries to prepare for this ask! I got this immediately as you sent it and heres what I came up with.

You’re lying on Eddie’s bed, your mixtape low in the background as The Smiths fill the room with that bittersweet sway. Eddie just sat beside you, one arm slung lazily across your back, fingers toying with a strand of your hair.

“I had no idea you were a Morrissey girl,” he says with a lopsided grin, kissing your temple gently. “Hiding your gloomy British side from me?”

You roll your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “Not hiding. Just… not leading with it.”

He leans back dramatically, hands clasped to his chest, and in a painfully accurate Morrissey moan, croons “I would go out tonight… but I haven’t got a stitch to weaaaaar…”

You groan. “Oh my god. Stop.”

He grins, not stopping. “This man said it's gruesome that someone so handsome should ca-”

“Eddie!” you smack him with a pillow, half-annoyed and half-laughing. “You’re too good at that, and it’s making me mad.”

“Oh, don’t be jealous, sweetheart,” he teases, laughing as he ducks another swat. “If I start quiffing my hair and whining about existential loneliness, you’ll dump me for a real Brit, won’t you?”

“Keep it up and I will.”

He cackles, then throws his arms around you and pulls you close. “Please, I’m way too hairy to be Morrissey.”

Before you can fire back, the tape clicks and the opening to “Dreams” by The Cranberries floats into the air. The mood shifts instantly lighter, sweeter. Eddie stills, glancing at the stereo.

“Ooh,” he says, nodding along. “See, this is more my speed. They’ve still got a killer drummer. And her voice?” He closes his eyes for a second, appreciating. “Yeah. That’s real nice. I’ll take an Irish woman beautifully singing her heart out over a whiny British guy any day.”

You lean into his shoulder, a little shy. “The Song. Kinda reminds me of you.”

He looks down, surprised. “Yeah?”

You nod slowly. “You’re kind of my dream, Eddie.”

His grin fades into something softer, more fragile around the edges. He leans in and kisses you, slow and warm, his hand curling into your hair.

When he pulls back, he presses his forehead to yours. “I like this side of you,” he says. “Your music. Your mush. All of it. Makes you all sweet and cuddly.”

You go quiet, heart tripping over itself in your chest.

He just smiles, thumb brushing your cheek. “Even if your music taste makes me feel like I need to wear eyeliner and sulk on a rainy train platform.”

You groan again, but you’re laughing as you curl into him, the both of you wrapped up in soft music, warm limbs, and something that feels a lot like falling. After a moment, you murmur, “So… if this music makes me all mushy and dreamy… what does our usual stuff make me?”

Eddie huffs a soft laugh, eyes flicking to yours with a spark. “Oh, easy. Violent. A little mean. You get that look in your eye like you’d punch God if he looked at you wrong.”

You snort, pressing your forehead to his shoulder. “And you like that?”

He kisses the top of your head. “Hell yeah, I do. Sweetheart, I like all your flavors. Soft, angry, spooky, weepy, dreamy. Bring 'em all.”

You hum, eyes fluttering closed as you melt deeper into him. “You’re such a sap.”

He grins against your hair. “Takes one to love one.”

Thanks for reading :^)

[u3pxx]

WELCOME HOME, POLLY! ✈️☀️🪄

finally sharing the piece i drew for @aasiblingszine! :^D if there's one thing about me, it's that i will be VERY sappy about apollo and trucy <3

leftovers are live over on here! so feel free to grab yourself a copy of this siblimful zine if you wanna feel warm and fuzzy and maybe cry a lil bit about ace attorney and the siblingisms of it all pftt <33

extra stuff under the cut! :^P | like this art? it'll be a print in my shop once the leftovers are over! | like what i do? support me on ko-fi!

help i just noticed that the timelaspe i had of this didn't record me rendering the rest of the drawing 😭 oh well, here's the progress gif too why not pftt

it's been maybe more than a year since i drew this so very wild to see how my art style has evolved since this! considering that i'm currently in an art rut pftt, i've changed my inking pen so many times by now lol. but i still like this a lot! what's a den drawing without too many add (glow) layers and the sun setting down in it lmao

just looking at all the art and writing made for this zine was such a treat! so many heartwarming and heartwrenching scenarios so beautifully written and illustrated! flipping through this zine, i teared up a bit, my man!! i'm so glad to have worked with such talented peeps! :'^] <33

this drawing of mine is kind of an expansion of this old doodle i drew, i'm just a big enjoyed of trucy and apollo ending up being the same height after a timeskip AND i am also just very weepy about missing people who used to be always with you, mayhaps.

once again reminding you that leftovers are live!!! here's the link, go get this wonderful zine!!!

[jupiter-letters]

Having thoughts about Husband!Art and his hands...

A/N: A little fic this weepy eyed blonde boy, I watched challengers yesterday and I'm obsessed.I need Art like carnally. People being hot in movies is so back dude. This was written with a fem!reader(afab, no other physical description will be written) in mind. This is my first attempt at smut so go easy on me I beg.🙏🏽

Word count: 1476

TW: Sexu*l content, f*ngering, reader just having a rough day in general.

divider cred || palestine links

One of the things that attracted you to your husband was his hands. The way his muscles in his hands tighten when he grips his racket, how he holds his coffee mug when takes a sip of coffee in the morning and the way they glide against your skin when you make love.

After having a difficult day he'd like to put those hands to use for you as he so often loves to do....

You walk into your home and make a beeline toward your bathroom, you need to get the grime of the day off you. You don't even notice Art on his laptop on the couch, he was about to greet you before he saw the look on your face. He just watches you kick off your shoes and drop your bag on the floor. You always greet him when you get home but he can tell it's been one of those days. He shuts his laptop off and the tv then makes his way to your bedroom. He spots your scattered clothes all over the floor and hears the roar of the bathtub's spout coming to life.

Art leans up against the door to hear what you might be doing, he hesitates before knocking on the door. "Baby?" The sound of running water stops and he hears a small tired voice answer, "Come in.." He opens the door to the sight of you naked and bare, head down in front of the mirror. He looks at you for a moment and turns his eyes to the floor as he shuts the bathroom door behind him. You turn your head toward him but avoid his eyes, he doesn't force you to meet his gaze.

  Art moves behind you in silence and touches your shoulders just to test the waters of how much you're willing to be touched at this moment. You accept it, not moving away but not leaning into it. He wraps his body around you and kisses your shoulders. He kisses up to the  back of your neck. "You wanna talk about it?", he asks as you take a moment to answer such a simple question. You just shake your head, still silent, you do turn around and look up at him. He looks into your eyes, a silent understanding takes over him. "Ok." He whispers, Art moves over to the bathtub and turns the knob back on. He goes to the sink cabinet and grabs some bubble bath. He pours some of the liquid in the water and glides in his hand in the water to make sure the temperature's perfect for you. Once the tub is full you step inside and breathe a sigh of relief. The sweet smell of the bubbles and the warm water expels the tension from your body. Art kneels next the tub, he crosses his arms over the rim and lays his head on his forearms. He gives you a small smile and you return it, you both gaze at each other in quiet admiration. Art takes a hand and caresses your knee with such tenderness, the feeling of his lithe fingers brings you such comfort.

 He moves his body forward and moves his hand further down your thigh looking at you for permission to keep going. You nod your head looking at him expectantly wondering what he was planning to do. Very slowly he slides his hand into the water in between your thighs, eyes laser focused on his own actions. You can feel him gently part your folds, using his index and middle finger to stroke your clit. He moves them slowly up and down, ghosting your entrance. Art looks back up at you when he hears you gasp quietly, he smiles again at the sound. “You want some more baby? Don’t worry I’ll give it to you, I’m gonna take care of you.” he purrs at you, but you won’t get what you want so quickly, he lives to tease you. He adds more pressure to your bud and rubs in more circular motions. Your breath quickens and you lull your head to the side pressing against the tub's rim. He stops for a moment just to move closer to your head so he can kiss your cheek and move onto your lips. You position your body closer to his head and crane your head to taste his lips more. Art continues stroking your clit, rubbing and pinching it between his fingers. He swallows every gasp, groan and whimper you make, stretching the muscles in his neck as far as he can to reach your mouth. The sensation of him touching you and the heat from the water has covered your body in a light sheen of moisture, everything about you is so wet and pliant. He finally feels that you’re ready to take his fingers, he stops kissing you. He wants to look in your eyes as he slides them, he wants to see your mouth part and hear a raspy moan slip from your lips. 

 There’s nothing Art loves more than the look of dazed bliss you get when he’s inside of your body. As he prods your entrance he watches you closely, “Sweetheart look at me…” ,he murmurs. You look up at him, hungry and waiting, the moment you do he slides his fingers eliciting a high pitched moan from you, mouthing widening in pleasure. He continues his slow pace, you can feel the metal of his wedding ring brush up against your lips as he pushes his fingers deeper. He leaves kisses all over your face before returning to your lips, smiling into the kiss. He opens his eyes for a moment to see your legs writhing and clenching around his hand when he curls his fingers every so slightly. The sight makes his arousal even stronger than before, a small wet spot makes its appearance in his sweatpants.  He wouldn’t even need to touch himself, the sight alone of you slowly reaching your peak is enough to make him cum all on his own. The tension in your core continues to build, Art notices you shuddering and finally lets you have what you want. He puts his fingers in as far as he can and makes a scissoring gesture along with curling them pressing into your g-spot at random. As he does this it becomes harder to focus on his mouth devouring you and mind begins to go blank. You grip your hands onto his forearm and shoulder to anchor yourself. He angles his head to kiss the underside of your jaw while he increases his pace. The water in the tub starts to move violently as your body shakes and your legs thrash. You make the attempt to kiss Art again but are overwhelmed by the sounds that escape your mouth, he lets you moan into his mouth keeping his eyes closed and savoring the sounds. One final beckon of his fingers sends you over the edge, tilting your head back, orgasm rippling throughout your body. Art nuzzles his nose against yours and presses his forehead to yours. 

It’s a full minute before he pulls his fingers out of you, when he does he drags his hand up and over your stomach. Between your breasts and glides up the side of your neck, he takes his thumb and caresses your lips before sliding them into his mouth. He smiles down at you and giggles. You laugh with him, “What?” you ask curiously. “I was supposed to help you get clean, not sweaty,” he says with a grin. You laugh again at his statement, “Well…it doesn’t matter, I do feel better now.” He smiles and kisses your forehead, he moves over to the towel holder on the wall and grabs one for you. You wipe some of the suds off you before you stand to be embraced by him with the towel. While he holds you, you notice he’s still hard. You look at him surprised, “You want me to take care of that?” He looks down as if he forgot too. “Oh! No baby it’s ok, I wanted this to be all about you, don’t worry about me.” he tells you softly. His statement makes you soften even more, you step out of the tub next to him. You take the towel from him and wrap it around yourself. “Thank you Art, I mean it. I really needed that.” You take his face into your hand and kiss his lips. “Of course, these hands aren’t just good at tennis y’know. You can use them anytime you want.” he replies smugly. You jokingly push his face away and make your way out of the bathroom looking back at him with a smile. He follows close behind and shuts the door behind him.

Thanks for reading! Lemme know what you think. Please like or reblog if you like my stuff. ♡

[concretejunglefm]

So, it's me again with another thot or request if you want to...🥹

I'm on my period which means I'm either sad or horny. That also means I want Noah to fuck me so hard that he has to stop and ask 'Hey are you here with me?' and then give me the sweetest aftercare ever🥹

here he is for you bb! 💕 he's like a shark in the water during that time of the month, I swear 🤭

CW: includes mentions of unprotected sex (p in v), multiple orgasms, fingering (f receiving), oral (f + m receiving), period sex with mentions of blood, dirty talk, slight dom!noah vibes, brat!reader vibes, heavy on the aftercare and fluff (noah puts readers tampon in).

Smut below the cut 🔞 Minors DNI.

It’s no surprise that Noah always knows when you’re on your period. Part of it is his control-freak nature—he tracks your cycle with meticulous attention—but more than that, it’s the way he’s so deeply in tune with you. It’s like he’s wired into your body, hyper-aware of even the subtlest shifts, especially during this time of the month.

What gives it away most is your mouth. If you’re not weepy from the hormonal roller coaster, you’re insatiably horny—and completely without a filter. The things you let slip between those plush lips could ruin him, especially because you never seem to say them in private. You say them in public, in company, in moments that make him clench his jaw and fight to keep control. They tumble out like you don’t even realize the effect they have, but he knows better—you do.

“This fucking mouth,” Noah murmurs, his thumb gliding along the soft pink hue of your lipstick before pressing just enough to smear it. You’d had plans to go out tonight—until your tongue got a little too bold, a little too filthy. Now, his hand is wrapped around your chin, holding you in place, the heat in his gaze leaving no room for doubt about what’s coming next.

“Are you going to keep staring at it or fuck it?” you shoot back, your voice dripping with challenge. The sound he makes in response is low and guttural, his thumb swiping over your lips again. You part them, slow and deliberate, letting your teeth graze the pad of his thumb before your tongue flicks against it—suggestive and teasing.

There’s no mistaking what’s on your mind. Even now—when most would consider you ‘off-limits’—Noah sees you differently. To him, your heightened need, your sensitivity, your craving for him are an invitation. An opportunity to give you exactly what your body aches for: release.

Sad, horny, cramping—it doesn’t matter. His solution is always the same. Make you cum. Again and again, until your mind is blissfully empty and your body hums with pleasure. He knows how much more malleable you become like this, how willingly you melt under his touch, surrendering to the worship he gives you so thoroughly.

When he finally sinks into your mouth, it’s everything he imagined—warm, wet, eager. Your moan vibrates around him, hungry and greedy, and he has to steel himself not to lose it right then. Your lashes flutter as you look up at him from beneath them, playing the perfect picture of innocence—even though it was your bratty mouth that got you here in the first place, lips stretched around the very thing you dared him to use.

His hand finds a firm grip at the back of your head, fingers weaving into your hair as he guides your movements. His hips roll forward to meet your mouth, and his head tilts back, lips parting with a low, drawn-out moan. “Fuck… getting it nice and wet for me to fuck you?” he grunts, voice thick with desire.

Not that he needs you to. You can already feel the slick heat between your thighs—your arousal mingling with the slow, steady flow of blood, making you impossibly wet. It’s something Noah adores, the way he can slide into you so easily, your blood acting as its own kind of lubricant, but more than that, he loves your sensitivity—how every touch, every brush of his skin against yours, leaves you trembling, desperate, and so utterly responsive beneath him.

Once your clothes are gone and you’re laid back on the bed, a towel placed beneath you, Noah parts your thighs with a reverence that borders on hunger. He licks his lips, eyes fixed between your legs like he’s about to indulge in his favorite meal—and in a way, he is. There’s no place he’d rather be than buried between your thighs, his mouth pressed to your pussy, whether he’s drinking in everything you offer or lazily teasing your clit with soft, deliberate kisses that send flutters through your belly.

But right now, nothing excites him more than the faint trail of blood glistening down your folds. His gaze darkens, and then he’s leaning in, tongue flattened as he gives a slow, purposeful lick—ending with a flick against your already oversensitive clit. You gasp, hips bucking, moaning aloud as the contact sends a jolt of pleasure through you.

He loves how your body reacts—how you arch into him, your fingers tangling in his hair and tugging him closer, silently begging for more. The moment his tongue touches you again, the tension begins to build. He circles your clit once, twice, a third time, and your moans quickly turn to needy whines, soft pleas tumbling from your lips. You need more, you need him, and Noah knows exactly how to give it to you.

He hasn’t even slipped more than a single finger inside you, yet you’re already unraveling—sensitive and strung out, your body responding to his touch like it’s second nature. He knows exactly what you need when you’re like this: the slow build of multiple orgasms that leave you trembling, pleasure flooding your system and momentarily easing the ache—but never the craving.

“Do you need more, baby?” he murmurs, voice low and thick, though it’s not really a question. Not when he’s curling his fingers just right, coaxing a whimper from your lips. And before you can respond, his mouth finds your clit again, tongue flattening to press and flick against it, firm and purposeful. Your hips move on instinct, grinding against his face, chasing more of the sensation he so generously offers.

“Noah, baby, please, fuck me. I need you to fuck me.” The bratty tone you’d had earlier is gone now, dissolved into desperation, leaving you at his mercy—soft, needy, pleading for the only kind of relief that ever truly satisfies you.

Noah doesn’t hesitate. The moment his cock slides inside you, so effortlessly, he feels you tighten around him, your pussy more sensitive than ever, pulling him deeper as though it’s an instinctive need. “Fuck, you feel so fucking good,” he groans, bottoming out, the tip of his cock brushing against your cervix with every deep thrust.

His hand moves between your legs, his thumb circling your clit before pressing down firmly, adding another layer of stimulation. His mouth latches onto your nipple, teasing the peak between his teeth in a manner that makes your back arch, a high-pitched moan slipping from your lips as another orgasm crashes through you, your body trembling with pleasure.

“Fuck, I can feel you pulsing around me,” Noah groans, his hands gripping your thighs, keeping them spread wide as his thrusts slow, savoring the feeling of your walls tightening around him, of how deeply he’s buried in you. He relishes in the sensation of your body reacting to him, every inch of you still buzzing from the multiple orgasms he’s drawn from you already.

“Can you feel that, baby? Does it feel better?” Noah asks, his hand slipping up to press gently on your stomach, just where your cramps had been earlier. The pressure only intensifies the deep, rolling thrusts he gives, feeling the bulge of his cock press against you.

But you don’t respond.

“Baby?” His voice softens with concern, looking down at you, his eyes searching your face. Your eyes are rolled back, a look of pure bliss on your features as your chest rises and falls with heavy breaths. “Hey, are you with me?” You can’t catch your breath fast enough to reassure him, and the lust-drunk smile that lingers on your lips only deepens his worry.

When he pulls out of you, he’s immediately all over you, trying to ground you, his fingers gently combing through your hair as he whispers soft, comforting words. Your whole body still trembles, floating in a blissful haze, too far gone to fully register Noah’s concern until you slowly begin to return to yourself.

“Baby,” he murmurs against the side of your head.

You turn to look up at him, your eyes slowly focusing back on him, and you let out a breathless laugh. “That was…” Your words trail off, but Noah silences you with a kiss to the crown of your head, gently shushing you as he holds you close through your come-down.

“I think that’s enough for now.”

You want to protest, to whine about how he never got to cum, maybe make a dirty joke about the creampie he could’ve cleaned up, knowing he’d have done it no matter how messy things got, but the words never make it past your lips—your mind clouded, thoughts slipping away as the haze deepens.

“Let’s get you in a bath,” Noah suggests softly.

When Noah scoops you up from the bed, you instinctively cling to him, your arms wrapping around his neck as he carries you across the hall to the bathroom.

He sets a towel on the edge of the tub before gently sitting you down on it. The simple gesture feels thoughtful against the cool plastic, and for a brief moment, you refuse to let go of him. Your head buries against his neck with a soft hum, inhaling his scent—the mixture of sweat and sex that clings to him, somehow making him smell even more intoxicating.

When you finally release him, he steps away briefly, moving toward the sink to retrieve a glass of water and returns with it, offering it to you along with a few vitamins in the palm of his hand.

“Drink. Swallow.” He instructs, his voice calm but firm. You meet his gaze briefly, the brattiness still lingering in you despite the haze of pleasure, but it only makes the corner of his mouth twitch in amusement.

You follow his instructions, and he turns his attention to the tub, running the taps after slipping the plug in place. Once the water begins to fill, he’s back by your side, his arm wrapping around you to guide you gently against his chest, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back in an effort to ground you.

“How do you feel?” He asks, his gaze soft with concern. You understand why. It’s one of the rare times he’s taken you to the edge of your wits, with barely a coherent thought left in your head. The only time you’ve been this far gone was when he made you pass out from overstimulation—but that was different. This was a deep, dizzying pleasure.

“Mm, really good,” you murmur dreamily, your body still humming with the aftershocks of the pleasure he gave you.

“Yeah?” His fingers comb through your hair, the tenderness in his touch making you feel even more cared for. He reaches past you to grab a bottle of bath soak, adding a small amount to the water for a gentle lather of bubbles. He dips his hand in to test the water, stirring it until the bubbles form, then turns off the tap.

With his arm still around you, he keeps you steady, his attention back on you. “Can you join me?” you ask, gazing up at him, your eyes soft as if he’s the most ethereal thing you’ve ever seen. Even without the post-orgasm glow, you’d still feel this way about him.

You sense him about to argue, to remind you that this moment is for you, but before he can speak, his expression softens. He nods, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. “Of course, baby.” He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, and once again, those butterflies stir in your stomach. You love these moments, how gentle and loving he is with you, especially now. You want to soak in it, to bask in the warmth of his care.

As he helps you into the bath and joins you moments later, settling behind you so you can rest between his thighs, you know this is all you need. This, right here and now with him, is all you ever need.

“Thank you,” you murmur softly, pressing gentle kisses to his arms as they loosely wrap around you, your fingers going on to trace the intricate tattoos that adorn his skin.

As Noah pulls you closer, you feel the warm press of his mouth on your shoulder, causing you to sigh. Your eyes flutter closed as he places a delicate series of kisses along the back of your neck. “Do you still hurt?” he asks, his voice quiet and concerned. You know he means your cramps and one hand slips beneath the water, resting on your stomach, offering himself as a human heating pad.

“A little,” you reply. Your cramps have been somewhat alleviated, but you can already feel them slowly returning. There’s only so much you can do to keep them at bay.

“Would a massage help?” Noah offers and before you can respond, you feel the gentle pressure of his fingers pressing against your stomach, moving with purpose as he searches for the most painful spot.

When you make a soft sound, he knows he’s found it and as his focus remains there, he leans forward, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Anything you need, baby.” His words are a quiet reaffirmation, and you know he means them. Noah has always been the kind to put your needs first, always wanting to make you feel good, no matter what it takes.

As he begins to wash you, he’s slow and meticulous, taking his time with each movement of the washcloth against your skin, leaving soft kisses where the soap has already been washed away, his touch tender, like he’s worshipping you with every delicate gesture.

“You’re so beautiful, every inch of you. You know that, right?” It’s not the first time he’s said it, but you blush as though it is, feeling a warmth spread through you. You try to pull away, but you’re trapped between his thighs, unable to escape as he continues to appreciate every part of you. And no part of you goes unnoticed. Noah wants nothing more than to stake his claim on you, even on the softer areas—behind your ear, the back of your neck, the crease of your arm.

If he could, he’d leave a soft reminder of himself everywhere he touches.

Even when his hand slips between your thighs, Noah remains gentle. There’s nothing overtly sexual in his touch—just a quiet, sensual care as his fingers part you under the water. You gasp, and he pauses, but then his fingers move again, spreading you tenderly as if to help cleanse you more thoroughly, but when his fingertip begins to circle your clit, your body melts against his.

The sensation is too much and not enough all at once, and the words spill from your lips before you can stop them. “Noah, please…” you whisper, tilting your head back, your mouth catching his jaw between your teeth in a soft, playful bite as his fingers continue—slow, practiced, and devastatingly good.

“One more,” he breathes, the words sounding more like a promise to himself than to you, as if he’s trying to convince himself this will be the last, though you both know it never is. You’re just as insatiable for each other.

He doesn’t rush. He draws it out deliberately, teasing you with slow, purposeful circles over your most sensitive spot. His free hand cradles your body against his chest as he kisses you—slow and deep, sensual and unhurried. Everything about this moment is for you—your pleasure, your comfort, the way he carefully unravels you like he’s memorizing everything about you.

You ride the wave he builds with infinite patience, your body trembling in his arms. His kisses trail from your lips to your jawline, down the column of your throat, his fingers slipping inside you and curling just right—pressing against the spot that sends you soaring.

You cling to him, whimpering softly, your body shivering as your climax begins to fade. He holds you steady, whispering grounding words while you melt into his chest, letting yourself be supported, loved, and cared for. And when the high has passed, when your breathing steadies, Noah resumes what he started—cleaning you off with the same quiet tenderness, never rushing, never letting go.

Noah is the first to step out of the tub, leaving you sitting in the slowly draining water, your eyes following him as he moves. The sound of his soft humming fills the bathroom—he’s always humming something. Whether it’s one of his own songs, a track that’s been stuck in his head all day, or even an anime theme, it’s a sound that soothes you. It’s a quiet reminder that he’s there, that you’re not alone.

“Come on, let’s get you dry,” he murmurs, holding a towel out for you.

You glance over at him, biting your lower lip as you take in the sight of him—water glistening on his bare, tattooed chest, the towel hanging low on his hips. He looks like something out of a painting, a Greek god in the flesh, and it feels almost unfair to be witnessing it. His muscles flex subtly as he waits for you, holding the towel open, an offering for you.

Rising from the now-lukewarm water, you step into his arms and into the waiting towel, his embrace wrapping around you along with the soft fabric. You can’t help but tease, giggling softly as you look up at him. “Are you going to dress me next?”

He looks down at you with that familiar lovesick gaze, eyes warm and shining. “If I have to.”

You already know the truth—Noah would do anything for you, and he never makes you feel like it’s a chore.

“Well, I appreciate that. But you don’t have to,” you reply gently, though you know it won’t stop him. He’s already moving the towel over your skin, drying you off with slow, deliberate strokes. When he drops to his knees to reach lower, he continues murmuring soft words of love against your skin, kissing your hip, your thigh, like it’s second nature.

“Let me help you put your tampon in,” he says quietly, eyes trained on you.

The words catch you off guard. You grow shy, instinctively stepping back, but his hands slide to your hips, grounding you, holding you in place—not with force, but with tenderness.

“Baby, please?”  he asks, so softly, so sweetly. There’s no pressure in his voice—just that familiar, earnest desire to care for you in any way you’ll let him and when you reach for the drawer, he stops you with a soft touch. “Let me,” he says again, voice soft.

There’s no teasing in his voice—only quiet devotion.

You hesitate for a breath, watching him, and then slowly nod. His touch is careful as he kneels in front of you, his hands steady and respectful. He takes the tampon with the same calm he’s shown all evening, his gaze flicking up to meet yours. “Tell me if anything feels wrong,” he murmurs.

His fingers guide with gentle precision, the moment surprisingly intimate in a way that leaves your chest aching—in a good way. Not because it’s sexual, but because it’s him, because he sees all of you, even like this, and never flinches. When it’s done, he presses a soft kiss to your inner thigh, then rises to meet you again, towel still in hand, like nothing about this moment ever needs to be hidden.

Once you’re finished in the bathroom, Noah gently guides you back into the bedroom. He quickly finds a pair of sleep shorts and one of his shirts for you to wear, helping you slip them on just as he promised. When you’re dressed, he climbs into bed with you, arms immediately reaching out to pull you into his chest, wrapping you up securely in his embrace.

You settle against him, your body melting into the warmth of his, and he presses a soft, tender kiss to your forehead. A quiet, contented sigh escapes you, and just before sleep can pull you under, you hear him murmur, “I love you,” against your skin.

And you melt, completely, into him and his love.