#barely even bothering to fully tag this

[ratscrap]

oh brother who invited this guy

[almostempty]

clint eats it from the back (clint x f!reader)

wc: 1.9k | other fics | rating: 18+ | 

summary: clint comes home to find you half-naked and half-asleep and eats it from the back and then gives you that dick (as he should)

a/n: @yxtkiwiyxt said ‘clint eats it from the back’ and i thought this might jumpstart the gremlins that have been holding my brain cell hostage so here’s some pwp <3 

tags: pussy eating, backshots, raw creampie (as always), dirty talk (if i wrote it and he isn’t groaning and spewing filth send a medic), spanking (i can’t stop won’t stop), clothed sex (whip it out and stick it in already!), established relationship (they like each other idk i can be a little soft sometimes okay) 

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You’re half-asleep when the front door swings shut.

The blinds in the bedroom tap against the window, making the shadows in the room dance. The soft thud of his boots wakes something in you. Enough to stir but not enough to really move.

Facedown in the middle of the bed, one knee bent and the other leg straight, you're wearing nothing but Clint’s well loved t-shirt. The one that smells like cigarettes and sweat... in a comforting way.

You’d been waiting. Maybe you fell asleep, but you can’t say for sure. You don’t even know what time it is.

He steps into the bedroom, but doesn’t say a word. Traffic and city noise filters in through the window, carried by the sticky summer night breeze.

But all you hear is the sharp breath he takes.

Like he’s been hit in the face with something he didn’t expect—and he’s not usually one for surprises.

You don’t move. Not until the mattress dips beneath his weight.

A big hand slides up your thigh. Slow. Heavy. Possessive.

His rough palm stops at the curve of your ass and squeezes. Hard.

Clint doesn’t ask if he can—he just spreads you, exposing everything before massaging your smooth flesh with a hint of affection.

“You been like this all night?” His voice is low, scraped over pavement. “Laid out like a fucking present for me?”

His thumbs bruise the crease at the top of your thighs, demanding an answer from your hazy mind.

You grumble into the flattened pillow, too tired to be sweet. “You’re late.”

A single sharp smack to your ass jolts you more awake. Not hard enough to hurt—just enough to remind you he can.

“I got busy,” he snaps, stern and half-growled. “Didn’t say you could fall asleep.”

You’re shifting toward clarity, but not enough to resist when he grabs your hips and lifts them, dragging you onto your knees with your face still buried in the pillow.

He sighs—heavy, like it’s too much. Like you’re too much. “Fuck me. Look at this fucking pussy.”

Both hands spread you wide, fingers dimpling your flesh. He’s not gentle. Clint palms your ass, squeezing and manipulating you until you squirm.

His stubble scrapes along your delicate skin as he noses closer, breathing you in like he’s been starving. You don’t bother hiding your moan. He likes that.

“So wet for me,” he mutters to himself. His warm breath teases your slick seam, making your thighs tremble faintly and drawing a needy whimper from you.

He laughs. A little mean and a lot indulgent.

“That’s right, baby. My filthy girl. Always dripping for me.”

He stays fully dressed—boots on, jeans still zipped—while he readjusts, sinking between your legs.

Then the wet heat of his mouth makes your brows draw together and your mouth part. With his tongue flat and slow, he licks one long stripe from clit to ass, like he’s claiming every inch. You gasp, hands scrabbling against the mattress.

“That’s it,” he groans, voice thick and muffled between your legs. “Back it up for me.”

You arch instinctively, and his hands flex in response before sliding underneath your legs, wrapping around your hips to hold you against his face.

“Oh, shit,” your voice is barely above a whisper.

His mouth is on you, in you, tongue fucking into you—messy and unrelenting. You can’t help it—rocking back, grinding down, chasing the friction. The wet sounds are obscene, and his hungry groans melt into your skin.

Every time you whimper, he doubles down. He wants it loud.

He bites, nips the soft skin where your thigh meets cunt, just to hear your gasp and feel you tense in his grip. Then soothes it with his tongue, like it never happened.

“Look at you,” he pants, voice thick. “Face down in my bed, moaning into my fuckin’ pillow like a whore. You love this, don’t you?”

You whine something desperate, words half-formed and foggy.

And then he’s sucking on your clit, bringing you right to the edge—everything pulled taut—just to ease up and make out with your pussy until you’re liquid again.

He presses a kiss to your clit. “Tell me. Who’s this pussy belong to?”

“You,” your voice already sounds far away. “Only you.”

“That’s my girl,” he says, proud and rough. “My perfect fuckin’ mess.”

“You’re gonna come like this,” he growls into you. “All bent over for me. Like you should.”

You bite your lip hard. You’re close. He knows it. One hand slips between your legs and spreads you wider. Lewd. Greedy. 

Then he’s nearly overwhelming you entirely.

Lips wrapped around your swollen clit until your thighs are shaking. Then again, with a wide tongue, he uses his whole face. The friction of his facial hair, the pressure of his jaw, the ridge of his nose—like he was divinely created for your pleasure.

Though in this moment, it seems like your pleasure is all his.

You’re soaked, chasing the release he keeps taunting you with. He’s moaning into you, rutting his hips against the bed like he needs it too. He never stops moving, working you closer expertly—like you’re his to control.

And you are.

Your knees give out as you finally break, but his hold on you is so strong it doesn’t matter. Your thighs quake, and you cry out—wrecked and loud. You don’t give a shit if the neighbors can all hear.

He doesn’t let up until you’re twitching from the overstimulation. Then he hums with a satisfaction that would make your face hot if you weren’t already blazing from the whole act.

When he loosens up, you collapse forward, melted and buzzing. He presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, laced with reverence.

“Not done yet,” his voice is lusty, with a hint of strain in it. “You hear me?”

You nod weakly, hitching a breath when he gives you one more slap.

Behind you, fully dressed and still hard in his jeans, Clint smiles.

You’re still catching your breath when he moves. The bed frame creaks as his weight shifts. You hear him undo his belt. Hear the zip of his jeans.

You don’t even lift your head—just hum softly into the pillow in anticipation.

Clint chuckles once behind you. Not with amusement—but with hunger.

“Too wrecked to talk already?” he murmurs, rubbing a hand down your spine. “Didn’t even need to get my dick out to have you all fucked out.”

You whimper again, hips tilting toward him instinctively.

“Goddamn.” The word falls from his lips like he’s mesmerized. “Laying here… legs open, pussy still dripping on my sheets like you don’t have a single thought left in your pretty head.”

You don’t.

Not a coherent thought, anyway.

He pushes the faded t-shirt higher up, bunching it around your ribs, baring every inch of your glowing skin to his greedy eyes. His hands stroke along your back and down your legs.

“You’re so fucking easy for me,” he growls. “One taste and now you’re already begging for cock to fill you up.”

You shake your head, a little desperate now. “Not begging.”

That earns you another slap, right against your throbbing, swollen cunt. You yelp.

“No?” Clint’s voice shifts—something mean bleeding into the edges of it. “You’re soaked, face down, ass up, pushing back on my face like you’re in heat, and you’re gonna tell me you’re not begging?”

His hand wraps around your hip and yanks you back until you’re flush with his crotch. Until you can feel how hard he is through his jeans.

He grinds you against him once, slow and firm, causing you to choke on a moan. The friction is one thing—but it’s the way he maneuvers you with confidence that has your eyes rolling back.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “That’s what I thought.”

He grunts lowly, freeing himself from his jeans and stroking once, twice, and then—

He pushes in with no warning.

You gasp, mouth open, eyelids slamming shut as the stretch steals the breath from your lungs. He’s thick, hot, and rough in just the way you like. He drives in deep, holding you with a bruising grip while you adjust.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “That never gets old.”

He doesn’t give you more time—slides nearly all the way out of you before slamming back in, hard.

He sets a rhythm and creates a debased symphony. The bed knocks against the wall, your skin slaps loudly in the dark room, and your breathy moans are punctuated by his reflexive grunts.

His jeans drag against the backs of your thighs, the rough fabric a constant reminder that he hasn’t even undressed for this. That finding you half-naked in his bed, in his shirt, might as well have been a demand to fuck you stupid on sight.

Clint leans over you, his chest pressing into your back, one big hand curling around the back of your neck—not choking. Just holding.

Just claiming.

Just fucking you the way he wants. Getting more honest with every snap of his hips as he unravels for you.

“This what you wanted, baby?” he growls in your ear. “Want me to use you like a fuckin’ toy? Fill you up nice and deep?”

You try to answer, but all that comes out is moans in the shape of unrecognizable words.

He bites your shoulder, sharp. Not enough to break skin, but enough to leave a mark.

“Say it,” he demands. “Say who owns this fucking pussy.”

“You—fuck, Clint—it’s yours,” you gasp.

“Damn right it is.”

His other hand slides down your front, rough fingers finding your clit and circling fast and filthy. You sob—your body already too close, too sensitive. It’s dizzying and sharp.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Come on my cock. Let me feel it.”

“Yes!” you get one word out before your mind liquefies.

It hits hard—sudden and overwhelming—your whole body clenching, pulsing around him as he groans loud and desirous behind you. He fucks you through it, losing the last of his restraint you didn’t know was still in place, escalating with single-minded determination.

“Gonna come,” he growls. “You want that? Want me to fill this pussy up?”

You can’t even speak—you just moan, nodding frantically into the sheets.

“Yeah,” he snarls. “That’s right. Take it. Take all of it.”

He comes with a drawn-out moan, pulling you down onto his dick as he pulses inside you—like you might collapse without him there to steady you.

His hand is still wrapped around your neck, his body draped over yours, and his cock still buried deep inside you.

Then he exhales.

His tone shifts—less urgent. More awed.

“Jesus,” he mutters.

You hum something soft in response, completely boneless under him.

Clint pulls out with a soft groan, and you feel the drip of him between your thighs—warm and shameless and exactly what you wanted.

He leans down to kiss your spine, then rests his forehead there, breathing heavy. For a moment, that’s all you hear.

Then the world starts to seep back in—the low hum of the fan on the dresser, the bass thumping from a house party down the block.

You’re still not sure if you’re fully awake. But if this is a dream, it’s the best one you’ve had in weeks.

Then his hands are moving again, warm and real and right where they belong.

“Hi, baby,” he murmurs, almost too quiet to hear.

You smile into the pillow, a whisper of a laugh barely leaving your lips. “Hi.”

And god, he loves coming home to you.

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@dontlookatme121

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Bouncer

You feel perfectly safe getting drunk and letting loose, especially with your favourite bouncer to keep an eye on you. Well, up until the night you realise that every party has a price. Tags: Simon "Ghost" Riley inspired, implied somno, 3.1k words

Y'know who you shouldn't trust as much as you do? Bouncers. Sure, most of them are great. Just trying to do their jobs, keeping people safe when the booze starts hitting too hard.

But not in your case. No, when it comes to you - the bubbly party girl who smiles at just about everyone - the yandere bouncer at your favourite club doesn't have such noble intentions.

He's a big guy. All the security guys are, but he's big even by those standards. Standard issue black t-shirt straining at the seams when he crosses his arms. Mean mug, always scowling at any drunk stupid enough to breathe the same air as him.

Girls and guys alike think he's hot, but no amount of liquid courage can stand up to his glare. Anyone who tries to flirt with him usually thinks better of it when they're less than two sentences in. He's not here to hook up in the bathroom or be a rebound situationship. He's here to work.

The first time he runs into you, he barely notices anything beyond your skirt. Short as hell, even by clubbing standards.

What, do you want every bastard in there to get an eyeful of your thong, sweetheart?

He doesn't say it out loud. Just scoffs and hands you back your ID. Doesn't bother to reply when you wish him a good night.

The second time he runs into you, you're a little tipsy already. Smiling up at him like you don't see the pierced eyebrow or the scowl. He's tempted to not let you in - club has a strict no pre-drinking policy - but then you bat your lashes at him and joke that pre-gaming is the only way anyone can have any fun at all in this economy.

He snorts and let's you pass. He doesn't fully recognise you - too many faces, too little light - but some subconscious part of him takes note of your perfume. Something bright and fruity that makes him think of summer punch and getting drunk on the beach.

You try and greet him before you leave, half hanging off your more sober friend. You yell something over your shoulder about having a good time and smiling more. He isn't sure what you're on about, but it's kind of cute the way you mumble a little when you're drunk.

He doesn't expect to see you again, nor does he expect to recognise you if he does. There's half a dozen clubs in this rotten city, and half a million pretty girls with too short skirts.

But he does.

Notices you standing in line because the people around you are cracking up, total strangers laughing at some lame joke you made. He let's his partner do most of the ID checks that night. Not really realising it, but wanting a chance to watch you.

Your jokes aren't that funny. You touch people too much. You've got a laugh that's a bit too loud. But people like you.

Total strangers chatting it up and smiling like they've met a celebrity.

He rolls his shoulders, cracks his knuckles. A few people in the front of the line flinch away from him. He doesn't bother reassuring them.

What is it about you? What makes you so magnetic?

When you're finally at the front of the line, you give his partner a megawatt grin and call her by her name. Ask how her shoulders holding up after that brawl last week.

You smile at him too, your fingers brushing his wrist when you take your ID back.

"Hey, Mr tall, dark and scary. How's the biz treating you?"

"The same as it was last week. Same as it's going to be next week," he grinds out.

You pat his arm - are you seriously touching him? You barley know him - and flash him that same beaming smile.

"Don't be so pessimistic, handsome. I see lots of booze and parties in your future."

He scoffs. "Yeah. I reckon just about anyone could figure that."

You aren't offended. You just wink at him and disappear, your new friends in tow.

When he finally goes on break, he asks his partner about you.

"Oh, she's sweet, isn't she? Don't think she's been coming here long though."

"Three weeks," he mutters. "She knows your name?"

His partner laughs and tosses her cigarette onto the pavement. "Guess so. Nice of her to ask, don't you think?"

He isn't sure what to think, honestly.

He doesn't see you for two weeks after that. And when you're finally back, he can't help asking you about it.

"Oh, I had work," you say with a shrug. "I'm very flattered that you noticed."

"Hard not to. There wasn't any commotion, so I figured you weren't around."

You giggle and slap his arm, as cheesy as a cheerleader in a slasher movie. Still, it's kind of nice. Girls don't really act that way around him. It's either shy or terrified. Bubbly and a little over the top is a nice change.

He watches you walk away, your skirt just as short as the first time he noticed you.

Damn, doll. You make it hard for a man to focus. Got my mind in the bloody gutter.

It's late when you finally stumble out of the club, your heels in one hand and your phone in the other. You're trying to order an Uber but your cracked and unresponsive screen doesn't mix well with your booze addled senses. He gives it five minutes before he intervenes.

He plucks the phone out of your hand and sighs when you sag against him, half murmured thank yous slurring against his sleeve.

Out past your bedtime, eh love?

"Where do you stay?"

You tell him, your eyes half closed and your forehead resting against his arm.

Telling a stranger your address? C'mon doll, you should know better than that.

He waits with you until your ride arrives, and then he walks you to the car. He takes note of the number plate, only half aware that he's doing it.

He leans on the roof, barring his teeth at the driver in something only half related to a smile.

"Drop her off safe, yeah?"

"Yeah, for sure," the man agrees, nodding like a bobble head. "Wouldn't think of messing with her."

I'll break your wrists if you even look at her wrong.

"Right. Have a good one."

He raps his knuckles on the roof and watches until the tail lights fade.

There's an itch at the back of his brain that he just can't get rid of. Some annoying, rebellious part of him that keeps thinking about how warm you felt when you leaned up against him. How you're just short enough that he can rest his chin on your head.

The itch doesn't go away.

He keeps thinking about you until the weekend rolls around. What the hell do you do for work? It's hard to picture you in corporate - not when he's seen how low your necklines go. Pitching up to meetings and HR presentations when just a few nights ago you were drinking shots off a stranger's back? Not fucking likely.

...Although you would look pretty great in one of those tight little pencil skirts. Yeah, you pert ass would probably have your coworkers breaking their necks.

He doesn't see you in line until it's almost midnight. You look a little out of it. Constantly checking your phone, a half frown puckering your perfectly gelled brows.

He wants to pull you out of line. He really does. Not to give you any fancy VIP treatment - he wouldn't mind it though, he'd like to spoil you a little - but to just talk.

He shakes his head like a bull until the urge isn't quite so loud. Unprofessional, that. Showing favouritism. Not fair to the other people waiting in line. Still...

When he does finally get to talk to you, you aren't yourself. You cover it up with a smile, but even he can tell it's a poor veneer.

"I'm meeting up with my ex," you tell him when he finally gets around to asking. (It takes awhile. Has your ID always been this interesting? Shiny patterns. Nice typeface they're using now. And your birthday is exactly six months after his. Cute).

He doesn't know what to say to that. Isn't sure how he feels about it, either. Why the hell are you meeting some douche who you were one hundred percent right to dump? (He assumes it was you who did the dumping. No man in his right mind would let you go, not even if you're the type to swing a knife around on bad days).

"Good luck," he manages at last. "Hope he isn't an ass."

You squeeze his arm when you leave and he feels the ghost of your fingers for the rest of the night.

Your ex is an ass. All that and more. He can tell from the too heavy cologne, the pretentious boat shoes, the obnoxious laugh.

You're on his arm, smiling but not entirely comfortable. What are you thinking? Entertaining this overly polished turd of a man?

He stops you before you leave. Leans down and brushes his lips against your hair.

"You sure you're okay to go home with this guy?"

You give him a quick nod and a grateful smile.

He straightens, angry but not entirely sure why. He watches you walk away, his right hand clenching and unclenching around his radio until the veins stand out on his forearm.

You could do better than that, doll. You could be doing me.

He ends up finding your ex's name. Entirely on accident, swear. Finger slipped and before he knew it he was watching the CCTV footage of the front door, pausing when the guy's ID got flashed to the camera.

And now that he has that info, it's only logical that he checks him out on social media. You're a valued customer. He needs to be sure that the people you're associating with are safe.

Oh, and this guy isn't safe at all. Party animal, pussy hound. Sure, there's a pic or two of you together, but most of his profile is dedicated to shots of raves and cocktails and pretty girls.

You deserve better, don't you know that? Someone who can keep you safe when you're drunk, who can keep an eye on you when the clubs you like are filled with dark corners and shady drinks.

He's going to ask you out. It's only half decided - most of his brain pulling him one way and most of his cock pulling him the other. His heart split somewhere in the middle.

He's gonna be good for you, he knows it. Get rid of that overblown and overrated ex. Teach you which drinks are hopelessly overpriced and which ones are worth the cash. Not going to change you, no. That's what insecure men try and do when their girl likes to let loose on the weekends. No, he likes you just as you are. You need a bit of muscle to lean on, that's all.

But when the weekend rolls around, all his plans go swirling down the gutter. You're on your ex's arm again. Smiling too quick, laughing too sharp. But with him all the same.

C'mon doll, thought you were smarter than that.

You don't get a chance to chat. Your ex drags you straight into the club, barely waiting to get his ID back.

He wants to trade shifts. Abandon door duty and follow you around inside.

He doesn't. He snaps at the patrons and he bites his tongue bleeding and he clenches his fist until his nails dig into his skin, and he manages to not follow you.

The best decision to make, after all.

Your ex waits until the night is almost over to finally make his move. Or at least that's how it looks.

When he walks out of the club with his arm around your waist, it's clear that you're totally out of it. Barely standing on your own two feet, hair hanging forward and hiding your face.

He stops you. Of course he does. He's seen you tipsy and he's seen you blackout, but he's never seen you this bad.

Your ex tries to brush it off.

"She didn't have any head for the shots, that's all."

He doesn't buy it. Tilts your chin up and shines his torch in your eyes.

There it is. The fucking bastard.

Your pupils are blown out wide, not contracting at all even with his torch burning right into your retinas.

He knows you. Better than he'd like to admit. And he knows you don't party this hard.

He straightens and looks down at your ex with thinly veiled disgust.

"She's not going home with you."

The man laughs. "She's my girlfriend. 'Course she is."

He smiles. Or shows his teeth at least.

"She's. Not. Going. Anywhere."

The man freezes for a second, and then his smile turns nasty. "Who the fuck are you to decide who goes home with who?"

He wants to punch your ex in the throat.

He doesn't. Just looks at him, fingers curling into a fist almost as big as your head. Your ex is drunk, he's not as sharp as he would be sober. But his instincts aren't so dull that they don't recognise what's in front of him.

He's a bouncer, true. But more than that, he's a fighter.

Your ex can see it in the way he stands, can see it in the eyes that move too quick to follow.

And he's not just a fighter. He's a man with a whole lot to fight for.

Your ex licks his lips, too stupid to shut up.

"I'll call the cops on you, asshole."

The bouncer laughs. The first time anyone around here has ever heard it.

It's not a pleasant sound.

"Go ahead," he snarls softly, "Call them. And when they show up, why don't you also tell 'em the reason why your girlfriend is all shot up with special K, hmm?"

"She isn't -

"Don't even try it."

He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you away from your ex. The bastard at least has the sense to not fight him.

Your boyfriend starts going on about calling the club owner, getting him fired. But he doesn't bother listening - it all fades to nothing when he holds you.

There, the way it's 'sposed to be.

You're warm, burning up with a fever. (How hot does your cunt feel if your hands are already scorching?) He needs to get you checked out. Needs to make sure whatever shit your ex snuck you isn't mixing with the alc.

You blink up at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. (Your lipstick would look so fucking good staining his cock).

"Mr tall, dark and scary. Gonna get me home again?"

He nudges you in the direction of the parking lot and you stumble, hands knotting in his shirt.

"Even better, doll. Gonna take you home myself."

You close your eyes the second he straps you into his passenger seat. It takes a minute or two to shake you awake.

He isn't an EMT, but working clubs means knowing all the signs of an overdose. You're on the verge of passing out, but you're not in any real danger. Breathing regular, heartbeat fast but not concerningly so. Lucky. Things could have gone a whole lot worse. As it stands, all you're going to suffer tomorrow is a bit of nausea and one killer headache.

He brushes the hair out of your eyes and smiles when you lean your face into his palm.

"You're totally out of it, aren't you? Won't remember a thing come morning."

You hum quietly, lips brushing his pulse.

"The hell am I 'sposed to do with you? You don't even have your keys on you."

He sighs and closes the passenger door. No help for it - he's going to have to take you to his place. (You, in his bed, where you belong).

You don't complain when the engine guns to life. A little beyond the realm of registering those sorts of things.

And you don't complain when he carries you up to his apartment, your head in the crook of his neck.

He doesn't mean to undress you. He's a lot of things, but not a degenerate. It's just when he finally lays you down on his sheets, it's clear that the straps on your dress are cutting into your. Gonna leave marks that burn in the morning.

Getting you out of your dress is the responsible thing to do. And if it has his cock twitching, well, that's just coincidental.

You're in matching lace underwear.

He fists the blanket until he stops thinking of beating your asshole ex into a dirt.

She was gonna give it to you anyway, you bastard. You didn't have to drug her.

He breathes out through his nose. Once. Twice. Calm down, focus on the here and now. Deal with that bastard later.

There. Much better. And look at you, burrowing down into his pillows. Do you like the smell of him, is that what this is?

He undoes your bra and tosses it over his shoulder to join your dress and heels.

Didn't he once hear that it's unhealthy to sleep with a bra on? Increases the risk of cancer or something. Yeah, that's why he took it off. For the sake of your health.

He watches you for a while. The steady rise and fall of your chest, the flickering behind your eyelids as you start to dream.

He should take a picture or two. It would be a shame not to. And what you don't know can't hurt you, right? All pretty in his bed. God knows the girls he brings home never get the chance to sleep. This is a rare thing, worth documenting.

The flash doesn't bother you. Maybe a few more. Just to make sure they're good quality. Don't want to look back tomorrow and realise the pics are all blurry.

Just a few more. Maybe a video.

You look good, but you'd look even better without your panties in the way. They ruin the view.

He hooks his thumb under the band and slips them off, his fingers almost brushing your cunt.

There. So much better.

He swallows and puts his phone down, some part of him screaming at him for being a bastard. Another part screaming at him for not being a big enough bastard to take what he wants.

"You're too sweet to end up in a stranger's bed, doll. Getting fucked when you're too out of it to remember."

The streetlight outside his window washes you in alternating stripes of dark and light. He leans down and runs a hand up your thigh. Soft skin, like a peach right before you sink your teeth in.

"So it's a good thing we're not strangers."

[iamasaddie]

YOUNG, GREEN AND STUPID

Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: after spending the night at Joel's your walk of shame is darkened with a hangover and anxiety. As you try to reconstruct the events of last night in your head, you realize that despite feeling uneasy, you can't say no to Joel. warnings: darkfic, manipulation, self-gaslighting, age gap [Joel is 61, don't read it and don't @ me about it if it's not your thing, just leave], switching POVs, explicit sexual content. Some tags are not added to avoid spoilers. reader description: afab she/her, has hair long enough to be pulled; has boobs and ass; reader mid to late 20s-30s. word count: 3,8k

a/n: thank you to the freaks who support me and this fic, i'm kissing y'all. i appreciate all the asks and comments and reblogs, they motivate the fuck out of me. giant thanks to the one and only @arcanefox207 , if not for her i'd smash my laptop against the wall. Ally you are my blessing of a beta and a friend <3 READ ON AO3

MASTERLIST | part 1 | part 3

The crushing weight of someone’s body around you made you feel trapped. Your back was covered in sweat, sleek where it pressed against your last night’s date. You wiggled, your head pounding in an unforgiving manner. Slowly, you opened your eyes and tried to fight the pain from the light punching you square in your face. 

With bleary eyes you took in your surroundings, at least as much as you could make out. The room welcomed you with dark pastel colors. It looked tidy, but stuck somewhere in the 80s. Dark blue walls were scarcely decorated by a painting of a lone cowboy in the middle of nowhere and a wooden plaque of the Texas state map. A shred of sunlight that bothered your pulsing eyes crept through the curtains that the house owner had forgotten to fully draw last night. You couldn’t make out the color as staring directly at the light made your headache worse. 

Hardwood wardrobe matched the bedframe and the table, and by the look of you realized that even the furniture in this house could be older than you. Simple cotton bed sheets soaked in your warmth, it felt overwhelming and too hot to enjoy, so you tried to get out of your date’s embrace. 

Without looking at him too much, you cautiously threw off the duvet cover, finding yourself fully naked underneath. You couldn’t remember when you undressed. The last thing you could dig out of your foggy mind was falling asleep on the man’s chest, with your dress still hugging your body. You dared to peek underneath, just to be met with your suspicion. Joel was as naked as you. 

Was there anything else you didn’t remember?

Anxiety started prickling at your heart, unease settling in. Gently, you grabbed the hand that was still laying heavy on your stomach and placed it on the bed. You held your breath, listening to the man next to you, but he didn’t budge. You slid out of bed, your bare feet met with a soft worn out rug. Before standing up, you give Joel one look over your shoulder. As if feeling your gaze, he shifted in his bed, turning to lay on his back. 

Your nakedness felt very apparent, and you brought your hands to cover your breasts, like someone could see you. You looked around, in search of your clothes, planning to find it on the floor or wherever else you could throw it in the state of bliss and inebriation. 

To your surprise, you found the skimpy outfit gently folded and placed on the table in the corner of the room, Joel’s clothes laying in a neat pile just next to yours. Something similar to a smile tugged at the corner of your lips, but you quickly regained your composure. The fact that your clothes were taken care of didn’t cancel the fact that you didn’t remember how you lost it in the first place.

You unfolded the dress, sighing over the walk of shame you were going to face. The material felt unpleasant against your skin that was still sticky with sweat and potentially some other fluids. 

Once you pulled the dress on, you finally dared to look at the man in the bed again. Somewhere between your attempts to remember the night and redressing, his tossing made the duvet slip lower, and now he was laying there in almost all his naked glory. A beam of sun that peeked through the heavy curtains tickled his weathered, tanned skin with its warmth. You couldn’t deny it, the man was gorgeous with or without alcohol in your system. Him laying on his back let you see his face more clearly: it was ridden of any emotion, peaceful dream ironing the deepest of his wrinkles. His broad chest that was sprinkled with freckles and sun spots kept raising and falling slowly. One of his hands was resting on his lower belly, hiding a patch of almost fully gray happy trail from you. 

Your eyes slid lower, tracing the same pattern your tongue did less than twelve hours ago, if your foggy memories were correct. His cock laid soft against his hairy upper thigh, no less intimidating in girth, though shorter in length. Your mouth watered against your will as you tried to recall what it felt like to have him in your mouth. Gently, your pussy throbbed, bringing fire to your core. Joel’s legs were spread a little, and if you stood right in front of him, you’d see a pair of massive balls that you lathered in your attention and saliva last night. Heat crept to your cheeks and you shook your head trying to force the unwanted desire out of your body. You tiptoed towards the door, keeping your eyes on him and praying that his door doesn’t squeak. Just as you tugged at the doorknob, his left thigh jerked, and Joel brought his hand to rub his closed eyes. 

The loud bang of his front door forced Joel to finally open his eyes. He heard you rummaging around his room, trying to be a quiet little mouse, but for his old age he still had pretty decent senses. Well, hearing, at least. He didn’t budge, not exactly pretending to be asleep yet also not giving you any reason to think otherwise. His body pleasantly ached from sleeping on his side, cocooning you with his body. 

Now that you were gone, he stretched his arms wide and flexed the fingers on his bad hand. It’s been a year too long since he had a pretty young thing like you warming his sheets. The sweet scent of your sweat clung to the pillowcase and he wanted to bury his face in it as he lazily jerked himself to the memories of your cunt exploding on his tongue. 

Your pretty young body tasted divine. He licked his lips hoping to taste the remnants of your cum from his mustache. There was something so addictive about having a girl more than half his age writhe and moan for him, beg so prettily. All of them were the same, so desperate for real attention, for someone who knew how to give them what they didn’t even know they wanted. 

Joel’s cock throbbed in his hand and he brought his palm to his face to spit at it again. You were so wet on his tongue, a fountain of youth no less. So fertile, so easy. His balls were heavy with unspilled cum, he knew it wasn’t long before he burst into your pretty little cunt, and then your ass, too. It took him only a couple of hours to have you gulping him down. Yes, he had to turn to the assistance of trusty powder he kept in his drawer this first time. But judging by the hunger you had in your eyes as you climbed off his face some time later, studying his face shiny with your cum, he wouldn’t need that anymore. You’d end up craving him as much as he craved you from the moment he set his eyes on you.

He squeezed his shaft tighter, his movements more deliberate as his thumb teased the tip and smeared the pearly precum. He didn’t doubt that he already had crept under your skin, the eyes you gave him yesterday with your mouth full of his balls was one of a person hooked. He’d seen it before enough times to know you’d be back. He just needed to be patient now, and if there was something his years made him good at, it was waiting.

Joel gave himself a final jerk, exploding over his knuckles with a deep grunt.

A bunch of keys rattled loudly when you dropped it into a ceramic plate on a table in the hallway of your small apartment. You cursed gruffly, squeezing your eyes shut at the harsh sound. You kicked off your shoes on the way to the bathroom, and with a tired sigh, you pulled off your dress.

“Damn, what the--?” In a hurry, you forgot your panties at Joel's. If this was a regular date, you might have intentionally left an intimate piece of clothing, but with Joel, you couldn’t even... hell, you couldn't even remember if your panties were on that table with your dress.

Your head was still pounding, even taking a taxi with your head out the window didn't help much.

You kept replaying last night in your head, trying to fill in the blanks. You didn’t think you drank more than a bottle; plus, Joel shared it with you, so what the hell happened? He was definitely pouring the slightly bitter-tasting liquid from the bottle that you handed him, you saw the label. You remembered how he walked into the kitchen with an opened wine in one hand and a corkscrew in the other. Surely he couldn't...?

No, that was crazy talk. It was high time for you to stop listening to your serial killer podcasts. After all, he didn't do anything to you that you hadn’t asked for, that you hadn’t begged for. Especially since now you were in your own apartment, and not tied to a radiator in his basement.

You pulled the faucet handle, the warm water was filling your tub quickly. To make it better, you poured a handful of lavender-scented salt, the soft odor seeped into your lungs and gently calmed you down.

Slowly, you sank into the water, it enveloped you like a hot blanket, making you moan with pleasure. You allowed yourself to close your eyes, leaning your head against the back of the bath tub.

The recollection of your arrival to his house was clear as day; he was friendly and so, so gallant. None of Joel’s actions made you feel uncomfortable or unsettled. He was attentive, his gaze followed your every move, and even the memory of his brown eyes made your skin boil with an inexplicable feeling of desire.

The way he shot glances in the direction of your boobs made your heart beat wildly in your chest. He was trying to hide how much he wanted you, it was adorable and sexy at the same time. He wanted you more than any of your previous lovers seemed to. Maybe that was the reason why you didn't want to leave. The thing that pulled you into his living room and then pushed you to fall between his legs.

No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't remember exactly how you got there. You just remembered the taste of his salt, the low vibrations of his moans, and the insatiable desire to have more. 

Damn, you felt your pussy purr. Joel had some strange effect on your body, manipulating your mind even in his absence. Summoning all your willpower, you continued your journey through your memories, but the further you went, the more hazy they became.

Only your body remembered something, and that something was pleasure. His hot tongue exploring the folds of your pussy; his curved nose teasing your clit with every greedy movement. His bestial growl when you poured the sweetness of your orgasm into his thirsty mouth. 

And then darkness.

[Joel M.]: Hey, sweetheart, did you get home safe? [Joel M.]: I am not counting that yesterday was something you’d want to repeat, I just want to know you’re alright.

You jerked up from a dreamless nap and blindly found your phone under the pillow. Blinking the sleep out of your eye, you looked at the messages on your screen, doubt about opening them creeped inside you when you saw the sender. The little picture next to Joel’s name still showed you the dream man you went to meet yesterday. A man who turned out to be a lie, kind of. Thoughts of Joel confused you, on one hand he was an accidental liar, and on the other he was one of the best orgasms you’d ever had. An orgasm that still sent tingles down your pussy and made your hand go south. 

Hoping that the attraction your body felt to him was the result of your drinking, and then your hangover. You sighed as the memory of his cock sliding down your throat and the phantom touch of his tongue tracing your wet folds made you weep for him in a way you didn’t think your body could. Rationally, you still tried to fight your carnal interest in a man in his grandpa years, but your hand slowly trekked to your pussy that was filling with warmth and slickness.

You tapped the message open and typed your reply with one hand.

[You]: Hey, Joel, yeah, I’m good :) And I had a very good time yesterday.

Your text was read immediately, and you felt a pang of guilt that you made him sit and stare at his phone waiting for your reply while you were tracing the lips of your pussy and thinking about him in the most indecent way.

[Joel M.]: Well my evening certainly beats yours, I had this beautiful lady come over, she was so intelligent and beautiful, I thought I’d been dreaming the whole night.

A smile spread across your lips as you grinned at the screen. Something warm bloomed in your heart that made it difficult to stay indifferent. 

[You]: Is that all you can say about her? [Joel M.]: I don’t think other things would be appropriate to share, darlin

The buzz of your need that you tried to suffocate since you got out of your bath returned to your body with doubled vigor.

[You]: I promise I won’t tell

Your heart began to pound harder, the vibrations of excited beats bouncing off your ribs in the rhythm of the three dots that flashed at the bottom of the screen. You bit your lip, tearing at the delicate skin in an attempt to calm the swarm of thoughts that were constantly buzzing, trapped in your skull. 

You were driven by greed, by the selfish need to experience again what thrilled you yesterday. It was inexplicable, as if two basic instincts were fighting for control over you, and desire won out, pushing self-preservation into a distant dark corner of your mind.

[Joel M.]: In that case, she was the sexiest little thing I’ve seen my whole life. She had this gorgeous skin tight dress on, looked delicious in it, I think I started salivating the moment I saw her. And I was lucky enough to taste her later and let me tell you, just the memory of her sweet pussy on my face makes me hard.

You reread the message three times, feeling a drop of arousal leaving your hole and sliding down to the crack of your ass. With one finger you swiped it up and brought it to your clit, not playing with it but gently teasing around, soft moans sticking to your throat as you refuse to let them out.

[You]: does it really? [Joel M.]: You want proof? [You]: yeah

[image attached]

You had ripped your hand from your pussy, opening the photo and adjusting the brightness. It was the most stereotypical dick pic ever sent, but you couldn’t care less when you saw it. 

“Fucking hell.” You whined out loud. Joel’s cock, hard and standing proud, looked massive even in his bear paw of a hand. Its head was deep pink, the drop of precum on his angry slit catching the light of the lamp lit room. He didn’t lie a word, he looked painfully aroused and it worked like your personal siren’s song. 

You licked your dry lips, hoping you’d be able to taste him again, to have his fat head stretching your lips with no regard to your comfort. Pushing you just enough without breaking. For a second, you felt like you could smell his musk, your mind playing tricks on you. 

His message beeped, jerking you out of your haze. 

[Joel M.]: Been dreaming her juicy little cunt all day today, could barely get any shit done. Shoulda let her feel my cock yesterday. [You]: Do you regret it? [Joel M.]: I regret that I couldn’t see her pretty face in the morning, wake her up by licking her pussy, fucking her with my fingers before she spills on my tongue. [You]: Fuck, I bet she’d like that. I bet you made her feel so good last night. Bet it was one of the best orgasms of her life and she’s touching herself right now thinking about it. [Joel M.]: Does she? [You]: yeah, she does. 

Forgetting to overthink your every decision, you bring your camera to your naked pussy, making sure that your face is not visible. You tapped the red button and looked at the screen, fascinated by the way your own pussy looks this close. You dragged your index finger to your slit, parting your lips, and then shamelessly demonstrated a string of arousal that stuck to your digit.

[video attached]

[Joel M.]: God, just look at this pussy, so sweet and wet, just begging for some attention. [Joel M.]: Needs someone who knows how to take care of her. [You]: will you? [Joel M.]: You know it. Now do as I say, sweetheart, and touch that pretty clit. Slowly, no need to rush. 

A part of you was relieved that he didn’t freak out about sexting, who knew if the man was even familiar with the concept, but he was definitely a natural. Once again, you captured your pussy and obedience, as you took another short video following his simple command.

[video attached]

[You]: like that? [Joel M.]: Fuck, honey, yeah, just like that. Look at her, gushing already, asking to fill her up so polite. Why don’t you use your fingers to make her feel better, hm? Use two fingers.

It felt good, it always did, you knew how to take care of yourself, you knew how to make yourself writhe and moan. But after him, it was like something was missing. He didn’t even fuck you properly and you felt empty, not enough. You started pushing your fingers inside with more anger and disappointment, unable to fill that weird hollow space that he carved inside you after one drunken night. 

[image attached]

[You]: feels so good, joel, but it’s not enough, fuck need something bigger [Joel M.]: I know what you need, darlin, you need my big fucking cock fucking you dumb. I know that’s right. Dying to fuck an old man, ready to beg for it, ain’t ya? [You]: yes 

You should have been ashamed of yourself, but in reality you didn’t give a crap. In that moment he was giving you something you wouldn’t dare take, and he made you feel good about it. You wished you could hear his raspy voice kissed by South spilling filth in your ear. 

[Joel M.]: Such a good girl, so responsive, so needy, can’t wait to fuck you properly. Add a finger, sweetheart. Not gonna match my cock, I know, for that you’d need to shove your whole fist inside, but I want you tight and crying when I fuck you.

Blinded by the haze of your pleasure, you followed every command, his message replaying in your head over and over, overstimulating your mind. The stretch didn’t burn, it felt good, welcomed, and you tried to curl your fingers to reach the spot that’d break you. You threw your phone on the bed, bringing your other hand to play with your nipples as the heel of your palm rubbed your clit.

“Fuck, fuck, Joel,” you chanted. Your ears rang as your body convulsed in pleasure with the man’s name on your lips.

Your phone rang and you were surprised to see Joel’s request to facetime you. With a shaky finger you swiped to accept the call, leaving a smear of your cum on your screen.

“Judging by your face, that felt good?” His face was poorly lit, but you still saw a smile. 

“Yeah, good is one word,” you admitted, biting your lip. Your lower belly still trembled in the post orgasmic bliss.

“Show me, I think I deserved that, hm?” 

You hesitated for a moment, but spread your legs and angled your camera at your sleek, puffy pussy. Joel grunted, air leaving his lungs with a whistle. 

“Spread those lips, baby, I need to see you pretty hole twitchin’, need to see her winking at me.” It was gross, and weird, yet you did exactly what he asked. Your pussy was sensitive, and you whined as you spread yourself for him.

For a moment there was only silence and wet sounds of him jerking his cock to the sight of your abused pussy. You didn’t dare move. didn’t dare look at the screen even though another spark started burning deep inside you. 

“Fuck, good girl, good fuckin’- good pussy.” Joel’s voice shifted into growling, panting as he came all over his fist. It was your cue to bring the phone back to your face, he was already smiling at you from the other side. 

“So,” his breathing was mostly even, but the sweat glistening on his forehead was a telltale sign of the recent physical exercises. “Whatcha doin’ this Sunday?” 

You closed your eyes, shaking your head in disbelief. 

“After this? Going to church.” 

“No, don’t do that, sweetheart,” Joel chuckled. You opened one eye, noticing how intently he was watching you, his eyes studying every bit of your face for crumbs of reaction, cracks in your freshly-built facade. “We don’t want you to burn alive, do we? How about you visit me?” 

“Pretty sure that’s what Satan said to Eve.” You brought yourself back into the darkness, your heart still pounding as if you’d ran a marathon. All of this wasn’t good, it was wrong but you couldn’t pinpoint the exact problem. He was seeping under your skin, and if you wanted to get rid of him, you’d have to flay yourself alive. Not a bright prospect by any means.

He was looking at you from the other side of the screen, his brown eyes piercing, but he didn’t push you. The words fell from your lips on your own accord.

“I can come by around 8, but this time I’m bringing food.”

Joel smiled, and nodded in agreement. Thick thumb rubbed his plush lower lip, like he was trying to remember something.

“Can’t wait to have a taste.”

You shook your head, a chuckle stuck in your throat. Without saying goodbye you disconnected from the call and dropped the phone on the pillow next to you. Your skin was sticky with sweat, a cold breeze from the opened window teased your flesh, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Pleasant exhaustion and abysmal unease dragged your mind in two different directions keeping your body on the edge of sleep but not letting you fall.

Your bed felt too lumpy, wrinkles of your rumpled sheets digging into your skin. Tossing and turning until early morning, you couldn’t shake the creeping anxiety over your decision.

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[corinthianism]

SOMETHIN' STUPID || VIKTOR

pairing: viktor (arcane)/fem!reader additional tags: viktor's pov, viktor is a certified yearner, maybe ooc, unrequited love that's actually requited, no physical descriptions for reader other than having dainty fingers and being shorter than viktor, hopefully correct use of czech pet names, barely proofread synopsis: the ever-brilliant viktor finds himself drowning in feelings for his colleague, so what does he do? bury them, of course.... until he learns that love is not something you can just ignore.

author's note: hello everyone! it's been a long, long while since i've written anything so i thought i would try and see if the ol' writing machine (aka my brain) still works lol. this is more of a blurb than anything so please go easy on me. also trying out something new by writing in present tense (lmk if it flows well!) viktor might be a little ooc but i'm still trying to fully understand him. hopefully my characterization of him in future fics (if any) will be more faithful to the viktor you're all familiar with. anyways, enjoy 2k words of viktor yearning like CRAZY 🫶🏼

Viktor doesn’t know how much more of this he can take. How many more times would your eyes meet from across the room at one of those parties he never really wanted to attend in the first place? How many more times would your fingers brush in the early morning, when he accepts the steaming sweetmilk that you so kindly got for him? How many more times would your laughter intermingle softly late into the night, when exhaustion took over and your writing started to look more like chicken scratch rather than letters?

He might just go insane.

How was it possible to want someone this much? Maybe he’s experienced something like this before, in tiny amounts, for people he hasn’t thought about in years. Deep down, he knows that even if he added all of those fleeting romances together, it would still only be a fraction of what he feels now. For you.

He can’t pinpoint that exact moment in time when everything changed. There were definitely a few of those moments that stood out more than others, but none of those instances were the catalyst for whatever this is. But they certainly don’t help his case.

A few words of encouragement.

A book recommendation.

A smile— so soft, so intimate, he briefly allows himself to believe that it was meant just for him. Something precious for him to keep, to be his and his alone.

In the dim light of the lab, he finds you asleep on your desk. The humming glow of the hex crystals leaves you blanketed in a gentle blue. He’s heard tales of this before, from when he bothered to listen to such things. It would happen just like this, they said: his heart would beat so fast, it threatened to leave his chest entirely. His skin would burn with something unmistakable, a feeling that left one in a state of simultaneous confusion and clarity.

He feels it all now and he finds it polarizing. It’s too much and not enough. He chases and runs away from it at the same time. A part of him wants it to stop, to go away and leave him forever for the sake of ending this game he’s painfully losing… but a greater part of him hopes that it will grow and grow to the point where maybe you’ll notice and do something about it. His palms get a little sweaty just thinking about making the first move. Symptoms of a lovesick fool.

The soft sound of your breathing quiets the pounding of his heart, prevents the wretched feelings from overflowing and spilling everywhere. Even if it was just for tonight. Tonight, he keeps his lips sealed, fights to keep himself from reaching for you. It would be unbecoming of him.

His eyes land on you again, observing how your head rested on your arms. Understanding hits him then, why you’re so bothered by seeing him stay at the lab so late that he ends up falling asleep. That position couldn’t have been comfortable. Of course, he knew that from experience, but it’s your comfort he’s thinking about right now. He wonders if this is what you felt whenever you woke him up and implored him to go home.

Surely not.

No, he can’t wrap his head around you possibly viewing that act the same way he does. Not when he wants to bottle this moment, wants to capture the preciousness of seeing you like this. It just can’t be the same.

So can you really blame him if when he finally rests a hand on your shoulder to wake you gently, he lets it linger there for just a little longer? An infinitesimal piece of time that he claims for himself. He never thought himself to be the sentimental type, but he cherishes it all: he cherishes the way you blink slowly as you returned to the waking world, and your tired murmur of his name that makes his chest tighten.

It’s just a wisp of a moment, never really tangible enough for him to hold in his hands, but he cherishes it all the same. It’s burned in his memory, in his very being, the same way everything else about you is. Every piece of you that you so generously gifted him.

“You should go home, darling.”

The word slips past his lips before he could even think about it. But he allows himself this one indulgence. He can’t help it. He’s always been a bit greedy.

“What time is it?” you ask.

“Far too late for you to be here,” he answers.

You huff out a breath of a laugh, “That’s rich coming from you.”

He finds himself smiling. How does someone manage to be so endlessly endearing without even trying?

It takes an embarrassing amount of effort for him to pull back his hand from your shoulder. Had you been more awake and had the room been brighter, he might’ve schooled his expression into something more neutral. Something to hide the unbridled adoration in his eyes. He doesn’t do that now. With the shield of darkness to protect him, he lets the mask come off. He lets his affection for you wash over him in waves. It would’ve been liberating, if it wasn’t for the tiny detail that that affection was unrequited.

Still, he says your name with utmost care. “You must go home and rest.”

To his surprise, you listen. You mumble a tired "okay” and gather your belongings, slipping on your coat. “You should go home, too, Vik.”

“I will. Soon. I just need to finish a few things.”

Your face twists into a frown, “No, you’ll do that tomorrow.” Before he can interject, you speak up again, “Just… come with me? It’s late and I don’t want to walk home alone.”

His brain refuses to reconcile with what his eyes see: the trepidation written all over your features, the way you clutch the lapel of your coat just a little tighter. He knows it’s a trap, you just want to get him out of the lab but how could he possibly reject the promise of a few more minutes with you? The chance to pretend, even if it’s just for those precious few minutes, that he was taking you home as someone more than a colleague? More than a friend? Only a fool would say no to you. Or perhaps he was a fool either way. He really must be going insane.

He says yes almost instantly.

It’s cold in Piltover tonight. It makes his bad leg ache more than it already does, and so his strides are a bit more careful. He doesn’t say anything about how you also slow down to match his pace but he appreciates your considerate gesture nonetheless.

The moon hangs in the sky big and bright, making everything around you seem softer. It’s picturesque. Almost romantic. He tries his best not to entertain that thought for much longer. Instead, he focuses on what you say to him so he could ignore the traitorous thoughts his mind conjures up and the way his knees were protesting because of the cold.

Conversation with you is easy— terrifyingly so. It was one of the first things he noticed about you when you first met.

Early on in the process of finding sponsors and securing funding, him and Jayce quickly realized that they needed help. Yes, Jayce is a friend of the Kiramman family. Yes, Viktor is Heimerdinger’s protégé, but they’re academics. At the end of the day, Jayce’s warm personality could only do so much when he was still greatly inexperienced with navigating these more political spaces and for all of his experience and perceptiveness, Viktor knows he’s no good at sweet-talking sponsors, either.

Enter, you.

Caitlyn Kiramman was the one to recommend you, her former tutor. Jayce was quick to back her up, remembering that you were also Academy alumni; a particularly strategic businesswoman. Viktor was hesitant at first, knowing that a third party could complicate things. Hextech was born out of the dream to help people. He worried that bringing business and politics (even though he knew it was necessary) into the mix would warp Hextech into something it wasn’t. Jayce convinced him to take a gamble, and it seemed that the potential of Hextech was enough to bring you back to Piltover from your travels across Runeterra.

It took him a while to warm up to you. You weren’t nobility, but most definitely well-off. Even more so after your years as a business consultant to organizations all over the continent. He respected you, sure, but Viktor had a hard time trusting someone who was so… privileged. How could you possibly understand how important it was that Hextech remained a beacon of hope for the less fortunate? Perhaps it was naive of him to think that way, as much as he hated to admit it.

But true to your reputation, you delivered exactly what they needed. You bridged the gap between Viktor and Jayce’s hopes for Hextech and the support they needed from sponsors, protecting them and their inventions from being taken advantage of.

Suffice to say, you earned his admiration.

Never in a million years would Viktor imagine that you would captivate his entire being, too.

It was daunting. Scary, really. Especially now that he’s beginning to understand the full extent of his affections. Years and years of burying that softness from his youth deep beneath the armor of his intellect— all that hard work diminished by a pretty girl. Gods, he really is just a man. Not even that. With you, he feels like a highschooler with a crush. It’s painful. Downright humiliating. But he wouldn’t trade it for anything. Not when you link your arm around his, laughing at something he said. Was he really that funny? Probably not. He’s just happy to make you laugh.

“You don’t have to be nice about it. Salo is a grade-A asshole,” you grinned. “We both know it. If I have to spend another dinner with him present I might actually stab a fork in my eyes.”

He smiles, “Ah, but that wouldn’t save you from his incessant chatter.”

“I’ll stab the fork into my ears too."

“I might just follow after you,” he hums, “you’ll have to check if it works first, though.”

Your friendship blossomed when your visits to the lab became less for work and more for leisure. You wanted to visit, wanted to learn more about what he and Jayce were working on and why. Everything after that was just dominoes. You, with all your fiery passion and sharp wit, have become a permanent fixture in his life and now? He could hardly imagine life without you in it. You're one of his dearest friends and, much to his dismay, that makes his current predicament even more challenging than it already is.

Before he knew it, the two of you were standing in front of your apartment building— one of the most luxurious in Piltover. He could only imagine how much it cost, though he knew for certain that your penthouse probably barely made a dent in your wealth. He’s gotten somewhat used to your differing lifestyles, but he’s never completely able to not marvel at it. A gust of wind kissed his skin once more as he turned to look at you.

“This is me,” you say, gloved hands in your pocket and your lovely, lovely face framed by your hair and ruby red scarf. He recognizes it as the gift he gave you a year ago now. A spur-of-the-moment purchase on one of the rare occasions he was actually outside Academy grounds. He remembers thinking that the color would look nice on you. He was right. He finds himself holding onto the seconds before he has to go. “Thank you for walking me home, Viktor.”

“Of course,” he nods but the calmness of his voice don’t match the way his eyes bore into yours. “It’s only proper.”

“Proper?”

“Yes. Proper. I am a gentleman, after all.”

His accent comes out thicker, emphasizing the words more than he means to.

“I didn’t take you for someone who cared much about propriety,” you tease.

“Is it because I’m from the undercity?” he deadpans and he relishes in the look of horror on your face that replaces your grin.

“What? No!” you exclaim, smacking his arm when you realize he’s just joking. “You. Are. Impossible.”

A laugh bubbles out of his chest, “Oh, that’s cruel. You would hit a defenseless man? How heartless.”

“Shut up. That cane of yours is a weapon of war. Don’t think I haven’t seen you smack Jayce with it.”

“If I hit him with it, he probably deserved it.”

“Poor Jayce,” you laugh as well. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

Viktor smiles.

“I do not think you could even if you tried, lásko."

He freezes and so do you. The laughter—the music—that you shared for the briefest of moments was thoroughly snuffed out, leaving you both in a silence that threatens to swallow him whole. He didn’t mean to do that. He didn’t mean to speak so gently, but there is not a part of Viktor that could withhold this sincerity from you. Specks of the truth, of the confession he’s barely managed to wrangle into submission and lock away somewhere dark and unreachable.

He pulls back on instinct. He’s shown too much, said too much. You don’t move. He is petrified.

Your eyes widen and he sees his reflection in them, staring back at him. This is it, he thinks. He’s crossed the line and he’ll have to deal with the crushing blow of your rejection.

You manage to compose yourself and what you say next is… well, unexpected. Your tone is light, clearing the air and allowing him to breathe again.

“Do you say that to every woman or am I a special case? I’d hate to be part of a roster.”

He’s taken aback, but he feels a weight lifted off his shoulders. You are a miracle in his eyes. Washing away his worries with a kind smile and a few choice words. He laughs again and this time, he doesn’t stop himself from speaking the truth. It’s now or never.

“Surely you know by now that you are singular,” he whispers, his accent a pleasant drawl in your ears. He takes a step forward. It is gravity that pulls him in, not the Earth’s, but yours. A force that he can’t help but be drawn to. Not that he would ever dare to resist it now that his fear has shrunk down to something a little less debilitating.

His face is inches from yours. You don’t move. He gets a little braver.

“I do not appreciate your implication that I would pay attention to anyone else,” his voice is low, honest. “As if anyone could compare to you. As if you don’t hold my very being in the palm of your hand. Miláčku, I adore you. Don’t you know that?”

There is a hint of pleading in his tone, begging you to understand the full scope of his feelings from those few words so that he wouldn’t unravel before you, a bundle of nerves and petals the same shade as your scarf.

“Say something. Please,” his fear rears its ugly head once more. “Say the word and we’ll pretend this never happened. I will remain your colleague and nothing more. A friend, if you would allow it.”

“What if I don’t want that?” you ask, your own voice a little shaky with uncertainty. Maybe it was also fear. That, he’s not quite sure.

Viktor doesn’t fully trust what he’s hearing, thinks it to be a figment of his deluded imagination, but his heart is screaming at him now to push forward.

“What is it you want, lásko? Tell me and it shall be yours.”

You're almost breathless when you finally respond, “You. I want you."

The world stills. Time itself screeches to a halt. There is only you and him, together in this moment that he knows will be woven into the threads of his soul. He has never known euphoria quite like this. He can’t name it yet, doesn’t know if this is love. He can only hope that it will be.

When he looks into your eyes again, he does not see his own terrified reflection. He just sees you. And the sheer intensity of your gaze that rivals his own. Have you always looked at him that way? Was he just too blind to see it?

“Do you mean that?” he finds himself asking. He has to— has to make sure that this is real.

You smile again, dainty fingers intertwining with his. It is a gentle smile, a hopeful smile that answers his question before you even open your mouth.

“I do,” your voice is so gentle and yet it squeezes his heart. “I’m yours, Viktor, if you’ll have me.”

He brings your knuckles to his lips, places a reverent kiss on them like you’ve given him the world. In a way, that’s exactly what you did. Maybe his lips were always meant to be on your skin, worshipping you like the goddess you are. It feels too natural for it to mean anything else.

And for the first time in a long time, he allows himself to hope.

“I would love nothing more.”

[sttoru]

‘satoru hates arguments. even more so when your conflicts cause your baby daughter to be upset as well.’

☀︎｜tags. (girl) dad!gojo satoru x female reader. fluff, angst, comfort. mention of arguments between parents. comfort & happy ending, though!

satoru hates having arguments with you. he hates it whenever an argument turns into the silent treatment. he apologises and apologises — yet nothing helps to change your mood sometimes.

ever since you got married and had your daughter, you were a bit more sensitive to the smallest of things than usual. it wasn’t like satoru despised you for it; in fact, he understands that motherhood was and is stressful. that man was nothing but supportive to you.

though, your little arguments were indirectly having an impact on the mental state of your baby. you didn’t even know an one year old could sense the tension between her parents.

“mama, mama!” your daughter appears out of nowhere, waddling over to you standing in the kitchen. she had barely just learnt how to walk. her tiny hand reaches for yours and she points at the doorway with her other, “go, mama, go.”

you curiously let your little girl lead you towards where she was pointing at, only to arrive at the living room. satoru was sitting on the couch, idly staring at the ceiling, other hand fiddling with one of your daughter’s toys. he seemed deep in thought. even exhausted and clearly not his playful self.

“mama, go! mama go papa.”

satoru’s head turns to the side at the cute sound of his favourite little girl. he smiles brightly at her return to the living room, only for his smile to fade just for a second at the sight of you next to her. he isn’t mad at you—more like sad that you still seemed upset with him.

your daughter tugs at your index finger. she apparently wants you to go to her dad—wants you to interact or talk with him. her big eyes were staring up at you with a pleading look in them.

you were in a dilemma. of course, you wanted to put your daughter’s mind at ease. you could just fake interact with satoru—or actually just make it up—but there was still a small part of you that needed time alone. you weren’t yet mentally ready for another confrontation. you needed time to think it out.

however, part of you also knows that your earlier argument was kind of silly. you don’t even fully remember what it was about, that’s how irrelevant it was to your brain.

“c’mon, pumpkin. ‘tis not nice for you to bother mama while she’s cooking.” satoru’s soft voice startles you back to reality. he had already gotten up and crouched down to pick your daughter up in his arms, kissing her chubby cheeks to distract her; “mama’s busy, ‘kay? let’s go play with papa.”

even satoru knew that your argument had caused your little girl to feel some kind of stress. she didn’t fully comprehend the situation, though she was clearly uncomfortable by the fact that her parents were not acting nice and lovey dovey like they usually would.

“no, papa. mama!” the baby whines and points at you and then at satoru, her little legs kicking. it absolutely broke satoru’s heart — shattered it into pieces. oh, how he wishes to never fight with you again. the sight of his little bundle of joy trying to mend things between you two with all she could was simply too much.

satoru looks down at you and notices the way you look at your one year old as well. the same way he did; with guilt and sadness. he sighs softly and without further thought, wraps his free arm around your shoulders and brings you close to his body.

“c’mere,” satoru murmurs as he holds both your daughter and you to his chest, “let me hold my two girls, yeah? may i, sweetheart? please.”

your husband asks for your consent. if you were okay with this—even when he needs it desperately, to hold you again in his arms and to make it right to you—your comfort comes first. if you weren’t ready yet to make up, he’d let you go. even if it’d hurt him immensely.

you don’t answer with your words and instead let your actions do the talking. you wrap one arm around satoru’s torso, the other cradling your daughter closer to both you and him.

it was like nothing mattered anymore in that moment, except for your little family. your worries, stress and anxiety about everything and anything had vanished into thin air as you felt the embrace of the two people you held dear.

your daughter finally giggles—a sound satoru and you had greatly missed. you close your eyes and just rest against your husband’s body.

“mama papa, wuv!” the little girl squeals in happiness as she excitedly babbles on, causing both satoru and you to laugh as well. the white-haired sorcerer leaves a big peck on the baby’s forehead before doing the same to you.

“mhm, papa loves mama veeery much.” satoru hums and kisses your forehead again, solely because he missed being affectionate to you, “papa loves his sweet little angel too.”

you can’t help but chuckle along with your one year old—who seemed to be extremely content in her parents’ loving embrace again. this is how it always should be.

“mama also loves papa very much.” you reply, causing your husband to regain his usual big grin. he finally got what he longed for; to have you look and talk to him with love. your silence may have lasted only a few hours, but it felt like it had been a couple cruel months to the sorcerer.

your eyes meet his again and all was well. you smile at him and he smiles back before leaning in to kiss you gently on the lips. satoru’s arm that was draped over your shoulder moves down to curl around your lower back, pulling you as close to him as your bodies would allow.

he pulls back after a few seconds and just lovingly stares at your face again—eyes holding an affection only you had ever been able to witness. your eyes told the same story; nothing could separate you two. ever.

“waaaaah! mama papa, me, me!”

the romantic air between you two suddenly gets interrupted by your daughter’s excited demands. she was demanding kisses as well, puffing her cheeks up as she got ready for it.

“ohh? seems like our angel wants some kisses too.” satoru laughs and nods his head at the baby in his other arm whilst looking at you, “shall we?”

you giggle and nod back—not able to refuse your little girl any longer.

it was not long before the living room fills with the sounds of your child’s laughter, which was caused by the continuous kisses and tickles she was receiving from both satoru and you.

[sometimeslwish]

Sleeping Naked (f!reader version)

Summary: Imagine waking up to Sylus warmth beside you, one arm heavy on your waist as you play chase with sleep– you're the mouse– and alternate between being awake and asleep.

(m!reader version)

The beginning is loosely inspired in my struggle to wake up these past few days (one of the many signs of my imminent period) I finished this on (June 4th) which is both earlier and later than expected; later because I wanted to finish it on the same day I started writing it (June 2nd) and earlier because– drum roll please– Surprise, it's @comatosebunny09 birthday!!!! Perfect fucking timing, in my humble opinion.

Bunbun, japiverdei!! I hope you have a great day and get to enjoy it!!! I already planned on dedicating this fic to you, but it's even better that I get to make it a birthday gift. I hope you enjoy ^-^

Word count: 1,831

Tags: Sylus x afab!reader, established relationship, sleeping together (at first), bit of somnophilia at the beginning (consensual), Sylus toying with your pussy, waking up to sex, lazy morning sex, cuddle fucking, p in v, creampie (wrap it before you tap it), pet names (Sweetheart, sweetie, sweet thing, baby, sweetness)

You're aware he's there with you, but you're still too tired to fully wake up.

You can't do more than blink your eyes open for a few seconds at a time before you're going back under. So you go for the next best thing: put a leg over both of his and grab his hand.

Sleep drags you away to the feeling of his lips on the back of your hand, a dopey smile on your face.

There's a ticklish feeling between your legs, right at your pubic bone. Your underwear works as a barrier from it, so you can't tell what it is. You know the touch is light, tracing, drawing shapes that you can't make sense of, moving downwards before coming back up.

You shift your legs a little, opening them more, but make no other move as sleep's unrelenting grip pulls you back under.

The touch continues, still light, but with your quiet consent it doesn't stop its descent. It traces circles over your labia and your entrance before going back up and circling around your clit without applying any pressure, and then back down it goes.

The movement is lazy, unhurried and slow, stimulant enough to bring attention but not enough to bother you– it's not intense enough to wake you and keep you with him.

It's oddly comforting, and it doesn't help with your fight to stay up instead of falling back asleep.

Are you even asleep? You can't tell anymore, your dreams have always been vivid.

Fingers dip closer to your entrance, trace around it without going in, collecting the wetness on it. Then they go back up to trace gentle, barely there circles on your clit. Your hips twitch towards it, the pressure isn't gratifying enough.

The mischievous chuckle beside you is deep and rich; it melts you further in place. You hum softly and cuddle closer to the warmth beside you, still sleepy, still barely there, still unable to tell between dream and reality.

You feel lips against your temple before fabric is pulled aside and a finger breaches your entrance. It pulls a soft little sigh from you, and he can't help but think you're adorable. How receptive to him you are, even while asleep. His chest swells up with pride, with love, because you trust him this much to be completely relaxed and unworried.

“So perfect for me, baby.” He whispers to himself and starts fucking you with it, slowly, like he's got all the time in the world. And when the slide becomes easier, he adds another one. That addition pulls a sleepy gasp from you, a subtle hitch in breath he wouldn't have noticed if he wasn't paying attention. The hum and clench around his fingers that follow makes his cock throb against your thigh, but he ignores it in favor of seeing how much farther he can push it before you wake up.

One of your hands shoots up, jerky and stuttery in its movements as it sneaks under his clothes, before fingers wrap loosely around his cock. You give one faint squeeze around the head, and he considers you might be awake, eyes closed and all, but you make no other movement. The next breath he takes is shaky, mouth against your shoulder as he leaves a kiss there.

His fingers resume the movement inside you. The pace slowly picks up, along with the pressure and soon enough, he's watching– in awe and in love– as your hips start chasing after his fingers. He stares, takes in every detail. The slight frown on your face, the light sheen of sweat, feels you clench uncontrollably around his fingers, the shake of your legs as you cum on them; it all makes his cock throb.

Even when you close your legs around his hand and grind into his palm, you still don't wake. He wonders what you were dreaming of, what has got you this gone into your dreams? He waits until your legs fall back open, and then he moves.

The first thing to go is your underwear, as beautiful as it looks on you, he wants it off. Wants nothing between the both of you but warmth and love and affection. Next is gently guiding you into lying on your side, your back to his chest. You go fairly willingly, curling up against him as he wraps an arm under you to keep you close.

Then go his boxers. He's more lazy with taking them off, desperate to be inside you, so he pulls them down to his thighs but doesn't kick them off. He's one handed as he guides his cock between your folds, bites back a groan as he grinds against them to coat his cock with your slick. The promise of what's to come makes his sight hazy and he has to focus on keeping control.

You moan when he slides in, finally all the way home.

“So good for me, sweetheart,” He praises, because he can't help it, incapable of keeping his mouth shut when he's inside you, of keeping the words in, “taking me so well.”

He sighs against your nape and leaves open mouthed kisses there, kneads your boobs and plays with your nipples in the same soft and lazy way from earlier. He knows you're awake when you shift to move and still when you find your movements limited.

“Sylus.” You call out to him and he swears he sees heaven when he hears your sleepy voice calling out to him.

“Good morning, baby,” He whispers, voice raspy with poorly held back desire. And god, isn't it so hot to have it so close to your ear? Good fucking morning indeed.

He rises to fully see you, and leans to kiss you, saving you the hassle of twisting your body to look at him. He kisses every area of your face he can reach, nose, eyelids, forehead, cheeks and finally, your lips.

The kiss is slow, languid, and filled with things left unsaid, things neither of you need to say out loud. Your soft sigh against his lips makes him smile and he can't help pulling away to look at you.

“Dream of anything?” He nuzzles his nose against yours before trailing off to kiss your cheek, all the way down to your neck.

“Had a fun one.” He hums, a hand reaching down to caress your thighs, your stomach, your ribs, “It was a little weird, but still fun and cool.”

“What was it about?” One of his fingers rounds your areola, touch feather-light as it keeps swirling inwards until it reaches your nipple. He flicks it once, before pinching and pulling. You arch into it, mouth falling open with a gasp.

“Sweetie, answer the question.” He reminds with a whisper, teeth nibbling your shoulder in warning.

“I was… somewhere– a spaceship.” You blink, frowning as you try to pick up the sand like pieces of your dreams while he keeps distracting you. “Delivering cargo for some organization. You were there too.”

“Oh?”

You whine when you feel him start to pull away.

He shushes you gently, “It's okay, sweet girl.” before thrusting back in. His thrusts are slow, deep and toe curling. You can't help concentrating on the feeling of the slow drag of his cock against your walls.

“Keep going, sweetness, why was I there?”

You huff in frustration, “I don't know, I think the cargo was for you.” You moan at the change of angle, and grip onto his forearm like your life depends on it. Every drag of his cock against your sweet spot makes your eyes roll and stars burst behind your eyelids.

“What happened after?”

“Ah– after what?” You clench around him and he groans.

“After you dropped the cargo.” As unaffected as he tries to sound, his breathing starts picking up. You're so warm around him, clenching on him like a vice, so perfect and soft.

“You– you took me to your office and–” Your combined moans take over as ambiance for the room, along with the squelch of your pussy as it clings to his cock. The claps of your skin start to join in the melody as your moans rise in pitch. He furrows his brows, groans with the effort to keep the rhythm steady– to not let go and move his hips faster, harder.

“And?” He hides his face in your neck, nuzzles the skin there and keeps you moored to him, arms coiled around you like a clingy octopus.

“You were… being a little shit, as usual,” he can't help but chuckle at your choice of words. It sends a wave of shivers down your spine, tingling all the way down to your cunt, “kept walking around a-as if you were a vulture and cornered me against the– fuck– the desk.”

“Oh no,” you can feel his grin against the crook of your shoulder. He's not even trying to hide it, not in his voice and not in his actions, “What else did I do?” One of his hands starts snaking down your stomach, the back of his nails raking softly down your skin and leaving goosebumps behind as they go. “I couldn't have possibly done–” his fingers reach your clit and start pressing slow circles into it– “something like this?”

Your consequent moan makes him throb inside you, and you can't help the way your hips buck.

“Sylus, please.” You whine. You're close, he can tell, can feel you clench around him like a vice, feels the way your back arches away from him, sees the way your hips move.

He still decides to be a little shit about it, “Please what, sweetie? Use your big girl words.”

“Wanna cum.”

“Yeah? Don't want me to stop?” He hums at your string of ‘yes’s and nibbles at your earlobe, “Go ahead, sweet thing, come for me,” hisses when you pull at his hair, “Let me feel you.”

You come with his name on your lips, and his voice whispering sweet nothings on your ear, eyes rolling to the back of your head and your sight going crazy with colors.

“Fuck, where do you want it, princess?” He's breathless, desperate for release but still holding back for you.

“In, inside, please, please, please.” That's all it takes for him to follow. His hips slam once, twice, before he's buried as far as he can go inside you and cumming. He groans into your neck, biting at the skin as his hips still.

It's quiet for a while, where both of you spend the time catching your breaths. He licks at the teeth marks and kisses them before trailing a path of kisses down to your shoulder. You're the one to break the peaceful silence by stretching out of his hold and turning your body towards him with a grin.

“Good morning, Sy.”

He returns the grin, and slots his body against yours as you kiss. Here comes round two.

[saetiate]

itoshi sae x f!reader tags: afab reader with she/her pronouns, jealous!sae, oliver aiku causes drama, oral f!receiving, hand around throat but not really choking wc: 1.6k

There are very few events you go to with Sae, few that he bothers to attend himself at all. It’s the first thing Oliver notices about you, that out of all the partners to his colleagues, you’re the one he’s seen the least of.

The second thing he notices is that even when you’re there, Sae barely speaks a word to you.

He wouldn’t think you minded if he wasn’t really looking. You’re kind and sweet as you make your rounds to the other players and their partners, much better at small talk and remembering things about people (how’s the new dog? Giving you any trouble? A new house! Let me know your address so we can send you a gift.) than Sae has ever been in his experience. But you’re careful to always keep Sae in your line of sight, like you’re always looking to him for something. Approval, or attention, or something that’s sort of like both.

Sae has his back to you, clearly begrudgingly involved in a conversation with Shidou’s arm resting on his shoulder. This is the first thing Oliver makes sure of before he approaches you when you’re alone at the bar.

“It’s been so long,” he comments as he slides in next to you. He makes it sound casual, smiles sweetly, and you respond so easily in turn.

“Aiku-san! It has, hasn’t it?” you immediately perk up at him, and it’s something he can’t help but find quite adoring. You’re quick to ask him about his life, and he lets you play for a bit until he decides he wants to pay it no mind.

“Sae doesn’t really stay with you at these things, does he?”

His voice almost sounds full of pity, it shocks you with how direct it is.

“Ah! Well- we spend a lot of time together, so it makes sense that he wants to spend time with his friends at these things. They’re a crowd! So he’s busy with them, you know?”

You smile nervously, and it’s that little feeling again that gets to Oliver – like you’re waiting for a validating response.

He could give that to you. But you’d have to give him something first.

Oliver taps the rim of his glass, condensation running down. “Mm. And is he busy a lot?”

“I…”

It’s at this moment that you begin to realize how close he is to you. In the hesitation, he cups one side of your face with his hand, your jaw in his palm and his fingers grazing over your cheek. You’re frozen, staring at him in shock. You’ve been Sae’s for so long, when’s the last time anyone has had the nerve to put their hands on you? His hand moves down to your neck-

Sae is quick to replace Oliver’s hand, wrapping his hand around your neck fully, gently and yet without the constraint or tentativeness Oliver had. You can feel the warm of his body behind you as he pulls you in, so close you can smell his cologne.

He’s got his characteristic neutral, nonchalant face on, save for one quirked eyebrow in Oliver's direction. But Oliver knows, he’s seen Sae on the field-

This is Sae when he’s pissed.

 “Happy to have you join us.” Oliver smiles, but this time it’s something a little more wicked. He knew he would come fetch you at some point, but he didn’t think it’d be this fast, that he’d notice this soon.

“You think this is some type of game?” If Sae was a lesser man, the sentence would’ve been spat in Oliver's face. It’s a near thing.

“Ha? Women are never a game.” Oliver pushes his weight off the counter, walks past Sae with a shrug. “Just didn’t think you liked her that much.”

Sae clicks his teeth, looking like he swallowed something unpleasant. He squeezes your neck a little tighter.

“Let’s go. I’m sick of this.”

~

“Sae-san, I-”

“Quiet.”

It’s not said aggressively, not like a command, but he still watches the way you go silent immediately in the elevator down. Even though you want so desperately to say something, to make things right. You are good to him. He knows it too.

“Oliver likes to mess around,” he sighs, one hand rifling through his hair, an air of exasperation. You don’t entirely get it, but it’s as close to it’s not your fault as it gets with him.

It’s in the silence of the car, darkness illuminated only by headlights and traffic lights, that Sae finally allows you to speak.

“Do you think I don’t like you enough?”

Your eyes go wide immediately, your hands waving in front of you. “W-well, it’s not- I know you’re really busy! And you barely go to these events, so you should spend time with your friends.”

You’re too nervous to notice it, but he watches, listens to you with full intent. His finger taps against the steering wheel.

When he parks and gets out the car, you don’t wait for him to open the door for you. Something in that irritates him, makes him frown. He throws his keys into the bowl in the entryway with a jangle, and when you turn around from taking your shoes off, he’s already in your space.

His hands are on your waist, pressing you against the wall. You try to protest but he silences it with his lips on yours, his hands on the back of your thighs and hoisting you up. Your purse falls somewhere on the ground. But you don’t care. You can’t care, because Sae is hot and heavy against your mouth and between your legs. He presses you into the wall further, grips your thighs tighter, holds you up easily with one arm as he wraps one hand around your neck and kisses the remaining exposed skin.

It's only for a moment before his hand moves back down to roam under your dress, pulling your panties down fervently, the way the fabric sticks to your slick already is something he doesn’t fail to notice. Makes him wonder if he really has been neglecting you.

He tucks them in his pocket and then he’s falling to his knees. You think you whisper his name but you can’t tell over the shuffling. Your feet never touch the ground, he lifts you until your legs are resting over his shoulders, holds you up like this. You try to tell him, “Sae, we’re gonna fall,” (he wouldn’t drop you, don’t you know?) but he doesn’t say a single goddamn thing. Just bunches your dress up and presses his mouth to your cunt.

The broken moan you let out is nothing short of song to him. There’s nothing to stabilize you except for grasping his hair in your hands. You’re a little scared, but he doesn’t stop you, doesn’t reprimand you. If anything, he presses deeper into your cunt. Swipes his tongue up from bottom to top. Makes you sob with the way he zig-zags his tongue up your slit all the way to your clit. He’s always like this – a tease, in control. He holds your arousal in his hands and on his tongue and he knows how and when to make you drip, in a way that ensures only he’s able to drink.

It's sickening, the way he makes your mind fog immediately, makes nothing exist but him in this moment. He does it a few more times before he relents. This is meant to be a reward, after all. An apology, maybe. He presses his tongue to your clit and kitten licks a few times. Envelops the bud in his mouth and swipes over and over, grips your plush thighs tight. You don’t know how long he does it because you feel like you can’t breathe, breath coming short, gasps that are like drowning. He watches you through it, your chest rising and falling, your hands shaking in his hair.And then he speeds up and your core tightens and your body comes crashing, first up, and then down. He holds you steady against the wall as you whine, your hot cum drooling into his mouth that he swallows up willingly, tight core finally relieving.

You heave as you come to your senses, nails scratching at the nape of Sae’s hair as he laps your oversensitive cunt, making you jolt. He licks you clean before he lets up, taking a deep breath. He kisses each side of your inner thighs, and then once more on your clit for good measure, smiling as he hears your broken whine once again.

He finally lets up. Holds you tight so you don’t slump to the ground. He kisses you deeply, lets you taste yourself on his tongue, makes out with you until you’re out of air.

Don’t think I don’t like you. He wants to tell you, but instead he wraps you in his arms, presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Why don’t you go shower first and get in bed, and I’ll meet you there?” His voice is gentle, actions soft, pressing another kiss to your cheek.

You look up at him doe-eyed. “Don’t you wanna-?”

“Mm. Later. You go first, okay?”

You’re too wobbly and wrung out to protest, so you go when he gently leads you both to the bedroom.

The words get stuck in his throat as he closes the bathroom door for you. I really do love you.  

He hopes you might already know.

author's note: sorry to make oliver a bit of a villain in this LMAO in his head he’s just tryna save you from what looks like a failing relationship! if anything he’s your knight in shining armor <3 too bad that didn’t work out how he wanted it to hm

[prettyboykatsuki-moved]

✮ tags ; gn! reader, established relationship, fluff, alcohol.

"Shouto,"

"Hm?"

"You're drunk,"

Your boyfriend leans his head on your shoulder and makes a noise in the back of his throat. "A bit."

More than a bit, you think. In actuality, you don't think you've ever seen him this drunk before. He's okay with alcohol, usually - but tends to stay away from drinking too much. You think the last time you saw him get actually drunk at all, you were both twenty and he was barely tipsy then.

He doesn't like getting drunk, he's told you before. A few times. The lack of control and hazy memories make him just slightly anxious, so he's careful around liquor.

You've been dating for years now, and unless he's living some double-life (a different one than being a hero) - you've never seen him get this wasted. Ever. To everyone else in your surroundings, it probably doesn't look that way.

But you've spent enough time to know him, and he's not like this usually. Nowhere near as absent minded he is now, at least. He hasn't been able to sit still since he downed that last bottle of shochu. He went to go play with Bakugou's cat, Momo and you couldn't find him afterwards. You lost sight of him for about half-an-hour until you finally found him in the living room while everyone else was outside, feeding Momo some treat that squeezes from a tube.

(You still don't know where or how he found where Bakugou kept the treats, but you decide it's better you don't ask. Plausible deniability, or something.)

You're both grown-ups, and you're not one to worry about his liquor intake. Still, though - you're worried. Even if it seems like he's not different to everyone else, you can tell. And it's bothering you.

"Shouto," You call out to him, your hands reaching to pet the back of his neck. He's a head taller than you, and a little heavy. Palms smooth against the prickly ends of his hair - tapered and neat. He presses his cheek to your shoulder. "Shouto, love."

"Oh," He says, suddenly remember where he is. He stands up but doesn't back away far enough to give you space. You're in a far off empty corner. Most people are in the backyard but Shouto wanted some air - so you're crowded against a wooden fence and wall with your boyfriend locking you in out by the entrance. He smells nice, you think - clean with a soft touch of aftershave. You look up at him. "Hi,"

"You're drunk," You repeat, watching him blink rapidly - bleary eyes and the faintest line of a smile whenever he glances at you. He's bent over, staring at you hard. "Is something wrong?"

His expression is the same as always. Unchangingly neutral with a strong and uncharacteristic rosiness to it. Your boyfriend is handsome, alarmingly so. You're aware of it constantly, but this new face knocks the air out of your lungs.

He's... pouting you think. But not fully. His lips aren't drawn together, it's subtle like most expressions on him.

But it's...there. You're not imagining it - the soft furrow of his brow, the press of his lips. His expression grows warmer and it only makes you more confused. He shakes it off, all of a sudden, a micro-expression that fades just as quickly as it appears.

"I'm okay."

"Are you?""

He blinks slowly at that. Concern aside, you can't help but think he's cute like this. His ears are pink enough to stick out against his skin, cold air making them flush even darker.

"I'm okay," He says, then looks at you. He sobers up if only for that moment. "Had something on my mind."

"Something you can't tell me?"

"It's supposed to be a secret," He mumbles. He's really drunk. You realize this late. "So I don't know if I can."

"Mm," You reply. You feel like doting on him suddenly, so you do, petting the back of his neck before hugging him a little. "That's okay."

He follows up with a light groan. You've never heard him complain like that, so you laugh. "But I want to tell you."

"I promise I'll keep your secret at least."

He smiles at you more fully that time.

He pauses for a minute, thinking it over. You don't do or say anything in return. A beat passes of you two standing and swaying with silence where Shout to grabs your hands from in front of you. You think he's being affectionate again, wanting to hold them.

He draws your hands to his pocket though. The angle is awkward, makes you bend your wrist on the inside of coat pocket until you feel something hard and square touch your fingers. It's velvet from the material. A box of some kind.

...A box?

Shouto guides your hand again, this time out. When you pull it out, his palm is over yours. It's a jewellery box. You blink a few times, confused. Shouto hasn't let go of your hand.

"I keep missing the timing," He says, hiccuping. The lack of sobriety more clear than ever from the slight slur in his words. "It's been in my pockets for a while."

Your eyes go wide open. You can feel your own confusion and excitement twist and tangle inside of you, frantic to get a better read on the situation. He smiles down at you, disarmingly and then closes his eyes. His forehead is warm as it touches yours.

"...I thought you didn't want to married. Not really, at least." You whisper.

"Me too," He says, a wetness to his laugh that tugs at your heart . "It was on a whim. I wanted to talk to you about it. But." He frowns a little "It's tough."

You chuckle, a sudden wetness to your voice too. "I bet it was,"

He smiles at you, big and stupid. "I love you," He closes is eyes and presses his forehead to yours more. "Thank you for everything."

"Shouto," You repeat, unsure of what else to say. "What brought this up?"

"Mm," He shrugs, getting sleepier by the minute. "I thought giving you my last name would make you suffer." He admits, soft and unsure. "But taking yours. That felt...okay. Felt nice."

"You're silly."

"Yes," He says, not denying it. "And I love you."

"And you love me." You repeat, a grin splitting your face. Big tears at the corner of your eyes, making your vision sting and your cheeks ache. You look up at him again. "Enough to marry me?"

He seems almost sheepish that time. "If you'll have me."

"Are you sober enough to even remember this?"

His embarrassment makes him blush and laugh again. "My heart is beating so loud I'm a little afraid of it. So yes. I'm sure I'll remember." He admits.

"Let's get married, then." You repeat to him, so achingly happy you think you could die. You wonder when to tell your friends. Bakugou will be pissed you did at his place. "If you'll have me."

He smiles. "I'd like too."

You lean up to press a kiss to his mouth, and Shouto holds you there to kiss you longer than you expect. When you're done kissing, he's smiling.

"Anymore secrets?"

He thinks on it, then hums.

"We should get a cat."

[navydoves]

Cat!Zayne and his strange affectionate habits

you love your kitty boyfriend, but he does some strange things!

✎ᝰ a/n: highly requested kitty zayne is now part 4 of this series. im gonna do a "habits while in heat" sister series so if you wanna be tagged just tell me. caleb is gonna be the last one to complete the 5.

bunny xavier mermaid rafayel dragon sylus

⭐︎

❥ he’s likes waiting. kitty zayne is very patient. he’ll never whine or complain (too much) about how long you’ve been gone or how far away mealtime is. he’ll definitely miss you, yes, but he likes focusing on the fact that you’re with him now.

he’ll sit by you on the bed and wait for you to wake up, but he’ll do this for hours if he needs to. if he wants to play or spend time with you but you’re busy, he’s perched right beside you quietly just very patiently waiting. you feel a little bad sometimes, but zayne reassures you by telling you that he doesn’t mind waiting. that all he cares about is getting you as his reward.

❥ he holds you with his tail. zaynes favorite form of physical affection is gripping onto you for dear life with his tail. it’s very casual too. when you’re doing dishes he’ll come up behind you and peck your scalp while his tail wraps around your waist. he’ll wrap his tail around your wrist in public to guide you and show affection.

he especially loves wrapping his tail around you when you’re asleep with him. with his strong arms under your armpits and around your chest and his tail either wrapped on your thigh or midsection, zayne refuses to go to sleep any other way. it’s a bit suffocating but zayne is naturally cool-skinned so it doesn’t make you overheat.

❥ he has sensory issues. because of this zayne is very particular about what he sleeps on, the texture of his food, how his ears/tail/nails are trimmed, etc. you’ll see him on the bathroom very meticulously snipping away at his hair to ensure it’s always clean and neat because it’ll bother him if it’s any other way. it’s also a plus to know he’s very clean.

he’s usually adverse to getting too close to someone because he also very easily overheats. which is why when he cuddles you, you’ll see him use his evol on his skin. similarly he prefers wearing very light clothing or being just straight up naked in bed because it helps him with temperature and also, he likes you feeling his bare body <3.

❥ he’s subtly territorial. he likes to remind you and everyone else around you that you’re his and vice versa. he’s not the type to whine or pout about it, but he’ll do things like stare people down or wrap his tail around your ankle if they’re being too friendly with you.

he also likes scenting you in every way possible. you think his head nudges and rubs are purely affectionate, but he also does them to get his natural kitty scent on you. its not a once or twice thing, its constantly throughout the day. especially when your scent is gone after a shower he’ll take like 10 minutes just to cover you in his smell again.

❥ he massages (kneads) you a lot! it’s well known that cats like kneading when they’re happy, but zayne likes to call it “massages”. this is because he only ever kneads you. his favourite places are your tummy and your thighs, but he’ll take anywhere.

very firmly but still gentle, he cups your soft flesh and squeezes or rubs with his large palms. even kitty zayne knows anatomy pretty well, so he’ll target the areas where the biggest muscle groups are or where you complain about being achy. it’s very soothing and somewhat erotic at times because his attention is fully on you. likes it’s a job to him play with your chub and skin.

❥ he’s at your beck and call. if zayne is gonna do something its gonna be listen to you. zayne is not submissive by nature, but he enjoys taking care of you so much that he’ll let you boss him around. he’s not a dog, but he’ll fetch if you ask.

if you ask him to cook he’ll cook for the next few days and always serve you first. if you ask him to use his car he’ll drive you himself and give extra money. if you ask him to jump he might just ask how high. it’s not overbearing by any means, it’s actually rather domestic and husband-like. he does things for you silently but his tail wags always indicate how happy he is doing it. ⭐︎ hey frens tags : @otomegamesforlife , @chersyluvs

[neodazed]

FREAK LIKE ME [nrk]

Riki let’s you tie him up.

pairings: bf!nishimura riki x fem!reader

tags: estabilished realitionship

warnings: explicit sexual content, light bondage, unprotected sex, nipple-play, oral (m), spitting, switch riki (kinda)

wc: 1905

thank you for 400 followers !! masterlist

‘This is kinda lame so far’ Riki muttered under his breath. 

‘I just started!’ You rolled your eyes at his teasing.

The white ropes you brought in the dollar store a day ago tightened around his wrists prettily. A satisfied smile broke out on your lips, pulling your hands back from where they were working behind his back. Now he was laying back on his trapped arms, looking up at you with exaggerated boredom. You took your place in his lap. 

'Remind me why I agreed to this again?' He asked with a sigh. Having you in his lap is natural and amazing, what's not though is the way he has no access to your body.  

‘Because you love me and want to be treated like a pretty little princess?’ You tilted your head to the side with mock sweetness, the kind that would earn you a pinch on the waist or a swat on your thigh. 

Would, if he could move.  

‘Well, one of those things is certainly true’ A quiet hiss left his mouth when you shifted, now fully sitting on his groin. Not hard yet, but definietly intrigued.  

‘I’ll make both true’ One thing he was surely feeling though was amusement. Because frankly, he couldn’t imagine what you planned to happen tonight, but the excitement and slight mischieve in your tone made him give in, and maybe even look forward to your performance a little bit. 

‘That’s so cute of you, babe’  

You sealed his mouth shut with your own, knowing there was no other way to shut him up. Normally, he would already be feeling you up, fingers digging into every part that feels good or hurts. He responds either way, his already bare upper body pushing against yours, firm jaw turning yours into the right direction, tongue invading fast and shameless. Arms wrapped around his neck, warm muscle battling his, you almost got lost in it. Then you remembered what was the original plan, and pulled away. Leaning back, your hands fell off his nape while you took a quick breath. This goddamn boy always kisses like an animal. 

‘Ohh, we’re starting now?’

He grinned like an idiot, doing his best to mock and provoke you. It didn’t bother you, not really — he was already where you wanted him: under you, bare, all for you to touch. So you just nodded, not answering outright, Your body connected with his when you layed down to place kisses on his neck. Little, sloppy butterfly kisses that turned into bites, bites that turned into teasing kitten licks. He hummed, giving you more access to his skin. Then his head began to drop towards your tits half-spilling out of your tank top, his mouth open and ready to devour. Before he could even get a taste, you grabbed his hair, tugging him back from there. A part of him (only his inner voice, of course), was thinking “oh, she’s getting rough, more than I expected”, and the other one was just annoyed. 

‘You can’t just put your tits in my face and then ban them from me!’ He scoffed like he just experienced the biggest betrayal of his life. 

‘I can though. That’s the whole point.’ You let go of his hair, and pushed him back, admiring the marks you’ve created on his skin. He always looked pretty marked up. 

‘Cruelty?’ — He huffed, then complained some more, just out of spite — ‘What’s with all that tugging, anyway? That’s your idea of topping?’ Voice full of bicker and coyness. God he is annoying. 

‘I’m just doing what you usually do? And I literally just started!’ He couldn’t argue with the first half of your sentence, so he settled on letting you do your thing for a while.  

The thing is, you have always been curious about how sensitive he is. 

His chest, particularly. 

Seemed like this was the right time to find out.  

Riki smirked when your cold hands made contact with his chest, caressing him from his abs to his collarbones. He was about to make a jab at the softness of your touch, when your fingers eventually found his nipples. His smile didn’t dissappear entirely, just faltered, lost some of its arrogance.  

‘That’s kind of kinky’ He managed to let out.

You ignored him this time on purpose. You circled the edge of your cold thumb around his nubs, but he only let out a sound that could translate to him possibly enjoying himself, when you started to rub on it. 

‘Is it? They hardened pretty quick though’ Was the answer to his previous statement. By the way your ass pressed against his clothed dick, he wasn’t sure which you were referring to.  

‘Yeah, cause the temperature of your hand is in minus’ He said in defense, which was somewhat valid, like half of the actual truth.

Because as it turns out, they are, in fact, sensitive. You only chuckled at that. Your thumbs were stroking, pressing, flicking  at them. Your hair was in the way, so you threw it behind your shoulders before you leaned down and gave his nipple an experimental stripe with your tongue. Riki’s body trembled underneath you, letting out a muffled...whine? Moan? Whimper? You’re not sure and it’s not like he’s ever gonna admit it. Your lips suckled on the hard nub, the other one still being taken care of by your fingers. 

‘I have something more suitable to suck on, you know...’

His body tensed up saying these words. If you didn’t know him better, you’d have thought he’s getting uncomfortable, but no. That was to brace himself, to keep his reactions in control. Even if it wasn’t said so, a silent understanding of challenge was looming between your bodies, and he’d be damned if he lost. 

To get back on him (and honestly just out of curiosity), your teeth grazed against the delicate skin. Riki yelped, wishing his hands were free, free to reach out and put you in your place already. 

But not yet. Not now. 

‘Suitable for me, or for you?’ You asked, but your fingers were already working his sweats down.  

‘Both of us’ A grin formed on his lips. He was cocky, yes. And also right.  

Once you pulled all the fabric down, You were met with his proudly standing dick, now obviously worked up. You smeared some of his precum on his head, and watched it drip down onto his enormous length. At first, his size made you nervous, shaking just by facing it. Now, you’re shaking for it. Your hole, to be specific. He was way too aware of that fact, that he can just throw you around however he sees it fit and you’d love it. Maybe that’s partly the reason you wanted to try how it would be to do things on your own pace, just whatever you wanted to try.  

And the best part? Riki had enough security in himself that he let you.  

Well, on the most parts. 

Usually, Riki is undeniably fond of sloppy blowjobs. Like, the ones that get sloppy from how hard he is shoving himself down your throat, to the point your saliva is leaking out from both sides. You are content with that, God so much, but you also had the desire to cherish it more, taste more, feel more. You and your oral-fixation needed both kind, to be honest.  

Back to present activities, you took the shiny mushroom shape inside your lips, humming at the taste invading your senses. He sighed, tilting his head back. Your plump lips were so soft around him, and the way your tongue fickled out so sweetly... 

‘Fuck, Princess. You know I  hate that...’ He grumbled, his arms fidgeting but not actually trying to “escape”.  

‘But I’m just tasting you...’ You pulled off just enough to mumble this out, before going down again, lower this time. The hand-restrain didn’t stop his hips from bucking up into your mouth. 

‘I’ll give you a taste, don’t worry-’  

You pulled off with a clear “pop” sound following.  

‘Seriously...you’re so annoying’ A stupid pout formed on your face without intent. 

‘Aww, baby, I’m sorry. How about you untie my hands and I’ll do the work for you, pretty?’ The offer honestly sounded tempting, but you weren’t done yet. 

You shook a small “no” with your head, putting your hands on his shoulders to sit back. He leaned in, all eager to feast of your lips again, but you atopped him with a finger. 

‘No more kissing.’ 

‘No kissing? Just hardcore BDSM?’ He asked back with deep “understanding”, and it took all your will not to burst out laughing at his sarcastic expression. So you nodded, and shimmied down your underwear, which was already dripping from your arousal.

There was no need for any lubricant if we want to be honest. 

But for you and him, sex was never complete without some sort of spit. 

You held out your palm to him. 

‘Spit.’

His face waa very confused, but he’s not one to deny thar. A drop of clear, sticky liquid coated your fingers. 

The curiosity in his eyes only lasted until you put your wet fingers between your legs, and started to draw circles around your entrance. 

‘Alright, all fun and shit, but that’s my job.’ Now he was starting to get really restless, cause why on earth would you need to that on your own while he’s right there?! 

‘I’m just prepping myself so I can take you’

A kiss on his neck, trying to stay “in character” A gasp you might have overdone a little left your lips. You were excited, but your fingers could never reach the depths Riki’s did. Watching him get frustrated was fun enough to keep it up though. 

‘Exactly, my job. Masturbation between us should only happen mutually, you know. When my dick isn’t abandoned’ He kept talking.  

You had two fingers inside of your hole at this point, another rubbing your clitoris. None of this was to actually prepare you — two tiny fingers for that cock? Yeah neither of you were dumb enough to believe that. The purpose was to help to piss him off more. The eventual stretch as a consequence? Might be the best part.  

‘Just sit on my face then’ Riki tried again.

Dick hard and leaking, every vein looking their best, head colored read from how long he has been holding back. His muscles were tense, his face needy. Needy Riki. Yes, this sight was for sure worth it. 

‘That sounded pretty “subby”

Slick connected your cunt and hand when you stopped working yourself open. And finally, he didn’t have the strength or will to bicker back, to tease. He let out a deep sight, and leaned his head back on the pillows, seemingly accepting the situation. 

When you sinked down on his dick, he still managed to stay still, and just dedicated his every sense to the way you used his body for relief. 

Your thighs started to faintly burn after sitting up and down about eight times. 

‘Please, can you-’  

And then his wrists were immediatelly freed from the white ropes, after he ripped it into two piece with a swift, fast movement of his arms. 

Your face met the bed, hard, and he pounded into you, hard. 

Maybe the tie wasn’t restricting him as much as you thought so. 

[bwskj]

NSFW MDNI | jjk x reader

- jjk characters reacting to u asking them on call for a moaning audio -

chars: gojo, nanami, megumi, sukuna, yuuji, inumaki

notes: (text) are you; bulleted + written

tags: honestly just a lot of nsfw stuff, pls x away if ur a minor or uncomfy

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

gojo

— “baby what?”, he laughs amused, “did you just say you want me to send a moaning audio?”

— you can practically hear the smirk in his voice, “ah baby, well i could do that… just not for free. give me something to look at and i’ll make it, how about that?”

output: bro sends a hand held video of him jacking off while sitting on the living room couch. a part of his laptop sitting on the coffee table with your photo/video on it is shown in the upper half of the video, behind the main character that is his thick hard cock. satoru likes talking as if you’re there kneeling in front of him, pretending he’s got your face to tap his dick on before he fully wraps his hand around the girth and starts pumping. he often groans low with the occasional sharp inhales through gritted teeth. eventually, he gets to the point wherein he’s leaking so much pre-cum it’s enough to help him make big smooth strokes over his length. his camera angle ends up wonky sometimes because he’s too zoned in jerking off to you. “fuckkk baby, god you’re so—hot” and “shit… that’s mine, that fucking pussy belongs to me.” he sure loves his dirty talk, “bet you wanna ride this huh, baby? want your tight pussy walls sucking up my cock.” when he finally cums, you can tell he’s trying his best to not hold in his moans (cause ofc that’s what you’re looking for). his thighs tense, spreading apart as his cum shoots up high, loud groans with every shot that spatters all over his bare stomach. he aims the camera down at his messy torso, laying his dick on it as he swipes it across the mess around and on his happy trail. “i wanna see you lick this clean off, baby.”

nanami

—“excuse me? a what?” (you repeat yourself)

—hunched over his desk at work, he says, “honey i… don’t do that,” he sounds concerned that you would ask for such thing, “do you need it for… something?” you can imagine the stitch in his brow when he asks this.

— (you reply with a vague and teasing “maybe”) kento lightly huffs, seeming slightly bothered (?)“well, i’m busy right now… just… wait until i get home.”

output: no audio but what did you expect he was at work! not like he would do it though if he wasn’t. instead, on the way home, he’s got one thing on his mind. the thought keeps bubbling up in excitement, making him tap his foot in impatience as he rides the elevator up to your shared apartment. when you hear the jangle of his keys in the doorknob, you spring up from where you’ve been rotting. a smile immediately appears on your face when you see your boyfriend looking even more dashing with the appearance of a man who’s worked hard all day at work. “you’re home, i—“ you’re about to tell him you’ve missed him but he cuts you off when he closes the distance, leaning in and catching your lips with his. he drops his work bag on the floor as the big palm of his hand slides onto your back. he pulls you close, not giving you the chance to speak anymore as his deep hungry kiss keeps your mouth busy. you manage to make at least the sound of, “mphh.. Kento!” when his lips pull back a bit. you can tell he’s trying to hold himself back, his jaw and shoulders feeling rigid when your hands feel over them. “couldn’t wait to get home,” he mumbles when his mouth detaches for a second — basically, yea, he fucks you pretty much the whole night or until you can’t take any more. everything he does is meant to please you; he thrives on giving you, his pretty princess, what you want, feeling fulfilled when he knows he can keep you more than satisfied.

sukuna

— “the fuck? a moaning audio? why would i do that?

— he stretches his jaw, the eyes on his cheeks fluttering a little eye roll. he speaks into the mic at a low volume, “baby if you miss being dicked down just say so…”

— “uhuh yea, keep pretending you don’t want it til you’ve got this cock in your mouth, right? stay put. i’m coming over”

output: no moaning audio. he gets to your place in 10 minutes (how the fuck he got there that quick you’ll never know). when you greet him at the door, mouth ajar in surprise, you can’t stop yourself from cheekily saying, “well, isn’t somebody excited?”

“i wanna know what the bitch who’s asking for an audio sounds like when she gets what she actually wants,” he cockily spits out as he looms over you by the still open door frame.

your eyes widen at his response but you can only stutter before his hand is suddenly holding you by your throat. he welcomes himself in, shutting the door behind him while you almost stumble back into your hallway. your hands instinctively reach to grab at the back of his hand around your neck. not even a second later and his other hand grabs one of yours, tugging it and placing it over the tent in his pants. his fingers sandwiched around your neck begins to squeeze and you accidentally sound out a moan. you can feel his sharp nails pricking your nape. his hand holding yours guides you into palming him. a dark smirk is on his face. “i’m fucking hard. do something about it.”

long story short: he rails you (on your bed, in front of the mirror, doggy style or just backshots in general— he loves pinning your wrists behind you and watching your tits bounce everytime he pounds into you. when you’re on top, he doesn’t even give you the chance to ride him on your own). “how you liking this, huh? sweet little slut. you like this fat cock fucking your stomach? isn’t this better than some shit tease through the phone?”

megumi

— his cheeks warm when he hears the words through the phone, “what’s that?” He asks though he knows full well what you mean (i think megumi would be a secret tumblr user).

— you carefully explain it to him. there’s hesitation in his voice when he says, “oh, i see…”

— alarmed by the way his voice trailed off, you reassure him that he doesn’t have to do it if he doesn’t want to.

— he replies with a slightly stammered okay and the call eventually awkwardly ends with exchanged ‘i love you’s and ‘talk to you later’s

— you feel slightly embarrassed for voicing your request but it’s not long before you forget about it. it was worth a shot.

— that night, while you’re snuggled up in your cozy blanket, you receive a single voice note from megumi with no message attached

— megumi blushes as he stares at the file he just sent, wondering if he did it okay. you don’t know that he jack offed and recorded not even five minutes after your call ended.

output: when you press play you’re immediately met with the semi-distant sounds of megumi’s shaky gasps and breathy low moans. it looks like he sent you a recording of the most interesting part of his session wherein wet stroking sounds are being picked up by his phone. there’s oftentimes soft whimpers that slip through, the noise of his bed covers shifting on his skin almost overpowering it when he gets more and more into fucking his hand (or whatever he’s slotting his dick through). you have to replay it a couple times to make sure you heard right—pride blooming within you when you’re certain he’s whimpering and mumbling out your name. his moans rise in pitch and grow more rugged the closer he gets to his climax. “a-ah… mm—hah.. gonna c-cum,” you can hear the strokes getting faster and the sheets being gripped tight. when he cums, he gets even louder, noisy staggering moans falling out his mouth. you just know his throbbing dick is thrusting up while chasing his high. when it dies down, you can hear soft panting and then the sound of his phone being picked up. there’s a silent pause before his voice comes through low and crisp, “i… hope you liked that.”

yuuji

— “a what audio??”, he laughs, “you’re kidding!” His laugh fades when he realises you aren’t.

— “wait seriously, you’re into that? like those audios on reddit or something?”

— (“… you know those?” you ask curiously.)

— yuuji gets flustered, he stutters, “i-i don’t—I accidentally came across them once. kinda freaked me out, ngl…”

— (“freaked you out?”)

— “yea, i dunno, never imagined guys to be doing that for a living. and i didn’t know there were girls who especially liked that.”

— (“really… well a lot of girls actually like that. but yea, i guess you wouldn’t really know, cuz you know,” you lightly tease.)

— yuuji rubs a hand over his blushing cheek, “you don’t have to keep reminding me that you’re my first…”

— (he always reacts like this and so you remind him again [you love reminding him], “sorry my yuuji, but you know, i love being your first, especially knowing that my competition is literally THE jennifer lawrence.”)

— you can hear the smile yuuji is trying to keep down, “and your 100x better than her,” (honestly, you just tease him to hear him say this again)

— (“so what about that audio?”)

— “hm?” yuuji didn’t even realize it until now that he’s got a hand over the boner jutting through his boxers

— you quickly reassure him that he can say no if he doesn’t want to. there’s a silence that hangs for a moment in the call, and when you’re about to say something again to dismiss the topic, he starts, “could you… maybe, talk me through it?”

output: you piece together that yuuji’s turned on. “are you… hard rn?” your voice comes gentle through the phone and yuuji grabs his dick stronger through the cloth, pushing his palm against it. he shudders, “m-maybe.” your voice sounds so good.

“are you…” you trail off, but yuuji knows what you mean. he quickly replies, “is this okay? you can tell me if it’s not, i-i’ll stop.” yuuji doesn’t want to stop but he’s stiffened his hand on his dick to try to stop himself from touching further without your consent.

there’s another short pause before you say, “mm, it’s okay, yuuji… you need help?”

“mhm,” he hums, instantly resuming his hand movement. there’s slight guilt when he clears his throat and says, “s-sorry our call kind of—went in another direction, it’s okay if you don’t want to. I can—“

your laugh cuts him off, “sweetie it’s okay. i’d like to help. we’ll hit two birds with one stone since i wanted an audio anyway.”

yuuji blushes even harder. “I… I’ll try to not… hold it in.”

you grin, biting at your lip as you lay in your bed with your phone planted on your ear. “Good… you’ll give me what i want hm?”

Yuuji’s breaths are beginning to tremble as he continues to rub himself to the sound of your voice. “y-yea, for you… i’ll do what you want.”

it gets more serious when yuuji finally takes his dick out his boxers and starts pumping it up and down; it’s almost fully hard. he loves it when you ask him what he’s doing, what he’s thinking about. his moans start off quiet but when you tell him you wanna hear him, his voice breaks and he lets a louder sound come out his throat. “can you imagine your hand as my hand, or my mouth?” you ask him. at this point your thighs are squeezed together and you can feel the wetness pool in your panties. this makes yuuji moan even louder.

after a couple minutes of this teasing dirty talk, yuuji can’t take it anymore and the needy words, “fuh… i… i want to see you. c-can i?” slip out of his mouth.

it turns into a video call after the both of you move to transfer to your laptops. you can see yuuji’s tip peeking from the bottom edge of the screen. his shirt is on and it’s lightly sticking to his skin, likely because he’s starting to sweat. when you turn on your camera, your pretty face comes into view and you’re in the usual clothes you wear at home: loose shirt, no bra, panties. you can instantly tell yuuji’s back to jerking himself, though you can’t see his whole hand or his face at all.

“let me see you, sweetie,” you say, hand digging between your sticking thighs and going over your clothed crotch.

his movement slows, “shit, you wanna see me?” he sounds embarrassed. you nod. yuuji is obviously reluctant, but he listens, repositioning his laptop further so it captures his face and dick in hand. you feel yourself throb at the sight.

it isn’t long before you’re touching your bare pussy in front of the camera, tits out on display. you’re lewd and so is yuuji, now more confidently moaning as he pleases himself to you. between your own sounds, you softly say, “gosh my pretty baby. you’re doing so well,” knowing how your boyfriend is secretly a sucker for praise. yuuji groans, body jerking as his face flushes even redder. “will you come for me?” you say. you’ve got him in the palm of your hand.

yuuji’s a moaning needy mess, the hand not on his dick pinning the hem of his shirt high up. “fuugh… y-yes… yes for you. I’ll come… i’m about to—about… agh—“

yuuji’s hand pumps the tip fast and he cums strongly, head bowing as his hips thrust up and he shoots white. “Ah~ oh~,” he’s shaky and noisy all the way through his high. when he finally lifts his head up to look at you, you’re sweetly smiling (you came watching him cum but he missed it ://). you stare at one another for a moment before the both of you let out (somewhat nervous) laughter.

yuuji pats sweat off his forehead with the back of his clean hand, careful not to have the other covered in his own cum go near his bed sheets. “gosh, you’re good. i’m so lucky to have you.”

you beam. “and i’m so lucky to have such a pretty, handsome boyfriend. you did great.”

he shyly looks away, biting on his lip to suppress a smile, “thank you.”

inumaki

— you text him asking for a moaning audio (unless u want inumaki to go tuna tuna at u on call lmao)

— “?”

— “how do i make that?”

— you send him a voice note explaining what kind of audio it is, making sure to tell him he doesnt have to do it if he doesnt want to

— “…”

— “okay…”

— “i totally thought you wanted to hear me in pain and i was… concerned.”

— (“??? baby pls no?!)

— “thank god”

— there’s a pause in the chat

— “i would send if i could.”

— (“wdym? if you don’t feel comfortable about it it’s okay maki”)

— “no… um”

—(“?”)

— “i don’t really get hard unless ur here.”

— (you stare at his message before sending an “oh !”)

— “yea… nothing else does it for me. sorry.”

— (you’re both blushing and stricken by his response. “no baby don’t be sorry TT you don’t need to do this. i can always hear you in person.”)

— “sure?”

— (“yes for sure TT”)

— “:p i’ll make those sounds for you next time if you really like them.”

output: next time you see each other, it starts off as usual. a casual date outside before going back to his place for nightly cuddles and eventually… that. it’s clear inumaki remembers you’re conversation without you having to bring it up. he’s nervous at first (he’s always been pretty quiet mostly because he’s mindful of using his voice), and you see it in his eyes. “just let it out okay? it’s just me here,” you whisper when you softly kiss under his neck, a little shy as well. soon, when you’re kissing, touching, and sucking him all over, his moans are tiny sharp inhales and whimpers rising up his throat; they come out somewhat muffled because of his closed mouth. since he can’t really risk saying anything, he’ll tell you that he feels good with a hand combing through your hair or a thumb caressing your skin. he’ll buck up into your throat when he cums, his mouth accidentally opening to sound out a breathier vocal moan. when you pull up, wiping your mouth after swallowing, he doesn’t hesitate to pull your face close, kissing you sweetly. you know it’s his way of saying ‘thank you. i love you.”

—— <3

a/n: wrote smth diff today (context: i usually write leon kennedy stuff) these are just my headcanons so i’d love to hear what u guys think! xoxo i had sm fun writing this hehe

also, can u guess who my fav char is? (it’s not the one with the longest part— mb that some are longer than others, idk how to stop smtms)

[leighsartworks216]

With Him

Sylus x gn!Reader

The author's very obvious desire to nap with these guys at any given opportunity-

Warnings: fluff, domestic fluff, blood, injury, exhaustion, cuddling, literal sleeping together, comfort, no dialogue

Word Count: 763

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Sylus rolls his shoulders and neck with a sigh. It echoes slightly in the elevator, mirrored ceiling reflecting his exhausted face as he looks up. He glowers as he wipes away a stripe of blood from his cheek. Not his own. No, his Evol wiped itself out dealing with his own injuries. Now he's running on empty. His body aches more than it usually does, muscles groaning with every motion, patience left on a razor-thin wire with the headache pounding at his temples.

The elevator doors slide open quietly. He trudges out into the penthouse. Kicks off his shoes without a care for where they land. Shrugs off his jacket and tosses it onto a hook, tsking at the new tears and stains in the leather.

The entire building is rigged up with elaborate security; even a fly can't get in without him knowing about it. But as he walks further inside, he still glances around, like anybody could be waiting around any corner. Enemies aren't the only thing he has an eye out for, though.

The signs of you are everywhere: Dishes in the sink from dinner, your shoes lined up by the door, blankets and pillows moved in the living room, the lingering fragrance of you in the air.

He slowly cracks open the bedroom door. Light creeps out from behind him, reaching out across the floor. It illuminates the couch, and the book and handheld gaming system left on its cushions. Just past it, he can see the bed, and the impression of his beloved tucked under its covers.

His shoulders sag. He can finally recognize this place as being safe and secure now that he can see you. He almost groans in his overwhelming desire to just crawl in beside you, wrap you up tight in his arms and bury his face in your neck, breathing you in deep. But he's gross; bloody, dirty, smelly. You deserve better than that.

So, he creeps in slowly, carefully, doing his best not to wake you up as he gathers fresh clothes. Soft clothes. They're not designer, or even luxurious; you picked them out for him when he took you shopping, after you dragged him into a retail store. He'd raised a brow at you and said you could go to any high end store you wanted, but you'd wanted to go there. You were beaming when you found clothes for him, "normal" clothes, you'd said. And right now, he longs to feel normal.

He slips into the bathroom. Condensation still beads up on the shower door and tile walls. When he runs the hot water, a fresh wave of your shampoo and body wash comes wafting up through the air with the steam. The heat is heaven on his muscles. He makes a low sound in his throat as he just stands there, letting the water spray down on his hair and back, until he finally reaches for his shampoo.

He towels himself off with stilted movements. His arms are tired. He only bothers to half-dry his hair, just until it's left lightly damp, sticking up all over. He checks himself over in the mirror, looking for any remaining marks or injuries he missed. There's a few scars that haven't fully faded; nothing worth pulling out the kit for. He leans against the counter as he brushes his teeth, allowing his eyes to close while he does.

He turns off the bathroom light before he opens the door. The bedroom is completely dark. It takes his eyes a moment to adjust. You've barely shifted since he last saw you. An overwhelming wave of relief coasts over him as he's finally able to join you.

He pulls the blankets down on his side, crawls in and immediately travels past the middle to your side. His hands glide over your body as he wraps you up in his arms, sliding under your shirt and up your back, pulling you in close. He drops his head into the crook of your shoulder, nuzzling shamelessly against you. You don't wake up, but you do slip your arms loosely around his shoulders, tangling your fingers into his damp hair. It's all second nature, so ingrained into you to hold your partner.

You breathe right beside his ear. He hears it all: the soft sigh as you relax into his embrace, the steady inhale and exhale, the rasp of a snore - a reminder that you are alive, that you are safe, and that no matter how awful the world outside can be, you are here, with him.

---

Tag List (I'll update it soon I promise):

@the-golden-jhope @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @that-lost-one @always-just-red @22carolina08 @lunaizhere @sine-nomine0 @beautifulthingsiadore @lalaluch @nothankyew @terriblesoup @jeleryyy @nezuswritingdesk @anaathxma @ssushi @mina7820 @monophobix @mentaltrouble2201 @mskaylacharite @nerrivm @ichosesparklingtorment @schnittled @animegamerfox @flamedancer13 @rebloggingislove @moonlight-inthe-sea @persepolys @satorubabee @sleepykittycx @perla-drg @17chuuya @slovesyouuu @leiakitty @lemonn015

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

Bunny- Geralt x Reader

Summary: Geralt gets his bunny to bounce on his lap for him 😉

Word count: 766

*wanna be tagged in my next Geralt fic? Click here*

“Geralt, you need to hold still so I can fix up your cuts,” you fuss over the shirtless Witcher, straddling his large lap on the edge of the double bed.

“You are the only remedy I need, little bunny,” he smirks against your neck, emphasising the nickname by grabbing a handful of your ass and jiggling it.

“Such a sweet and soft little bunny, all for me. Are you gonna bounce for me, little bunny?” He whispers hotly against your neck, as he forces you to grind down against his hardening length.

Your attempts of bandaging him up were becoming much more difficult, as his kisses against your neck grew more hungry, and he began to pull your dress up to your hips. You let out a light gasp as your bare skin is exposed to his rough strong hands.

“No undergarments on. Naughty little bunny,” he growls against your neck as he bites down on the sensitive skin.

“Ah-Ge-Geralt,” you moan out to the Witcher, gripping at his silver locks.

“You gonna be a good little bunny for me?” He asks tauntingly as he bounces you with his thighs, causing your breasts to jiggle in his face.

“I’ll bounce for you, if you let me clean up your cuts,” you persuade as you look into his gorgeous golden eyes.

“Deal,” he simply growls as he pushes you into a hungry kiss.

The kiss is messy and heated, full of teeth and tongue as he fights and claims your mouth. In the heat of the kiss, he rips your dress down the middle, needing so badly to feel your warm skin. Not evening bothering to apologise or react to your gasp, he simply throws the now ruined dress to the ground.

Breaking from the kiss, your mind is dizzy and you’re slightly out of breath, now caught in the trance of the strong Witcher below you. Geralt only moves you slightly as he pulls down his pants only just enough to free himself.

Normally Geralt likes to take his time with you, normally spending quite some time between your legs before he either takes you or watches you bounce for him. Tonight however, Geralt was both tired and desperate, this monster hunt had taken longer than usual and he needed his prize (you) now.

Rubbing his thick fingers through your folds, he smirks as he feels and sees how wet you already are. His eyes stay fixed on your wetness, as he manoeuvres you to line up with his impressive length. His eyes are trance-like as he watches you slowly sink down onto him; only once he’s fully inside you does his burning gaze reach your eyes.

Staring at your cute fluttering eyes and parted lips, he growls with a smirk as he grabs at your thighs, squishing the soft skin under his harsh hands.

“Bounce for me, bunny, let me see how cute and fucked out my little bunny can be,” he ordered from below you.

The way he treated you so sweetly, yet still ordered you around, put your mind is a sweet and tingly place. Looking into his soft yet dominating gaze, your hips begin to grind and bounce, as your hands held onto his wrists.

Neither of you wanted to look away from the other, Geralts eyes either fixed on your sweet pleasure-filled face, or on the way your tits and thighs bounced for him.

The powerful look on Geralts face drew even more pleasure from you as you grind and bounce in his lap, his cock hitting you in all the perfect places. It wasn’t until you felt yourself reaching that perfect tingly bliss, and your fingers reach up to rub against your clit, did your eyes finally close in pleasure.

“Geralt… I-I’m cl-close,” you moan out as your other hand reaches up to pinch at your sensitive nipple.

“Cum for me, my little bunny, come on, squeeze my cock,” he growled out as his grip on your thighs tightened.

His dominating voice was all you needed before you threw your head back with a pleasure-filled scream. Feeling your walls tighten around his already sensitive cock, Geralt let out a growl as he powerfully thrusts his hips against yours.

“Gonna cum so deep in your little cunt, bunny!” He shouted, as his hips slammed against yours and he filled you up.

The room was filled with his and your heavy pants as you lay on his sweaty hairy chest. His strong hands hold you against his chest, as they lightly rub up and down your warm bare skin.

“Good little bunny.”

[stitch-away]

mating season

pairing: bear hybrid joel miller x reader (gender unspecified) summary: you’re camping alone in the woods during june; bear mating season. tags: MDNI dead dove do not eat, noncon/dubcon, noncon that turns into dubcon, porn without plot, demihuman/hybrid, lowkey monster fucking, dubious bestiality (joel is part bear but not fully), breeding kink, slight breath play, size/weight kink, manhandling, stupidly big cock, excessive cum word count: 1.5k a/n: kinda inspired by perotovar’s minotaur!joel but also not really. mainly just the idea of hybrid/monster fucking x joel. this is pure smut don’t think about the logistics of it. i may make a follow up that actually tries to explain joel’s state of being but maybe not. idk.

drabble from joel's perspective

camping out in the wyoming wilderness has been your dream for the longest time. sleeping under the stars, waking up to the sun shining through the tall pines, and the chance to see the wildlife. the idea was frankly intoxicating. 

what you really wanted to see was a bear. you’ve been fascinated by bears for years, them being your favourite animal. despite their primal and dangerous nature, you can’t help but think they’re adorable. you know if you see a bear there’s no way you’re getting near it but finally getting to see such a majestic bear in person would be satisfying enough.

unfortunately, your friends were not willing to take the same risk. the mere mention of spending the night alone in the woods with the possibility of encountering a bear had them shaking their heads. you called them scared but no amount of pressure could convince them to come with you, so you’re out here alone. 

that hasn’t been bothering you so far. the trek to your camping spot was peaceful without the chaos of others in your ears. but as night began to creep in, you became a little more on edge. you’ve never liked the dark so being out here alone in the forest at night was a scary prospect but you had a fire going and a lamp inside your tent. you told yourself it’ll be fine. 

as the darkness truly settled over your campsite and the chill set in, you put out the fire and crawled inside your tent. you huddled up in your sleeping bag and hoodie, trapping the warmth in as you tried to fall asleep.

you must have fallen asleep at some point because now you’re jolting up in your sleeping bag, awoken by a loud crunch outside your tent. you freeze, muscle coiled tight, ready to run or fight if you need to. 

the air is thick with a deafening silence as you listen out for a sound again. you try to calm your breaths but it doesn’t work. your heart is practically beating out of your chest with suspense. you move to cover your mouth– your biggest mistake yet. the fluff on your hoodie makes you sneeze, sending out a signal to whatever is out there that you’re alive, warm and ready to eat. 

the fear you feel is suffocating as you realise how screwed you are. you hear heavy footsteps approaching and before you can even begin to imagine what it could be, large claws slice straight through the door of your tent. 

you see the silhouette of a bear, illuminated by the moon, before a flash of brown and claws tear your sleeping bag off of you. you scream now, a horrid screeching sound you didn’t even know you could make leaving your throat. the massive size of the bear hovers above you as he bullies his way into the tight tent. with a swipe of his claws, your clothes torn, leaving you bare and terrified. 

your legs fly up, kicking and shoving at the bear, trying hopelessly to push him away. your foot hits his face and it growls, his spit hitting your face. he wraps his hands around your legs, shoving them up by your head. with a growl, he drops his weight on top of you, his heavy breath falling down on your face.

feeling his body pressed against yours, you realise this isn’t a bear. at least not completely. you can feel a thick layer of coarse bear hair but you can always feel the rough skin of a man. you slowly move your hand flick the lamp light on. 

he sure looks like a bear. he’s large, hairy and burly with claws and round ears, but his facial features are human. he has thin pink lips, a strong aquiline nose, and harsh tired eyes. 

the man-bear groans at the light, swatting at it and shattering it, leaving you in darkness once again. he lets out another growl before dropping his head into your neck. before you can react to the feeling of his drooling mouth on your neck, you feel something nudge at your hole. a dread washes over you as you realise what’s happening. 

“no– please, no,” you plead but all you're met with is a grunt. you try pushing at his broad shoulders with your hands but he simply pins them down as if you weigh nothing. he slumps his weight on top of you, knocking the air out of your lungs. the lightest male bear is about 400 lbs. thank the heavens this man-bear thing isn’t that heavy or else that’d surely have killed you. 

before you can recover your breath, he slams his cock inside you. you let out a howl of pain as his cock practically splits you in half. you can’t see how big it is but from how it feels inside you, it’s larger than a human’s. he has a rough pace, clearly having little regard for you, ramming his cock harder and deeper inside you. 

his hot wet breaths on your neck begin to change from haggard grunts to something close to a moan. it doesn’t sound quite human but it’s undeniably a noise of pleasure. you can’t help feel each thrust starting to hurt less as you listen to the gruff moans. you’re slowly relaxing, letting him take what he needs. 

when his cock hits that perfect spot inside you, you can’t stop the moan the slips from your lips. he responds with his own moan, adjusting so he can hit that spot inside you over and over. the feeling of being so full and the way his fat cock head slams inside you makes you see stars. the fear you held is long gone, replaced by the overwhelming feeling of pleasure he’s giving you.

he can feel the way you’re relaxing more and let go of your arms, slipping his massive paws under your back to pull you closer as he places more of his weight on you. you move your arms to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer too. your fingers curl in the hair at the back of his neck. it’s a confusing mix of soft curls and coarse hair. 

now he has a better grip on you, he holds your waist, moving you with an ease on his cock like a fleshlight. as he does, he licks and kisses at your neck. it isn’t like any kisses you’ve had before with another human, they’re more sloppy, more like an attempt to mimic kisses than having any understanding of how to do them. but that doesn’t bother you. his lips feel like heaven, the teasing on your neck only enhancing how good his cock feels inside you. you pull on his hair, removing his lips from your neck so you can kiss him. he seems confused at first but quickly catches on as you tongue laps at his lips. 

he holds you tight in a literal bear hug, kissing you hungrily as he thrusts you up and down on his cock. you can barely see the light of the moon in the tent anymore, it’s completely blocked out by the sheer size of him. all his weight on you, the sloppy kisses, and the way he’s impaling you on his cock are making it hard to breathe. the lightheaded feeling you’re getting is making your pleasure even more intense, sending you over the edge into your orgasm. you moan into his mouth, your body tensing and spasming as the most intense orgasm you’ve had rips through your body. 

you break the kiss, pressing your nose against his strangely human one as you gasp for air. each breath is accompanied by loud, needy moans you’ve never heard yourself make before as you try to recover as he continues to thrust into you. he squeezes you tighter, constricting you as his thrusts get sloppier and faster. you can feel his cock throbbing and his breaths coming in faster. he pulls you down hard on his cock, shooting his load deep inside you. you can feel his thick virile cum filling you up. the load is so big you can feel your stomach start to swell from the share size. 

once he’s finished filling you up, he slumps forwards, flopping on top of you, his cock still inside you. the pressure on your swollen stomach hurts a little but the pure ecstasy of how he just fucked you is keeping you distracted from the impending pain of tomorrow. after a few moments of catching his breath, the man-bear lifts himself off of you, giving you space to breathe again. 

you think for a second he’s going to pull out and leave you but he doesn’t. he picks you up in his big furry arm, hugging you gently now. he lays down on his side, pulling you with him. he snuggles against you, resting his head on yours as he cuddles you in his arms. 

this is beyond strange and you’re already hurting from his rough fucking, but in his arms, you feel weirdly safe. if nothing else, he clearly has no intention to kill you and is warm in the harsh cold of the night. 

you have no clue what tomorrow is going to bring but at least you can say you encountered a bear. even if you’ll never tell anyone what actually happened.

[worlds-we-write]

Midnight Cravings

pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

summary: Late-night cravings lead to pancakes, flour fights, and soft confessions with Joel.

Tags: established relationship, domestic fluff, late-night softness, sleepy cuddles, pancakes, gentle Joel, comfort fic

My Masterlist

You wake up to the sound of your own stomach growling. At first, you try to ignore it, shifting under the blanket and curling further into the warmth of Joel beside you. But sleep won’t come.

You glance at the clock. 2:13 a.m.

Typical.

Carefully, you slide out from under Joel’s arm and tiptoe your way out of the bedroom. The floors in his house creak like hell, and the last thing you want is to wake him. He’s been sore from patrol all week — knees aching worse than usual, back stiff, and mood swinging like a goddamn pendulum. He deserves the rest.

You tug his flannel shirt around you tighter and pad into the kitchen, rubbing your eyes.

What are you even hungry for?

You open the pantry. Crackers. Old jerky. A jar of questionable preserves. You wince at the label’s date and shove it back onto the shelf. Maybe toast. If the bread isn’t stale. Or a spoonful of honey?

Your stomach rumbles again — louder this time. You sigh and flick on the oven light, bathing the room in a warm amber glow, soft and dim enough not to feel too awake.

That’s when you hear it: the shuffle of bare feet on hardwood and the low, gravelly voice you know better than your own heartbeat.

“You tryna sneak out or somethin’?”

You spin around. “Shit—Joel.”

He’s standing in the doorway, shirtless, hair tousled and sticking up in wild directions, eyes half-lidded and squinting against the light.

“You scared me,” you whisper, heart still fluttering from the surprise.

Joel just gives you a slow once-over. “And you’re in my shirt.”

“Your shirt’s comfy,” you murmur, tugging at the hem. “And I was hungry.”

“Hungry at two in the damn morning?”

“Midnight cravings don’t check the clock, Joel.”

He runs a hand down his face, scratching at the stubble along his jaw. “You could’ve woke me.”

You shrug. “Didn’t want to bother you. Figured I’d sneak a spoonful of peanut butter and crawl back into bed.”

Joel walks past you toward the cabinets. “We’re makin’ pancakes.”

You blink. “Wait—really?”

“Yeah, really. But you’re helpin’. Ain’t gonna be your damn short-order cook.”

You grin and follow him to the counter, grabbing the mixing bowl.

Joel pulls out the flour and a half-empty carton of milk while you grab eggs from the icebox. He’s still squinting, clearly not fully awake, but his hands move on autopilot. You get the feeling he’s done this before — maybe for Ellie, maybe for Sarah.

You don’t ask. You don’t need to. His quiet comfort in the kitchen tells enough stories.

“You got a real specific kind of hunger,” he mutters, cracking eggs into the bowl like it’s a challenge. “Can’t just eat a piece of bread like a normal person. No, gotta make pancakes from scratch in the middle of the night.”

“I never said you had to make them,” you reply, reaching over to snatch the whisk from him. “But now that you’re here…”

Joel grunts and raises a brow, but you catch the tiniest smile tug at the corner of his mouth.

You start mixing the batter while Joel greases the skillet. The scent of butter begins to drift through the kitchen, rich and warm and nostalgic. The kind of smell that makes you feel like a kid again.

But it wouldn’t be a late-night kitchen scene without a little chaos.

You’re scooping flour when Joel bumps your elbow reaching for the sugar, and half the cup dumps across the counter. Some of it lands squarely on your shirt—his shirt—and dusts the front like powdered snow.

“Joel!” you gasp, flailing slightly. “You flour-bombed me!”

“I didn’t do nothin’,” he says, deadpan, though you can see the amusement in his eyes. “Clumsy woman’s makin’ a mess in my kitchen, that’s what I see.”

You retaliate with a light sprinkle of flour to his chest. It clings to the soft hair there and leaves a ghostly handprint. Joel blinks down at it, then narrows his eyes.

“Oh, you’re askin’ for it now.”

Before you can back away, he dips his fingers into the batter and smears a line across your cheek.

“Joel!”

“You started it.”

“You ruined the pancake batter!”

“Nah, I improved it. Gave it some character.”

You stare at him, eyes wide with playful indignation, and then you both burst into laughter. It echoes off the tile and the quiet, sleeping walls of the house. You realize how rare this is — not just the moment, but this version of Joel. Loose. Soft. Light in his eyes. Laughing with you like nothing else in the world exists.

Once the batter’s somewhat salvaged and the skillet is ready, you both settle into your makeshift system. You pour; Joel flips. He grumbles every time a pancake gets too brown, and you tease him for being a “perfectionist pancake dad.” He tries to act annoyed, but his little grin betrays him every time.

“You ever do this?” you ask softly, handing him a plate.

He doesn’t look at you. “Do what?”

“This kind of thing. Middle of the night, pancakes, talking.”

There’s a beat. His eyes stay on the skillet as he flips one more cake with practiced ease.

“Used to,” he says eventually. “Long time ago.”

You nod. “Thanks for doing it with me now.”

Joel finally looks at you — and there’s something tender in his gaze, something wordless that wraps itself around your ribs and holds.

“I don’t mind,” he says. “Not with you.”

The pancakes turn out a little lopsided and uneven in color, but neither of you care. You stack them on mismatched plates, drizzle what little maple syrup you have left over the top, and sit cross-legged on the kitchen floor like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The oven light glows warm behind the stovetop, casting golden shadows across Joel’s bare chest and sleepy smile. The air smells like vanilla and sugar and him.

You take a bite and hum, mouth full. “See? Worth waking up for.”

Joel watches you, head tilted just slightly, fork in hand but untouched. “You got syrup on your lip.”

You swipe your tongue across it and shrug. “Fixed.”

He leans in — close enough that his knee bumps yours, close enough that his breath brushes your cheek. “Didn’t say I didn’t wanna get it myself.”

Your pulse skips.

He kisses you, slow and sweet, one hand braced against the floor and the other curling gently behind your neck. The kiss is soft but unhurried, like he’s tasting the syrup and you all at once, and savoring both. When he finally pulls back, your lips are sticky and smiling.

“Better,” he murmurs.

You roll your eyes and bump his shoulder. “You’re such a sap.”

“And you’re a damn menace,” he replies, nudging your foot with his. “But I like you anyway.”

The house is quiet, the rest of Jackson asleep, and yet the space between you feels full. Full of laughter and syrup and the warmth of something that stretches far beyond pancakes on the floor.

Joel finishes off the burnt one — because “wastin’ food’s a sin” — and then sets his plate aside, rubbing his hands on his sweatpants.

When he shifts, he opens one arm toward you in invitation. You don’t hesitate.

You crawl into his lap, your back against his chest, your body fitting like it always belonged there. Joel exhales like a weight lifts off his shoulders just having you close. His arms wrap around your middle, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“You warm enough?” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Perfect.”

You sit like that for a while. No need to fill the silence. Just the occasional deep breath, the soft drum of his fingers tracing lazy circles over your arm, and the contented hum he gives when you nuzzle into his neck.

He starts to sway just slightly — not quite rocking, but a rhythm so natural you barely notice it until your eyes get heavy.

“Sleepy now, huh?” he whispers.

You hum back, already halfway there.

Joel shifts a little and curls his hand protectively over your thigh. “You want me to carry you back to bed?”

You shake your head against his chest. “Can we just… stay here a little longer?”

He kisses your temple. “As long as you want, baby.”

The hardwood floor isn’t exactly comfortable — not like Joel’s bed, not even close — but wrapped up in him, you couldn’t care less.

Your legs are tangled together, your cheek resting just over his heart, where the steady thump lulls you closer to sleep with every second. His fingers trace patterns over your thigh, your hip, the curve of your back. Absentminded. Reverent.

You’re barely awake when you hear him speak.

“So, uh…” he murmurs, voice thick with hesitation and sleep. “This kinda thing. It’s real easy with you.”

Your breath catches, just a little. “Yeah?”

He nods against your temple. “Don’t usually—y’know, let people see me like this. Bein’ all soft, makin’ pancakes like a damn idiot.”

You smile, eyes still closed. “You’re not an idiot. You’re sweet.”

Joel lets out a small huff of a laugh. “Don’t spread that around.”

“No promises,” you tease. “You did smear pancake batter on my face, so... I’m definitely telling someone.”

“Traitor.”

You turn your face just enough to press a kiss over his heart. The thump beneath your lips stutters, then steadies again.

Joel’s arms tighten around you, and for a moment, neither of you speak. The silence isn’t awkward — it’s peaceful. Soft. Like the world outside doesn’t exist, and all that matters is the two of you in this sleepy kitchen, with syrup on your fingers and love in your bones.

Then, quietly—so quietly you almost don’t hear it—he whispers it:

“I love you.”

Your eyes open.

Not because you’re surprised. You knew it. You’ve felt it in the way he looks at you, how he shields you from the cold, how he always walks on the outside of the sidewalk. But hearing it—so unguarded, so soft—makes something bloom in your chest.

You shift just enough to meet his eyes.

“I love you too,” you whisper back.

And god, the way he looks at you then. Like you hung the stars. Like you’re the reason he stayed soft all this time.

He kisses you again — slow, deep, sleepy. One hand curls into your hair, the other pulling you tighter like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go.

“You ready for bed?” he murmurs against your lips.

“Nope.”

He huffs. “You plannin’ to make a nest on the floor, then?”

“Maybe,” you mumble. “Kinda like it here.”

Joel laughs under his breath, low and rough. “Yeah. Me too.”

Still, he stands with you cradled in his arms like it’s the easiest thing in the world. You bury your face in his neck, and he walks you both back to the bedroom with slow, steady steps.

You’re half-asleep before your head hits the pillow, tucked into his side. His flannel shirt still wrapped around you. His fingers tangled with yours.

And before the darkness fully pulls you under, you hear him again:

“Next time you wake up cravin’ somethin’…”

“Mm?”

“Just wake me. We’ll make waffles.”

You laugh, barely. “Deal.”