#he can be afraid. and hold back. while still moving forward

[layla4567]

Caught red-handed

Bob!Floyd x Fem!reader

SUMMARY: Your father, Maverick, doesn't let you date any pilot, no matter what. But with such a sweet, aviation-geeky man, how can you follow that rule?

WARNINGS: Entablished relationship, almost voyeurism, making out sligthly, suggestive, size kink if you squint, very fluff too

WC: 1.683

Your dad had left at the last minute, giving you just a few minutes' notice. He'd said something like it was an emergency mission but that he'd be back in a few hours.

The universe couldn't have given you a better opportunity. You've been wanting to see your boyfriend for a while. You didn't get to see him very often because your relationship was supposed to be secret. Maverick would kill you if he found out you were dating one of his pilots.

Even if your boyfriend was one of the sweetest, most responsible, and gentlemanly pilots in all of Top Gun. Rules were rules, and you had to follow them to the letter. But who were you trying to fool? Every chance you got, you snuck into the military base under the guise of visiting your father at work. And of course, you were happy to see him, and he was happy to see you, but the one you were most looking forward to seeing was that man with chocolate brown eyes and aviator glasses.

You always exchanged furtive glances. Sometimes he'd stare at you for longer than he should have, losing focus on his task. But it had been a while since you'd visited him. You'd been very busy lately, and even though you exchanged text messages or secret calls, it wasn't the same. And you missed him.

That's why when your father left you quickly called Bob, letting him know of course that your father wasn't there, otherwise he wouldn't dare set foot in your house without permission, he had a lot of respect for the captain.

When Bob arrived at your house, you quickly dragged him by the hand to your room. Closing the door behind you, you wasted no time hanging around his neck, standing on your toes, and kissed him passionately. The kiss was hungry, thirsty for him, letting him know how much you missed him. Bob gasped in surprise but placed his hands on your waist, holding you close and steadying you.

Your hands went to his face, deepening the kiss, your boyfriend moaned in response, reacting to your need. His arms wrapped around your back, and his body leaned slightly over you. You gasped deliciously, noticing how big your boyfriend was compared to you.

With slow steps, you led Bob to the edge of the bed and forced him to sit while you sat on his lap. He moaned between your kisses and moved away a few inches.

"No, no, we shouldn't. Are you sure your father isn't back yet? What if he finds out?"

His worried frown was a little guilty. You could tell Bob was still respectful and rather reluctant to break the rules, and not just because he was afraid of your father. Your face softened, and you gave him a soft smile.

"Love, don't worry, it'll only take a moment. Besides, I'm old enough to choose my boyfriend," you said, caressing his jaw.

He seemed relieved and kissed you, smiling against your lips. His hands held your lower back and thighs. Your mouth ran over his face, peppering kisses on his forehead, cheeks, and nose, tickling him until he laughed. Then your lips attacked his neck, making his grip tighten as he pursed his lips and moaned softly. Your hands searched for a way to remove him that ugly green uniform that bothered you and blocked your way to his naked torso.

He helped you by starting to unzip the front. You crashed your lips against his again, sliding your hands under the neck of his shirt.

"Bob..." you moaned softly and painfully against his mouth

Your boyfriend ran his large, calloused hands down your back, also trying to feel your skin. Just as you were feeling that familiar bubbling throb in your core, making you stir in his lap, you heard footsteps and a voice from the living room.

"Honey! I'm home!"

Both felt the blood freeze in their veins as you two stood rigid, listening attentively, almost breathless, for the sign of approaching footsteps.

"Where are you, hun?"

When you heard Maverick's voice near the hallway leading to your room, you both panicked. You jumped up, looking around for a good hiding place, while he did the same, very nervous.

Suddenly you pointed under your bed "Hide under there!!

Your boyfriend seemed to hesitate and stammered, "Sure? I don't know if I'll fit-.."

"Shut up and hide!" you urged as you heard your father's footsteps getting closer and closer to the door.

Bob scrambled to the ground and slid under the bed with difficulty, but not before hitting his head on the wood. You quickly sat down on the mattress, praying for Bob to stay as quiet as possible, as Maverick opened your bedroom door.

He walked in with a friendly smile. You forced a smile as you sat suspiciously stiff, your body tense, and your father didn't miss a thing.

"Everything okay, sweetheart?" he asked, approaching.

Inside, your boyfriend kept telling himself to stay as still as a mouse, while his forehead sweated slightly. You tried to relax your body. "Yes, daddy, everything's okay."

But your smile was still fake, so your dad moved even closer to the mattress, standing right in front of you. You gulped nervously.

"Really? Look, I know when you're lying."

"I'm screwed," Bob thought. He'd probably kick him out of the Air Force and put his bones in a bag and throw it into the sea.

You blinked several times "Ye-yeah dad, why do you say that?"

He sighed and sat down next to you, slightly sinking into the mattress where your boyfriend was lying underneath. He was forced to press himself even closer to the floor, holding his breath. You shifted uncomfortably in your spot as you tried to focus your gaze on your father's face and not look at the floor near the hiding place.

"Well, I know that sometimes I'm a little strict with you and I know that you think that I treat you like a child even though you're older now, but I only do it to protect you, you know?"

You nodded vigorously, attentive to his movements and hoping he'd leave soon despite the emotional words he was giving you. Oh, Dad, why did you choose to open up and show your soft side at a time like this?

He turned his body slightly to face you. "I know you're mad at me for not letting you date the pilots of Top Gun, but I know them better than you do, and I know that most of them aren't a good match for you, daughter."

Bob could feel his body cramping beneath you, and he didn't know how much longer he could hold out. Your father continued, oblivious to anything. "It's just... I wouldn't forgive myself if any of them hurt you or didn't treat you right!"

Suddenly your father lightly hit the mattress in an act of frustration but with enough force that the impact filtered through the layer of the mattress and the blankets and collided with Bob's head making him grunt in pain, scared he covered his mouth but it was too late. You turned red and pretended to cough while your foot kicked under the bed until it reached your boyfriend's arm and made him gasp. Your father frowned and his gaze went from you to the floor, confused.

"What was that?" he said in an authoritative voice

"What?" you asked innocently, playing dumb

"I'm serious, that noise under your bed" now his face was serious, the calm before the storm

"Nothing, Dad, I didn't hear anything..."

He frowned again and growled in annoyance, determined to prove to you that he wasn't crazy. He squatted on the floor, hunched over slightly. Bob could see Maverick's knees very close to his nose and squeezed his eyes shut, silently praying to all the gods he knew that he wouldn't be discovered. Before your dad could bend down and lift the sheet, your eyes widened and you lunged at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and hugging him.

"Oh daddy, I'm glad you said it!! You're right, I was really mad because you wouldn't let me date the pilots, but now I'm not mad anymore knowing that you only want the best for me! Thank you, I love you, I love you, I love you!! " you said theatrically and loudly to distract him.

And it worked because he automatically moved around your back and sat back down on the mattress with a smile, happy that his daughter finally understood.

"That's great honey, I'm glad to hear that"

You sighed in relief and looked gratefully up at the sky behind his back, without him being able to see it. When you separated from him, your father stood up, and you accompanied him to the door, saying goodbye with a kiss on the cheek, but not before warning you that you have to tell him everything, even if you hide a puppy under the bed or something else. You nodded, smiling and helpful like the good daughter you were. When you closed the door, your perfect smile disappeared, and you exhaled loudly, leaning your back against the wood, visibly relieved.

"You can come out now, my love"

Bob had to wriggle and crawl like a worm to get out of his hiding place. When he did, his glasses were crooked, his uniform was covered in dust, and he was rubbing his aching head and forehead with a grimace. He also sneezed slightly.

"Finally, for a moment there I thought he'd find out. And I think you need to clean under your bed, babe," he smirked.

But then he winced again as he felt a bump on his forehead.

"Ow poor baby"

On tiptoe, you kissed his forehead where a bruise was beginning to appear. Bob thanked you by wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing you tenderly, his lips barely touching yours.

"Next time I promise to meet you at a park" you said and both laughed.

[yuechihua]

i think at the core of harumasa's hang-ups, behind all of his pragmatism and cunning and his light-hearted, joking attitude, there are two vital facts that influence his actions: he's afraid of being rejected and abandoned, and he's also afraid of being seen as a monster.

like. his parents left him when he was young because of his illness, and his master seemingly abandoned him too. whether he admits it or not, harumasa is very much afraid of people leaving him because he's simply lacking in some way, whether it's because of his illness, or he's not useful enough for them, or he's too much of a burden.

as such, he's developed some slight hang-ups on being good enough to keep around, whether that's through being useful, being a genius that excels at what he does and that people admire, or even just being someone who's fun and playful and flirty and so easily likeable. being abandoned and being used made him develop a slightly cynical mindset in in regards towards himself: he's not that important to anyone. at most, he's just a tool for others, and at least a useful tool is kept around.

it also doesn't help that harumasa is afraid that people will see him as a monster, and that he perceives himself in exactly that way: he thinks his illness makes him monstrous. he's afraid of turning into an ethereal, but more than that, he's afraid of other people rejecting him because of it. his illness was why his parents left him, and played a part in his master leaving him behind, too. his illness also alienates him from people in general, because he feels he can't live an ordinary life. he goes out of his way so they don't know he's sick, or feel like they have to look after him, which ties back into his fears of being seen as a burden.

harumasa acts fun and jokes around and slacks off because it makes him easier to be around, but that light-heartedness also serves the double function of being a barrier to keep other people from growing closer to him. if he doesn't take himself seriously, then they won't, either; they won't look too closely into why he skips work so much, or look past his jokes at the true feelings he's obfuscating.

i don't think harumasa has a fixation on being liked as much as he has a slight fixation on being wanted. he desires companionship and mutual trust, but he has a hard time admitting it or even letting himself have it to a certain degree. he doesn't want to come off as clingy, needy, or desperate; he'd prefer to handle things on his own rather than get others involved. it's bit out of an innate sense of pride and independence, it's a bit out of consideration for others so they won't worry over him, but it's also out the fear they'll leave him if they find him too much: too much of a burden, too much of a trouble, too monstrous and inhuman.

harumasa knows how painful it is to be left behind already, which is why he's so cognizant of not leaving other behind and subsequently hurting them. it's part of why he's hesitant to make connections: what if he does to others what has been done to him? what if he hurts them by leaving them behind, even if it's because of circumstances out of his control? and what if they hurt him by leaving him?

the sum of harumasa's hang-ups are that if he doesn't let himself open up or grow close to others, then he can't get hurt, and he doesn't have to worry about them reaffirming his own fears that he's a monster.

still, though these issues all influence his actions, harumasa also believes in living in the moment, in celebrating what you have now instead of worrying over what you'll lose, in cherishing your one wild and precious life. the reason he has so many issues around abandonment and vulnerability is because he deeply longs for connection, and because he cares about other people so much.

i think his relationships with section six and phaethon have helped in harumasa opening up a little more. at the time we meet him in the story, he is trying to make strides to have real, genuine connections even when it's difficult, because he's someone who understands how precious life is, and wants to live to the fullest. if things have a predetermined ending, then it doesn't make his current experiences any less meaningful. in fact, they're more precious because they won't last forever. he's always been remarkably resilient and he also has an actual support system in place right now, even if he's still getting used to the novelty of people who genuinely care about him without ulterior motives.

[pichichuu]

At The Same! Damn! Time!

abby x reader x jinu self indulgent smut hehe

mdni!!!

tags: thréesome (obv), unprotected p in v, oral (m receiving), porn without plot, close friend dynamic between the two of them, abby degrades you, jinu is still a loser <3, singular instance of spanking

m.list

"don't stop moving, doll," abby groans from behind you, big hands groping the fat of your ass as he watches you grind on his cock. it's hypnotic how it slides out a little each time only to disappear again between your sopping folds. he spreads the skin gently, the new sensation making you whine around jinu's length.

he winces at the vibration in your sweet mouth, hips bucking reflexively. his hands held the back of your head in a vice-like grip, seemingly more to steady himself than to help you take him down your throat.

you met his eyes through your lashes, decorated with tears from trying to supress your gag reflex. you teased the back of his tip with your tongue, lust dripping from your gaze. he hissed through clenched teeth, need seeping through his stare. he but his lip, canines pinching into the flesh as his he threw his head back, rolling his hips into your mouth and making you take him deeper.

your hips moved languidly on abby's girth all the while, spelling their names and gently bouncing, but admittedly jinu's reactions had you a little... distracted. your slick walls fluttered around abby as your hips slowed, focus shifting to jinu's pleasure.

you gagged on jinu's thick cock, abby's sudden thrust jolting your body forward.

"s-shit baby- don' do that," jinu groaned, hand sliding through your hair. "throat squeezin' the shit outta me enough already."

which, of course, makes abby thrust into you harder, hips snapping up to meet yours and sending you lurching forward onto jinu's dick. it reaches new depths in your throat, your lips wrapped tight around the hilt and nose pushed into the soft skin of his groin.

"look at that, taking me so well," abby croons, thumb prying open your folds to see himself sink into you. with his other hand, he dips a finger in, your arousal connecting you two with strings when he pulls away. addressing jinu, he tries and fails to hide the groan in his voice. "should see how she's sucking me in. so sloppy too, made a mess on me like a fucking slut."

jinu tucks lose strands of hair behind your ear, hands traveling to your shoulders as you suck harder, tongue writing your name in playful licks on the underside of his throbbing length.

"nngh- hard to imagine it feels better than her -hah- mouth," he whines as you pull him out, suckling on his tip. you blink up at him innocently as you litter his shaft with sloppy kisses, tongue tracing his veins in thick stripes. he moans, pretty and broken, and you swear you can feel abby smirking behind you.

hands back on your ass, he slams your hips into his relentless thrusts, your hold on jinu's cock tightening as you try to stabilize yourself.

"fuck her throat. slutty girl's gonna make me cum soon-" he groans through gritted teeth. "fuck- that feels so good- won't be able to -hah- keep doin' what she's been doin',"

jinu looks like he's been hit by a train.

can he really do that??

fingers catch under your chin as he lifts your face to meet your eyes. your eyes are glossy, lips and chin messy with his precum and your own saliva.

you look so fucked out.

and so beautiful.

"'s that okay?" he asks, no, pleads– he sees how ruined you are but he needs this. he's afraid to hurt you but his cock aches, balls heavy and desperate for release.

you give a shy nod, straightening your throat and opening your mouth, tongue stuck out, inviting him in.

"shitttt," he groans, tapping the tip on your tongue before sliding his length in steadily. the rough snap of abby's hips makes it harder for you to not gag, and it's getting harder to stay in control of your own body as you get absolutely ruined from both ends.

jinu's pace gets rough quickly, hips frantically rutting into your face, balls smacking against your slick chin. you're being pushed brutally back and forth between the two men, back sinking deeper into an arch and your legs shaking as you approach your own high.

a sharp smack! resounds in the room, a familiar stinging spreading like fireworks across your ass. abby gropes the skin after, his squeezing soothing yet rough, his thrusts getting sloppy. heavy balls hit against your sticky clit, wet noises mingling with heated breath and labored moans.

jinu's pace as he fucks your throat pushes you down further onto abby's length. you feel so full, so utterly fucked out. the overstimulation and pretty moans from behind you are enough to send you hurtling into your own high, vision going dark as you shake, walls spasming around abby.

"fuckkkk-kk-k," he groans, burying his fat cock in you to the hilt, giving small thrusts to try to reach impossible depths in your poor, weeping pussy. his balls tighten as he cums, hard, heavy cock twitching inside you.

he shoots thick ropes in you, hands grabbing desperately at your skin. his eyes roll back, head thrown against the pillow. his hips slow, but he keeps fucking you, making sure you milk him good and take every drop.

jinu doesn't even see the two of you coming undone together, his own head tilted up with eyes screwed shut and brows knitted tight in pleasure. his jaw slacks, gentle whines slipping from his throat.

you swallow around him absentmindedly, still recovering from your orgasm. he spills into your throat, hot load coating your throat. abby's hand weaves into your hair, pulling your head back from jinu's cock as he spurts one last time, mouth releasing from his tip with a lewd pop!

you fall back on his chest, jinu laying beside you two in the bed, all three of you panting. rolling you onto your side, abby whispers into your ear.

"catch your breath, baby, round two is coming soon,"

[drgnflyteabox]

can't get much better

pairing: ghost / simon riley x fem reader summary: simon is forced to take some time off - he makes the most of it. tags/warnings: very soft, pregnant sex, size difference, softdom!simon- he's a masculine man who doesn't let his lady lift a finger :'), oral (f), one (1) butthole kiss, dacryphilia, daddy kink (sigh), minor minor foot stuff, allusions to injuries and chronic pain, title from an adrianne lenker song w.c: 2.5k

You try very hard not to think about it, but it's hard not to notice how massive he is.

Even shirtless, he somehow looks bigger, muscles flush with heat and exertion under the sun. He toils and breathes hard like an ox, working while you sit on the porch wrapped in his big flannel. Wearing his clothes is like being swaddled in a blanket straight out of the dryer, warm and nostalgic and syrupy with love. It leaves you feeling some type of tender. You're afraid of that feeling sometimes, of how soft it is and how soft it makes you. He could ask anything of you, and you'd yield like he was pressing his thumb into a bruised peach.

You have.

"How are you two?" Simon is so quiet when he wants to be. One would think he'd clomp like a horse with how big he is, but he can float like dust. It used to startle you, but you've been sinking deeper into the memory foam mattress of this life with him and it doesn't anymore.

"Tired, even though I'm not doing anything," you squint at him through the late afternoon sun. It haloes him like an angel.

"You're growing my baby in there, love. That's not nothing," his voice is rough, it always will be. But it's rough now like earth and soil rather than rough with pain and smoke the way he'd sounded when you met him.

You're feeling especially nostalgic, it seems, not like it's hard here. His hand is warm on your belly.

"I guess so," you let him pet you for a moment. Your stomach is swollen but not as big as it'll get, just enough to veto pants. A few months to go still. "How's your back?"

"Argh," Simon says, taking a heavy seat next to you. Dismissive and yet he groans a little when his muscles unclench. Classic.

You slowly reach up and nudge him until he's facing the field opposite to you, face toward the golden afternoon sun and his back to you. He's never asked you to do this, to take care of him, but it's your favourite thing in the world.

His back is always rock-hard no matter how many times you take your knuckles and fingers to it. Just a condition of a hard life lived for him, countless falls and impacts and pushing through injuries. There's a slight slant to his spine now that isn't there in the pictures he's shown you of his youth, but the stiffness is the same. You might've said he was born to be a soldier, had you not known him as a father. He could do both, but - you'd never say this out loud - you were privately grateful for this injury. It wouldn't take him out forever, but the recovery would be long. Long enough to get the homestead started, to get you pregnant.

Simon would never be completely still. This was compromise. Sweet compromise, a life started and time with him you could think back on the next time he shipped out. Making the most of things, he would always say. Making the time count.

"That feels good, love" he groans. Bending forward slowly, relaxing, he's like an aloof stallion finally accepting an apple from your hand. Acquiescing. Showing you his back. It's trust, and you savour it.

"I bet it does," you tease back, just a little. Your fingers are nimble and attuned to his specific aches and pains. "Are you hungry for dinner?"

"I'm hungry for something," he turns, slowly, hands reaching for your thickened waist. Huge, work-roughened hands. War-roughened hands, holding you like a delicate egg. Sometimes it feels like he's the only thing that holds you together; all your pieces, everywhere, until he's holding you.

Kissing him is a contact sport. It's his hands moving, cupping your breast and then your pussy through your panties, your own hands wrapping around his broad shoulders like he's the only thing keeping you from drowning. It's open-mouthed, breathing into each other. Impossibly, you get softer, melting like ice on a hot day. 

Before you can lean back on the bench, he stands and lifts you with him. He's still hot from the day, damp with sweat, pushing you into the house while kissing you still.

"Simon-" you start, with no goal in mind. "Please."

"I've got you, love," he murmurs. He always does. Before you know it, you're laid back onto the plush armchair in your living room. Simon knows this is the most comfortable place for your newly-aching body. Affection swells in your chest uncontrollably and comes out through your eyes leaking down your face. Sure, pregnancy makes people emotional - but you're still embarrassed, touched by how considerate he is.

"It's alright, shh," he thumbs the tears at the corner of your eyes. His cock tents his work pants, aroused by them. "Let me take care of you."

The next words he murmurs are into your cunt, right over your panties, tongue laving over the already-wet fabric. "Just need your daddy, don't you?" You clench in tandem with his words, hot all over, skin prickling. He pushes your dress up, bunching it right under your tits.

It's reminiscent of how you spent the first night with him, on the very first day you'd met. Hurried, his big head between your thighs and clothes hanging off you still while he made you fall apart.

He's fucking good at it, too. Pulls your panties to the side and builds up the pressure with which he sucks on your clit, softly and then harsher until you shake. You've been extra horny lately, always wet around him and always so swollen. The scrape of his five-o-clock shadow against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh is what tips you over, clamping his head tightly and shouting your orgasm into the heady summer air.

"That all it takes?" Simon grins, chin wet, fingers moving from your hips to your pussy to gently rub along your slit.

"Give me a second, please," it's humbling how quickly you come nowadays. Quick and intense. Fireworks.

You set your foot on his shoulder and he turns towards it, kissing your ankle. Patience is rare with him, something come about only since you confirmed your pregnancy. You miss being overwhelmed by him, miss the nights where he'd guide you over the edge one, two, three times in succession.

He pushes now, just a little, not waiting for your go-ahead but watching you intently. His fingers spread your cunt in a V and he puffs a breath on your sensitive clit. You jump. He grins again, leaning down to lick you, using one hand to hold both your legs under your knees and push them until they meet the soft bump of your belly.

"Hold them there," he says. It's spoken not to you, but to your hole, which he spears his tongue into. You obey as you're helpless to do, holding your legs up and giving him an unimpeded view. It's more than vulnerable, it's not only baring yourself to him completely but giving him the authority to do what he wants. What you need.

Simon eats you out like it's a kiss, slurping you down and letting you leak until the evidence of your weakness to him is all over you. Your legs are wet, and it drips down onto your other hole. He pushes a thumb into your cunt, dipping it in and out.

"Needed me, did'ya? Watched me all day," he's so smug, sometimes. His lips find your bare foot, kissing your sole. "Been wet like this all day?" His other hand finds the meat of your asscheek, spreading you open further, letting the split of you open to him. He leans down, kissing your inner thigh, then your other hole. You whine and clench your pussy around his thumb. 

"So needy," he murmurs, finally finally moving back to your clit. Flicks his tongue over it, something that might've been teasing before but is intense now. Your hands tighten against your legs, head thrown back.

"Oh please- Simon!" You shout again, abs drawing up, stars in your eyes. "Ahh- I'm-"

"I know, honey," his lips suction again around the hard little pebble of your clit, eating like a man starved. 

This is how he likes you. Losing control, coming apart, helplessly vocal against the onslaught of his tongue. No matter how many times you've done this, it never gets old. The release almost always makes you cry, especially intense like this. You're wet all over, face and cunt and legs. He is, too.

"You still with me, love?" He pets your flank like you're a horse.

"Yes," but that's not what he wants.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, daddy."

"Good girl," and fuck if that doesn't always fill you with warm fuzzy energy. Wipes your brain, keeps you soft and floaty.

He guides you up and out of the armchair, lifts you into his arms when your legs shake too much. That electric feeling is still coursing through you, tingles in your extremities as they come back to life.

The hand he strokes over you is half affectionate, half proprietary. You've been his since the first time he laid eyes on you.

He reminds you of it as he sets you down gently on the bed, your hair a halo around your head and hands reaching to his face where you pull him down for a kiss. Hands find his shirt, pulling it off you, and then the dress. Fingertips touch the headboard, your arms stretching up, making room for him. Slips your panties down your legs.

It's a lingering, indulgent kiss. Breathing each others air, gasping into his mouth, he puts his elbows by your head and lays as much weight down as he can without cramping your full belly. He's as vocal as you, groaning and rutting like a dog.

"Ready for me, sweet girl?" He leans out of the kiss, sitting back on his heels. You nod, desperate and pulsing between the legs again like you didn't just come twice.

"Daddy's gonna take care of you, don't you worry," he rearranges you like a doll, turning you to your side and getting between your legs. A pillow is tucked under your belly, and he tests your flexibility by holding your leg tight to the length of his body. Your hamstring burns a little with it.

A hand holds your knee, another to your waist. His jeans scrape against your sensitive skin.

You focus on little details. His scar, touching his eyebrow and splitting through his nose, ending down by his jaw. The knuckles on his fingers holding your knee, and how rough the pads of his fingers feel on your waist. This man has never had soft hands in his life. Those same hands capable of so much force, so much violence, the very same that hold you and guide you. A shepherd, you his lamb.

The weeping head of his cock kisses your hole, catching there and traveling up. He taps it against your clit until you're tensing, whining, needy again. Tears down your cheeks.

He steadies you, pets your waist, guides his cock inside and it feels like you can breathe again. His mouth laves hot kisses over your ankle, the sole of your foot again, reverent and controlling all at once. The stretch burns - it always does, and maybe always will. Simon is just so big, thick all around and the mushroom head of him could always bump your cervix if he's not careful.

He's careful now, but only just. You can sense his control fraying, his hips driving forward steadily but his thighs tensing and his grip getting meaner. This is your favourite part. Watching him sweat, breathe hard, taking his pleasure in you.

"Yeah-" he cuts himself off with a long, drawn out groan. Deep, from the bottom of his belly and out. "Already so full of me, aren't ya? Can't get full enough."

You plead with your sounds, words out of your grasp. Your hands clutch at the sheets but it isn't enough. He's solid, he's your anchor, but he's losing himself in your cunt and you're free falling.

"Play with your tits for me," he commands, pumping faster. You're reflexively tightening around him, clit jumping for attention, squeaking each time he lets himself in as deep as possible and touches the mouth of your cervix.

Sunlight slowly fades on the bed, the last golden rays escaping out the window as you're bathed in dusk. 

There's nothing to do but obey, hands finding your swollen breasts and squeezing. They've been sore and huge, like that week before you get your period only it's been a couple months. None of your bras fit anymore.

Simon appreciates it, he loves it. Has you cooking for him with your tits out, nipples peaked and pussy leaking. They bounce, now, stopped only by your hands pinching and twisting. It's insane - no one in the world could replicate the feeling. No artist, no musician. Electricity zips from your breasts down to your clit and shit - you might come just like this, untouched, just full of your man and fondling yourself.

"Fuck, I can feel you squeezing me. Fucking," he pants, leaning over you, bending your leg. "Pinching my dick, sweetheart. Your pussy's so fucking good."

The orgasm begins in your toes, tingling. Your muscles tighten, drawing up, up, towards your cunt, which is making obscene sounds around him.

Simon sees the signs, sees your eyes rolling and your body going taut. He abandons your leg in favour of rubbing your clit with two big fingers quickly, up and down.

"That's it, sweetheart, come all over my cock. Go on," his voice is a snarl, barely distinguishable as human, beastly. "Be good for daddy.”

It's like the crescendo of an orchestra, like a summer afternoon in august, like waking up without a clogged nose after being sick, it's - really fucking good. You're near sobbing, crying out his name, abandoning your tits to reach for him desperately. He meets you halfway, shuddering his own orgasm into you. The press of his hips against yours is better than buttered toast, the delicate press of his chest against yours as he lets your leg go is bliss.

"Si-imon," you slur, hands on his cheeks. He laughs and kisses your forehead.

"What's that, sweet girl?"

"I love you," you cry a little more then, feeling him pull out and lay next to you. You're boneless.

"I love you too," his arm reaches across you, pulling you into him. "Both of you." Hand on your belly again.

"That was insane," you pant. He barks a laugh against your hair. "I'm serious."

"I know you are, love," he kisses your forehead, petting your stomach. You can tell it's meaning, can feel the gratefulness behind the kiss. He's saying thank you, for staying with him, for making him a father. Your hand finds his, squeezing back a wordless reply. Of course, it says.

<3

[skyeisabarnes]

Soldat

She and The Winter Soldier are each other's only solace on the H.Y.D.R.A base.

The Winter Soldier X Reader

Bucky Barnes X Reader

"I need to know, kid-"

The snarl that left her lips was animalistic. "Don't call me that," she said, her voice low enough to be a growl.

A sigh left Steve's lips as he stared at her. But his blue eyes weren't intimidating, not in the slightest.

Not compared with what she was used to.

He held up a picture. "Do you know this man?"

It wasn't a clear picture, not in the slightest. Nearly impossible to make out who the picture was of. But she knew. Of course she knew who he was. He was the most terrifying man she had ever met.

"Have you got a date with death, Captain America?" She mused, tugging at her binds. "Because that's all you'll get by seeking him out."

A single flame appeared on her fingertips. She held it against the rope around her wrist.

Steve let his head fall, shoulders slumping forward slightly. "Why are you doing this, kid? Why do you want to work for H.Y.D.R.A?

She clenched her jaw. "I told you, Captain, don't call me kid." She smirked at him as her flame singed at the rope. "I've fucked men older than you."

Pink dusted his cheeks as he turned away from her.

"And," she continued, "for the record, I don't want to work for H.Y.D.R.A. Just like your friend, I don't have a choice."

Her words weren't supposed to be comforting, but warm blossomed in Steve's chest. Of course Bucky wasn't doing this out of choice. Somehow, he was being forced.

The rope fell away from her wrists, but she stayed still.

"He will come for me."

"The Winter Soldier," Steve said and she nodded, confirming it.

But then Steve crouched in front of her, his arms resting on his legs. "Good."

Her fist connected with his face. Not yet surrounded by fire, that would come if he didn't let her go. "Trust me, Captain, I'm saving you!" She yelled as he stumbled away from her, giving her room to stand up. "The Soldier won't hold back when it comes to me."

It wasn't supposed to be a brag, but it was. When you have Earth's most dangerous assassin at your beck and call, it's kind of hard not to brag.

Each step left marks in the floor, soot in the shape of her boot. "If it wasn't for him, I'd thank you for getting me out, Captain." She said it with such sincerity, Steve could only stare. "But I can't leave him there."

Her fists were on fire as she walked away from him. Captain America should have been putting up more of a fight, but he let her go, watched her walk away from him.

At the sounds of screams from outside of whatever building she was in, she broke into a run. Through the empty halls of the building and through the doors, out into the light of midday.

Whatever plan Captain America had, it was a bad one.

He stalked towards her, killing everything in his path. The mask and goggles covered his face, but she knew it was him. She would always know it was him.

"Soldat."

His movements were slow, purposeful as he moved towards her. He said nothing as he became hurried, almost desperate.

This wasn't the first time she had been his mission. She had never been afraid of him, of the danger he possessed.

He held his gun in his metal hand,his other arm stretched out towards her. He spoke in Russian as he took her hand and pulled her into his side.

"I'm okay," she said back to him, switching to Russian. "I'm safe, Soldat."

He was silent as he took her away, his hold on her tight. She wrapped her arms around him as he took her away on his bike. Her arms were tight around him, face pressed against his muscled back.

All the while, she had no idea she was being tracked.

***

He held her tight as H.Y.D.R.A tried to pull them apart. But The Winter Soldier wasn't going to let her go.

"Soldat," she whispered, thumb moving over his cheek. "I'm okay. You can let me go."

A grunt left his lips, but he made no move to release her. But then they started to say those fucking words. "Longing."

"No!" She cried. She searched his blue eyes, tried to work out who he was. The Soldier, or the man he used to be.

"Rusted."

"Soldat." His hand came to rest on top of hers, his other arm still holding her tight.

"Furnace."

He drew in a sharp breath, but he didn't let go of her. He wouldn't let go of her, until his mind wasn't his own.

When they finished those damned words, The Winter Soldier released her. He was still reluctant, moving slowly and unwillingly.

But, as soon as he let her go, they grabbed her, took her away from him. Unlike the Soldier, she wasn't brainwashed. She didn't need reconditioning.

She struggled as they took her away from The Soldier. But she would find her way back to him, she always did. The last time H.Y.D.R.A tried to keep them apart, The Winter Soldier slaughtered everybody in his way to get to her.

"Kidnapped by Captain America," said her handler, her researcher as he stalked towards her, notebook open. "I thought you were trained better than that."

She stared at him, resisting a scowl. "Father," she said and held her chin up. "I don't understand why I am here."

Her father released a chuckle. "We need to understand how, Darling. How did a highly skilled killer get kidnapped by Captain America."

She shrugged her shoulders and looked down at her boots. "He caught me by surprise," she mumbled and shoved her hands into her pockets.

"How?"

"James."

She stopped in her tracks upon hearing his name, her mission forgotten. She knew that name. James. Her Soldier.

"You know James."

Her hands shook at her sides, ready to swing. "No," she managed to spit. But her voice was strained, as if it hurt to say.

But really, she didn't know a James. She knew The Winter Soldier, not the man he was before. The man he was before wasn't hers to know.

"Sorry about this, kid."

"I'm not a-"

But something hit the back of her head, and she crumpled to the floor.

"I don't know," she answered, her voice shaking. "I wasn't concentrating."

He wrote something down.

"It won't happen again."

"It won't happen again, what?"

"It won't happen again, sir."

They dragged her away after that, dragged her back to her soldat. But they didn't have to drag her, she went willingly. All she wanted was to get back to him. Her steps were hurried, her guards holding her back.

As soon as she was in the cell, she was upon him. "Soldat," she whispered as she stood before where he sat on the bed.

His legs were already parted, but he gave her enough room to climb between them. His hands settled on the backs of her thighs as he stared up at her.

Again, she couldn't tell who she was looking at. The Winter Soldier, or James.

Her hands settled in his shoulders. "Soldat," she whispered again. "James."

"I know that name," he whispered.

"It's yours, according to the man that kidnapped me."

A sigh left his lips. His hands moved up, settling on her waist. "Did he hurt you?" He asked, blinking when she pushed his hair out of his face.

She shook her head. "No, but he wanted to get to you," she answered and kissed him. It was only quick, testing what James would let her do.

He kissed her back, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

"What if I could get you out of here?" He whispered, his flesh hand moving up her back. "Would you want to come with me?"

This was all she had ever known. But she hated it. There had to be better for her out there, better with him. With James, with her Soldier. She would take him any way she could get him. As James. As the soldier. As Bucky.

She nodded her head as she climbed into his lap. "In a heartbeat," she whispered as she laid her head against his shoulder.

His hand closed around something around her back. He tugged it from her shirt and held it in his palm. "I think I've found us a way out, sweetheart."

She was so damn scared, but she had him by her side. Her James. Her Soldier.

[ivyues]

Reunited Moments: Stray Kids’ reactions to seeing their S/O after a long time

Bang Chan

The moment Chris sees you, his eyes widen in disbelief before softening with overwhelming emotion. A breath catches in his throat as he takes a step forward, then another – until he’s practically running.

"Y/N..." he whispers.

Before you can even respond, he pulls you into his arms, holding you close, as if making sure you're really there. His warmth engulfs you, and you feel the way his fingers clutch the fabric of your shirt, refusing to let go. His chest rises and falls unevenly, and when you tilt your head up, you notice the slight shimmer in his eyes.

"I missed you so much," he murmurs against your hair, his voice thick with emotion.

A tear escapes, but he doesn’t care. He kisses you gently, his lips soft against yours as though he’s afraid you might slip away again. His kiss deepens, letting himself believe that finally, finally, you're back in his arms.

Lee Know

As soon as Minho sees you, he freezes, his lips pressing into a firm line. His arms cross over his chest as he shifts his weight, trying to play it cool.

"Took you long enough," he mutters, looking away, but the way his fingers twitch at his sides gives him away.

You smile, stepping closer, and that’s when his façade cracks. Before you can even tease him, he sighs in defeat and pulls you into a tight hug, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

“…Idiot. I missed you," he mumbles, voice barely above a whisper. His grip on you tightens for a second before he quickly pulls back. "Don’t disappear like that again," he adds.

Even as he tries to regain his composure, his hands linger on your waist, unwilling to let you go just yet.

The rest of the day, Minho doesn’t let you stray too far. No matter where you go, he’s right there, a little too close, always glancing at you like he’s making sure you’re still within arm’s reach.

Changbin

The moment Changbin lays his eyes on you, his face lights up with pure joy. "Y/N!" he shouts, already moving towards you at full speed. Before you can even react, he scoops you up, spinning you around in the air as laughter bubbles out of you.

“I missed you so much!” he exclaims. The world blurs around you, but all you can focus on is his bright smile and the way his arms feel so secure around you.

When he finally sets you down, he immediately pulls you into another bone-crushing hug, squeezing you so tight you can barely breathe.

"Binnie—I can't breathee!" you gasp, laughing while patting his shoulder.

"Shh, just a little longer," he mumbles against your shoulder, refusing to let go. You feel his arms tighten slightly as if he's afraid you'll disappear again. "I don't wanna let go yet."

And honestly, neither do you.

Hyunjin

Hyunjin stops in his tracks the moment he sees you. His eyes go wide, his breath hitching as he stares like he's seeing a ghost.

"No way…" he whispers, shaking his head in disbelief. He even blinks a few times before looking at you again. "Is this real? Am I dreaming?"

You laugh softly, taking a step closer. "I—I can't believe it," he says, voice trembling slightly.

You roll your eyes at his dramatics but smile nonetheless. "Yes, Hyunjin, I'm here. You can touch me if you want proof."

At that, he finally snaps out of it, rushing forward and pulling you into a desperate hug. His arms wrap tightly around you, his body molding against yours.

"I missed you so much," he murmurs, his voice quieter now as he simply holds you. 

You smile into his shoulder, squeezing him just as tightly. "I'm not going anywhere."

Han

The moment Han lays eyes on you, his expression shifts instantly – his playful smile falters, his lips part like he wants to say something, but no words come out.

The second he reaches you, he crashes into you, wrapping his arms around you so tightly it nearly knocks the breath out of you. His head buries into your shoulder, and that’s when you feel it – his quiet sniffles, the way his body trembles slightly against yours.

"You—" His voice cracks, and he grips you even tighter. "I was gone for so long…"

Your hands run soothingly through his hair as you hold him just as tightly, your own heart aching. Minutes pass, but Han doesn’t let go, as if making up for all the time spent apart.

“Just a little longer,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

You nod, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head. "As long as you need."

And so you stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms, neither of you willing to let go.

Felix

The moment Felix sees you, he completely freezes. His eyes widen, lips parting slightly as if he can’t believe you’re really there. Then, before he can stop it, his eyes glisten with tears.

You barely have time to react before the first tear rolls down his cheek. That’s all it takes for you to rush forward, closing the distance between you. The second your arms wrap around him, he melts into you, gripping onto you like you might disappear if he lets go.

A shaky sob escapes him as he buries his face into your shoulder, his whole body trembling against yours. “I missed you so much,” he whispers, his deep voice breaking with emotion. His hands clutch the back of your shirt tightly.

You rub his back soothingly, holding him just as tightly. “I’m here now, Lix,” you murmur, pressing a soft kiss to his hair asyou feel a wetness on your own cheek.

You pull back, gently wiping away a tear from your face. “Hey, no fair. Now you’re making me cry too,” you tease, your voice light but full of warmth, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

Seungmin

The moment Seungmin sees you, a playful smirk plays on his lips. But is gaze softens the moment he notices the glisten of tears in your eyes, replaced by an expression of concern.

You try to brush it off, sniffling and wiping your eyes. "Aren’t you gonna tease me for crying?" you ask, trying to laugh.

But instead of teasing you, Seungmin steps forward, his arms immediately enveloping you in a warm, reassuring hug. His grip is firm yet gentle, as if he’s trying to convey just how much he’s missed you without saying a word.

"Hey I'm not that mean," he murmurs softly, his voice quieter than usual. "I missed you, too, you know."

You rest your head on his chest, the warmth and comfort of his embrace enough to make everything feel okay again.

I.N

The moment Jeongin sees you, his entire face lights up with pure joy. His bright smile spreads across his lips, his eyes crinkling with excitement as he practically bounces towards you.

"Y/N!" he exclaims as he rushes to you without a second thought.

Before you can even react, he pulls you into a warm hug, his arms wrapping securely around you. There's no hesitation, no shyness – just the sheer joy of having you back in his arms. He rocks you slightly from side to side, his laughter bubbling up like he can’t contain it.

"I missed you so much," he says, pulling back just enough to look at you. "You have no idea how happy I am to see you again!"

Seeing him this cheerful makes your heart swell, and you can’t help but smile just as brightly. “I think I do,” you say, squeezing him again.

masterlist

[paucubarsisimp]

soft mornings

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: soft mornings with lando <3

warnings: none!

you wake up because he moves. just a little. shifts behind you, arm tightening around your waist like he thinks you might disappear if he doesn’t hold you close. his breath is warm on your neck. you don’t open your eyes right away.

his leg is tangled with yours. you don’t know how long he’s been like that — probably all night. holding you close like he’s afraid you’ll leave while he’s out cold.

you move your hand and rest it on top of his. it’s warm, a little rough from driving and training. his fingers twitch under yours, then curl around them. still half asleep, he presses his nose into your shoulder and breathes in.

“hey,” he mumbles. voice all hoarse and soft.

“hey,” you whisper back.

he’s quiet for a while. not fully awake, but not letting go. you both just lie there. no rush, no pressure. the light’s soft through the curtains. not bright yet, but morning.

“what time?” he asks after a while.

“almost eight.”

he groans into your back. “no way. that can’t be.”

“you have to get up soon.”

he doesn’t answer. just pulls you closer and sighs.

“five more minutes,” he says.

you smile. it’s always five more minutes with him in the morning. he says it like a joke but means it every time, like if he asks nicely enough, the day will wait.

you turn to face him. his eyes are half open, hair messy, mouth relaxed. no ego, no public face — just soft, real lando.

he looks at you like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen.

you brush a stray hair from his forehead.

“what?” you ask.

“nothing,” he says. “just… like waking up with you.”

you don’t say anything. just lean into him, head on his chest, arms around his waist.

after a while, you say, “i’m gonna shower.”

he tightens his hold for a second, then lets go reluctantly.

“don’t leave me,” he says softly.

you laugh. “you want to come?”

he nods. “only if you let me hold you.”

you roll your eyes but smile. “fine.”

the bathroom’s steamy and warm when you both step in. water runs over your skin, your hair clings to your neck. lando stands behind you, arms around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder.

he doesn’t say much. just holds you. like that’s enough.

you reach for shampoo, but his hand covers yours.

“let me,” he says quietly.

he massages your scalp with slow fingers, careful like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you. you close your eyes and lean back against him.

he rinses your hair, water mixing with the suds and dripping down your back. you hear his breath hitch when he leans his head forward to kiss your neck softly.

you turn around in his arms, water dripping off your hair, and look up at him. his eyes are soft and steady.

“this is nice,” he says, voice low.

“yeah,” you agree. “really nice.”

he smiles that small smile that reaches his eyes, the one that makes your heart squeeze.

“can we stay like this forever?”

“only if you promise not to hog the hot water.”

he laughs, and the sound is warm and easy.

you both stay in the shower a little longer, wrapped up in quiet and each other.

the world outside can wait.

taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, @hollyf1,@mxryxmfooty, @halfwayhearted, @landoslutmeout , @linnygirl09, @spidybaby, @dessashippr, @freyathehuntress lmk if you want to be added!

[s0lidar1ty]

soaked the set

A/N: i had an itch and i can comfortably say its been scratched.

You’re on your tiptoes.

Bent over the fake marble counter of the set kitchen, knees wobbling, tits swaying, and the cameras—fuck, there’s so many of them. Mounted on the cabinets, steadicams tracking each of your expressions, boom mics hovering like they’re afraid to miss a single moan you make.

And Rafe—he’s behind you, cock already shoved deep inside your dripping cunt, one hand bruising your waist, the other creeping higher—

Until it wraps around your neck.

Your breath catches as he drags your body back into him, your chest lifting off the counter, feet nearly leaving the floor, and suddenly his biceps under your jaw and you’re locked in—face slightly squished together, fingers clawing at his arm out of nothing but pleasure.

Of course, it’s left to Rafe Cameron to put you in a headlock mid-session just because he wanted to. It wasn’t part of the script, but that heightens the weight of the situation even more.

You blink.

Your vision spots.

And your pussy clenches hard.

“Ohh, she likes that,” Rafe growls, pressing into your soaked cunt with a deep, hungry thrust. “That little squeeze got you flutterin’, baby.”

You try to respond—but all that comes out is a shaking gasp, your eyes rolling, the edge hitting fast and sharp.

It happens before you realize.

You squirt.

Hard. Violently. Liquid sprays across the counter, dripping down your thighs, the mic overhead catching every wet sound as you convulse in his hold.

“Fuck,” someone on set breathes.

But Rafe doesn’t stop.

“You hear that? Shit, she’s squirting already,” he grunts. “Just from this—just from being choked out a lil bit.”

You whimper. Shake. Barely stand.

And then—he turns you around and lifts you.

His arms slide under your thighs, hoisting you off the counter completely. You wrap around him on instinct, arms locking behind his neck, toes curling behind his back. He’s fucking you mid-air now, with nothing but his strength keeping you suspended while his cock drives up into your soaked cunt like it’s made for him.

Because it is. Because you are made for him. And that meant taking everything he gave you.

Your voice breaks.

The camera operator doesn’t even flinch. No one moves.

Until the director yells:

“Cut! That’s a wrap!”

The lights dim slightly. A few cables shuffle.

But he doesn’t stop.

He doesn’t even pause.

“That was for the video,” he mutters in your ear. “Now I’m fucking you for me.”

You barely register the shift in his tone before his hips snap up again, filling you deep enough to make your breath catch in your throat. His pace is brutal. Focused. Intentional. Like the cameras still rolling don’t even exist to him anymore.

The monitor in front of you blinks back your image—limp, fucked stupid, clinging to him while he uses you like a doll.

Your head falls back. “Rafe—baby—please—”

“You can manage another one, princess,” he growls. “Don’t you dare hold back.”

“I can’t—”

“You will.”

He slams into you. Again. Again. The squelch of your pussy is obscene, dripping slick all over his thighs, your body jostling in the air, barely keeping your grip around his neck. His mouth is by your ear, but his voice is for everyone.

“You all watching this?” he pants. “She’s gonna break. Watch this pretty pussy give out.”

And then—

You feel the rapid buildup.

But not soft. Not subtle.

Your scream rips through the set—wet, high-pitched, no air left behind it. You seize in his arms, trembling as your orgasm hits too hard, your whole body jerking forward with the force of it.

Then—slip.

His cock’s driven out of you. Pushed out.

He pops free mid-thrust, and your squirt follows; a sudden, messy spray that hits his abs, his hips, his thighs. It drips to the floor with wet slaps. Your body bucks again, again, thighs trembling in his grip before they go loose around his waist.

The studio goes dead silent.

No direction. No sound tech whispering.

Not even the cameras shift.

You’re still up in his arms—barely. Your shoulders sag, your head slumps against his neck. Your cunt’s still twitching, still leaking down his stomach as you pant, overwhelmed and on the very near verge of subspace.

Rafe looks down.

At your ruined pussy. At the thick coat of slick trailing down his skin. At his cock—throbbing, flushed, and unsatisfied.

Then slowly, he looks back at you.

Your eyes are barely open. Glassy. Unfocused.

He breathes out a stunned, breathless—

“…You just fucked me out.”

A pause.

A pulse in his jaw.

Then he laughs.

Low. Deep. Dark in a way that makes every camera lurch a little closer again.

“Fuckin’ hell, baby,” he mutters. “You really just squirted me out of your pussy.”

You barely respond.

Just a whimper, a twitch, your nails weak against his back.

And he’s not done.

Not even close.

Because then, he adjusts his grip. Bends his knees. Presses his cock right back against your overstimulated folds, so sensitive now that the bare contact makes you flinch.

You blink.

He grins.

“There’s no fucking way,” a crew member whispers off to the side, too stunned to even cut the shot.

But Rafe?

He just pushes forward, sliding his cockhead through the slick mess between your thighs, teasing it over your clit—slow. So slow it burns.

Your body jolts. Hiccups. Tries to lift off him, but you’re already caged in again.

He noses at your temple, voice low, velvet-coated filth.

“Nahh, baby. I’m not done with this pussy till you’ve got nothing left to give me.”

[trashogram]

Honey, I Shrunk

Satan/Reader - Your man hates shrinking down to your size bc he���s already a little bitch

{Rated M forrrrrrr the whole point of this silly ficlet}

*~*~*~*

You sighed while leaning back on your elbows, and eyeing up your lover as he literally towered above you.

“Sweetheart, why do you have to make this so difficult?” You asked in a sugarcoated tone.

Satan huffed through his nostrils, smoke and steam billowing into a short lived fog that hung above you. He looked down at you with four narrow eyes as blazing as the sun.

“This is enough.” He replied.

His stony response had you looking nonplussed, eyebrows raised at the blatant lie.

“You’re still big enough to flatten a good ten city blocks, babe.” Another sigh left your lips, ignorant of Satan’s mounting agitation. “And I’m afraid I’m not in the mood for erotic trampling tonight.”

“Unless you’re going with this size so that… it can look smaller?”

The behemoth Sin lunged forward with a bullish snort, full of wrath as he bore sharp teeth twice your size at you.

“You say I’m the one making things difficult but it’s you who is never satisfied!” He roared, blowing back your hair with his hot breath.

The expression on your face didn’t change. Satan huffed and puffed while you waited patiently before exhaling:

“You good?”

Another horse’s whinny, paired with the grating sound of his teeth grinding together sounded before Satan quietly took a couple of deep breaths. You paused before changing tactics, sitting up and shifting onto your knees so that you could crawl over to the face of your darling.

You reached out to him with a gentle hand, palm cool and reassuring over his molten scales. With ease and tenderness, you stroked a line down his tapered snout, adding your other hand before you leaned in to nuzzle him with your entire face.

“I just wanna feel you, Satan.” You admitted, adoration pouring through your every word. “I wanna feel your body on mine. I want you to hold me in your arms and kiss me until I’m breathless.”

The draconian Sin’s pinpointed pupils crossed to peer down at you when you kissed his snout.

“I wanna feel your heat inside me,” You murmured. “When we make love.”

The full-body shudder that followed from your lover echoed through your much smaller frame before Satan nudged you back onto the bed. You brushed aside the curtain of your hair in time to see him slowly shrink down. He was still a great deal larger than you, able to overpower you with his brute strength alone. And his quadra-horns only added to that height —

You grinned as a flush ran through you when he moved to join your bed. He climbed over you, the bed springs groaning — but not breaking — beneath his weight as he caged you in with his thick biceps and broad shoulders.

“Brat.” He rumbled, rubbing his crotch against yours as he breathed into your parted mouth. “I’d never let anyone get away with your impudent requests. But I guess you’ll have to learn that the hard way.”

You could hardly reign in your moan as you heard his buckle being undone. As a distraction, your hands came up to rest against his pectorals, gliding over the thin yet silky maroon material reverently.

“Can’t promise I won’t enjoy the punishment, Your Honor.”

[lily-bisque]

ＷＡＹ ＯＵＴ ＴＨＥＲＥ 𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

volume two — amateur blood

✦ ── pairing: lumberjack!sukuna x citygirl!reader

✦ ── synopsis: taking a hike, alone, in a massive forest to escape your mundane life may not have been the greatest idea you'd conjured up—a realization you'd come to soon after you managed to lose your map miles inland. but when a lumberjack who knows the land like the back of his hand offers you a place to stay, you think maybe your life isn't so tragic after all. besides, for the sake of your safety, who knows what lingers in the shadows after nightfall?

✦ ── contents: lost in the forest au, forced proximity, bantering, angst, trauma/torture aspects, minor injuries, eventual romance, eventual smut, no use of y/n, more tags to be added.

✦ ── a/n: check out the playlist for the curated mood and for a forehead kiss.

✦ ── word count: 3.4k

archive ─ playlist

series masterlist - previous volume - volume three

art by outdmilk on twt

Your arms tightened around Sukuna’s collar as an attempt to calm your worries, eyes widening as you glanced around the dim woodlands, realizing that the sunlight was slowly but surely draining.

“Quit it. You’re fuckin’ chokin’ me,” Sukuna huffed out hoarsily, clasping a hand around your forearm and attempting to wring himself free from your firm hold.

But your legs tightened around his waist, digging your face into the crook of his neck and shivering. “I’ve never gone on a hike before!” You exclaimed, voice muffled as you felt doom crawling upon you from all angles, clinging to him as tightly as you could.

He scowled, resigning to your unrelenting bear hug before he honed his focus in. You hadn’t dared to glance up, leaving him to deal with this.

He could deal with this, right? He was an expert—lived in the outbacks and was a formidable fortress of a man. You weren’t crazy to let him deal with this.

But then you heard it, closer this time. Your heart sank to your stomach, the sounds of snarling closing in on all sides. 

You were frozen in fear, unable to even peek from your eyes, feeling as if this creature were about to pounce on you from behind.

You could hear Uraume whining loudly beside Sukuna’s foot, paws brushing against your booted foot.

“Uh, don’t let go,” Sukuna spoke, head turning on a swivel as he crouched, dropping your bag to his side carefully.

You nodded, nose nuzzling into his skin and practically choking him out of fear.

You could hear him crack his knuckles, knees bent before he moved forward, letting out a loud huff.

He did it again, and again.

You couldn’t see his expression, but you could imagine his frown and bared teeth as he pounced forward.

Metallic sounds resonated in the charged air before Sukuna made a growling sound, stepping forward once more.

You could hear the whine of the wolves, whimpering and afraid, stepping backwards while whistling quietly. They began yelping and yapping to each other before one barked, maybe some sort of a signal to retreat as a pack.

They huffed, before the sounds of their paws meeting wet earth sounded in the opposite direction, and thus disappeared.

You couldn’t move, your forearms trembling against Sukunas neck.

“You can let go now,” he gruffed, now tugging at your arm to try and get a breath in. 

Slowly, you let your guard down, lifting your pinched face from the crook of his neck and loosening the curl of your fingers on his collar. “Sorry,” you muttered, blinking a couple of times.

He grunted, cracking his neck with a loud pop! before picking up your bag and beginning to walk again.

After a couple of silent moments where you gathered your mental bearings, you spoke quietly, still afraid of what managed to lurk beneath the shadows. “Do you come across wild animals often?”

He wiped sweat from his browline before removing his hat to skim his fingers through his hair before placing it back on. “What?”

You bit your lip, your jitters still lingering despite never taking a glance at the animals that nearly mauled you. “Well, you seemed to know fire would scare them off.”

He was silent for a few minutes. He stepped over a fallen rotten log bustling with dawdling vermin, his footfalls suddenly louder as night began to fall and wildlife lurked in the shadows, a quiet hum of locust chirps and low howls of the wind. “What are you talking about?”

Shuffling uncomfortably, you still kept your voice to a hushed tone. “Your lighter. I-I wouldn’t have known what to do in the moment,” you sighed, a sort of dread washing over you.

Who knows what might have happened to you if Sukuna hadn’t been there? You definitely would’ve been dinner for a pack of wolves in the middle of the woods, not a scrap of you left to send back to your family.

Sukuna sighed, attempting to hone his focus on the protruding branches in the dark in case they skim you again. “Been here a long time. Can’t have myself gettin’ scared of a couple of mutts.”

You didn’t respond to that, wondering what Sukuna had managed to endure in the woods, possibly a plethora of stories behind the scars that littered his face.

“Do you live alone?” You asked, wanting to steer the conversation.

“Mhm,” he hummed, eyes squinting as the trail only managed to seem to get darker with each passing second. He hadn’t brought his flashlight with him as he’d only been going on a walk with Uraume and would’ve been back home ages ago.

You didn’t know how to feel about that. Would it have been more consolation that there was someone waiting up the hill he was currently climbing for you? 

You also didn’t know the reasoning behind how you were feeling. Were you still worried about him tossing you in a nearby creek after chasing you like prey in the woods or did you feel a sense of pity for the guy, isolated in the forestry?

Living out here must be lonely.

“We’re here,” he panted out and broke you from your reverie.

You peered up, head bumping against the rim of his hat, gaze meeting his home.

Past the pine trees was a beat up and neglected one-story house, damn near dilapidated. You assume at one point it was a solid white, but as it aged over time it became a sort of beige from lack of upkeep and humid weather. The screen to the front door was torn in a few odd places, his brown drapes were drawn shut, and there was a singular plastic chair on the porch, beer cans littered on the floor beside it.

Uraume barked, wagging their tail and hurrying over to their small doghouse, a well-kept boarded box with a small cot inside.

Behind it was an ominous shed, and the image made your blood run cold for some reason.

“Are you going to kill me in there?” You quirked, only half-joking, swallowing thickly.

“If you ask nicely.”

You frowned deeply, fidgeting with your fingers. Sukuna glanced down at your hands, cocking his head. With a sigh, he padded up the two wobbly steps to his front door. “If I wanted to kill you, why would I bother bringing you all the way up here?”

You opened your mouth to respond, mind boggling with some sort of explanation but falling short. 

“Right,” he groaned.

His hands began to loosen around your thighs, lowering you to the floor slowly and ensuring you kept off of your bad foot by holding your forearm. He slung your bag over his shoulder before digging into his pockets for his keys.

You wondered why on earth he even bothered to lock his house in the middle of literal nowhere but shook it off. To each their own.

You peered up at him as his movements flowed lazily and only now did you notice the sharp gleam and color in his eyes. He had crimson irises, his eye shape permanently contorted into a displeased form like anything he’d laid his eyes on repulsed him.

He pushed the door open, and you blinked, eyes adjusting to the eerie darkness despite the sun already going down.

Sukuna flipped the light switch on, kicking his boots off with a groan. He tossed your bag on the small coffee table littered with burnt out cigarettes and multiple, full ashtrays, before throwing himself on the couch that he easily dwarfed, his chest heaving. As you stood awkwardly in his doorway, you noticed just how exhausted he looked to be.

The front of his shirt was sweat soaked, his face was dotted in a layer of perspiration and he was still catching his breath. After what felt like over an hour, he never once asked for a break, hauling your complaining ass uphill.

You frowned at that, opening your mouth when he suddenly spoke.

“You gonna keep standing there or you gonna take a shower? You reek, woman.”

You shrunk into yourself, peering your head down to get a whiff and grimacing. He even endured the scent without one grievance the entire time?

“Uhm. Where’s your bathroom?” You spoke, mousily, itching the back of your neck.

“First door to the right.”

You whispered a small ‘thank you’ before wobbling away, stepping into the room he directed you to and shutting the door behind you, making sure to turn the lock.

You flipped the light switch on, laying your back against the door and getting the first sense of tranquility in the last couple hours.

The bathroom ventilation hummed, along with the lights that flickered a couple of times before radiating steadily.

You stared at your reflection, sweaty and covered in mud and disheveled. The skin tint you’d put on had become patchy and you had creases etched across your face, making you sigh.

There was suddenly a cool draft and a buzz, and you could assume that Sukuna finally turned the air conditioning on as his place was sweltering like outside.

It felt oddly similar to the times you’d spent at some shitty motel with your ex who never cared to take you anywhere nice, the dingy and timeworn room that was permanently marked beige from it’s year accommodating to plenty people with sketchy lifestyles, always smelling strangely like cockroaches.

You shook the thought off, gaze peering down and inspecting his sink.

There was one toothbrush, a half-used tube of toothpaste, and a nearly-gone bar of soap.

Men are so simple.

You shuddered, feeling a sudden urge to strip.

You began to peel your clothing off, just like you’d done at the stream, and tossed them into a heap on his tile floors. You played with the faucet for a couple of moments before figuring how to turn on the coldest temperature, desperately needing to cool your body.

You stepped in, allowing the freezing temperature to cascade down your form and carefully taking a look at your puncture wound.

It hadn’t seemed to grow since Sukuna brushed some branch against it, thankfully. But it still hurt to put too much pressure on it, one knee bent everywhere you hobbled to.

You glanced around the things in his shower caddy.

A bottle of shampoo. Another used bar of soap. A really old body wash.

A half-full beer bottle.

You grimaced, opting for the shampoo bottle and body wash, thankful they weren’t expired. Surprisingly, his body wash was blood orange scented, making the shower not as horrible as you scrubbed yourself, wishing a loofah would fall from the sky and into your hands.

There were a couple of raps of knuckles against the door, stilling you as shampoo swam down your face, eyes clamped shut. “You done yet?” 

“Uhhhhh,” you began to scrub quicker, a sense of urgency flooding you. “Almost!”

On another occasion, Sukuna would’ve told you to stop using all of his water and get out. But you were injured and probably trying not to slip, so he just bit his tongue. “I’ve got a spare towel, mind if I come in?”

Your heart skipped a beat, accidentally opening your eyes and allowing the fruity shampoo to burn your orbs and hiss. “I— Just give me a sec!”

You hurried your pace, accidentally hitting your ankle against the edge of the tub and digging crescents with your fingernails into your thigh before you carefully made your way out.

You dripped shower water all over his floor, scowling, before you undid the lock and held your wet forearm out. “You still out there?”

You barely allowed a glimpse into the bathroom, Sukuna glancing down at your hand and grinning to himself at how you were still so nervous around him.

He didn’t respond for a few moments, hearing the water run behind you.

“Hello?” You called out in frustration, peeking your head out and flinching when you saw the man looming over you.

He only scoffed with a grin to himself, placing the cotton towel into your hand and disappearing around the corner.

You didn’t know what to make of it, pulling your arm inside and slamming the door shut.

“Weird.”

You wrapped it around yourself, staring at yourself in the mirror and feeling a bit better about how you managed to scrub the remnants of the horrible day off.

Hold on.

You twitched, staring down at the pile of clothing on the ground and wincing.

Besides the extra pair of panties and bra you’d brought along with yourself in case you’d needed a change, a habit you had out of odd fear, you hadn’t packed an extra set of clothing.

Fuck.

You felt your cheeks warm before turning the faucet off and stepping out of the bathroom, hugging the towel around your form to cover yourself as best as you could.

Thankfully, Sukuna was a massive man, so the towel concealed most of your bare skin. 

Though, it’s not like the guy hasn’t seen you naked before.

When you padded barefoot across his wooden floors, you craned your head around and called out to him. The house wasn’t incredibly spacious so he should be able to hear you from anywhere.

But, the front door was slightly ajar, making your head tilt slightly.

You walked over to it, pulling it open and peering outside. It was incredibly dark, and the air had turned from feverish to quite chilly, making you shudder.

The sound of panting caught your attention, making you turn your head to see a large form crouched over the dogshed.

Sukuna seemed to be ruffling Uraume's hair while they panted, eating from a bowl Sukuna was holding. 

Though you could only make out the side of his face, his expression looked a hell of a lot softer as he eyed what seemed to be his best friend.

As you allowed yourself to be privy to what seemed to be a private moment, you missed how you stepped on a faulty plank of wood, effectively creaking beneath your weight and commanding the attention of anything in a hundred foot radius.

Sukuna’s head snapped towards you, eyebrows knitting once he made out that you were still in your towel. “The hell you doing? You’re gonna freeze your ass off,” he called, irritation swimming in his eyes.

You cleared your throat, pulling the top of the towel higher. “Sorry, but, do you think I could borrow a change of clothes?”

His crimson eyes gave you a once-over, enough to make your spine crawl, before he jutted his chin. “My room is across from the bathroom.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, hiding just how pleased you were. “Thanks, Sukuna.”

Tottering backwards, you felt a flutter of ease, feeling entirely unlike yourself. This strange man you’d met only a few hours ago was already opening his home, and even his closet to you.

Would alarms be sounding off in a rational woman’s head? Probably.

Have you ever been rational? No.

Before you headed to his room, you hurried back to the bathroom and gathered your dirty laundry clumsily and shoved them back into your backpack arbitrarily.

You then stepped inside, eyes going wide at the state of his bedroom. It seemed that Sukuna was a somewhat clean man, however he was not the slightest bit organized nor artistic.

There was a queen-sized bed shoved against the wall with no headboard, mussed sheets of a blue-plaid pattern, and a comforter that was half-draped across the floor. His clothing was scattered around his room, there was a clock hanging against the opposite wall that didn’t seem to work besides twice a day, and a stack of DVDs resting idly on the floor with no shelf to display them.

There was an overflowing laundry basket shoved and forgotten against the wall, far too many beer cans perched on his nightstand and a Walkman beside them.

Who still uses Walkmans?

You carefully maneuvered your way around his things before coming to a tall, oaky dresser and tearing through it.

You knew you weren’t going to find anything close to fitting you, but you tried anyway.

What you came up with was a black tee that practically reached your knees and basketball shorts that very well almost touched your ankles.

You giggled at your state, before hopping back to the living room.

It seemed that Sukuna had gone in for a shower himself, the muffled hum from the bathroom resonating as you walked past.

You plopped down on his couch and sank into it, sighing at the feeling of relief of finally being able to unwind. Grabbing your bag, you shuffled through it to pull out your phone.

You switched it on, fingers tapping away at the screen just to see if you had any service up here, opposed to the SOS signal you had when you slogged the trail.

Thankfully you did, but where you expected to see a plethora of phone calls and text messages asking where the hell you were or if you were alive, was instead met with radio silence.

Biting your lip, you did a quick google search to ensure you had service and you really did.

You shoved down the dreadful feeling in your chest. No one was worried where you were. But could you be surprised?

You sighed, dropping your hand on the couch and shutting your eyes with a groan, blue funk showering you at the state of your life. You wondered how on Earth you’d managed to end up here—isolated at some strange man’s house for who knows how long—after going on a hike instead of sleeping in your incredibly comfortable bed with your weighted blanket.

The bathroom door opened and though you couldn’t see Sukuna around the corner, you could hear his footfalls as he made his way towards his bedroom before shutting the door.

You sat there, fingers fidgeting and picking at skin, eyeing the small excuse of a television he had that was probably three decades old before he shuffled out.

He had a towel slung across his neck, still drying his pink hair. He was wearing a white long sleeved top and red Christmas pants that made you cock your head despite it being summertime, but you kept your thoughts to yourself.

He had a small plastic box in hand, his form making its way over to you before he knelt on one knee and picked your leg up haphazardly, pulling your back from the cushion and making you yelp. “Hey, what the hell are you-?” You cut yourself off when you watched him prop open the box that seemed to be as old as you on the coffee table.

“A first aid kit,” you spoke out, pursing your lips and wanting to sink into the couch.

Sukuna huffed, ignoring how you smelled of his shampoo, pulling out an antiseptic wipe and rubbing it against the wound.

You pulled back, hissing at the burn engulfing your nerves in fire, when he clicked his tongue, shooting you a frown, and pulled your leg back.

You resigned at his expression, bracing yourself and fingers curling into his leather couch. He wiped it down with a few pats, cleaning anything you’d missed in the shower and disinfecting it, before pulling out a tube of antibiotic ointment.

“What if that’s expired?” You whined quietly in a hushed tone, but that didn’t stop him from dabbing it against your ankle and pulling a bandage from the box to place against the wound.

He then grabbed a wrap, ensuring your entire ankle was covered with the beige medical-grade elastic. HIs fingers curled beneath the wrap to check if it was snug and unmoving, but not tight enough to restrict circulation.

As he did so, your eyes danced across his face, mapping out the flow of the symmetrical tattoos lining him. You couldn’t deny he was quite the handsome man, but why on God’s green Earth would he permanently ink one of his strongest attributes?

Though, no matter how strange they looked, you couldn’t say they made him unattractive. If anything, it’d draw people to him even more.

He carefully lowered your foot back to the ground as you broke the silence. “Where’d you learn to play doctor so well? You hurt yourself often?”

He pushed air from his nose, as if the question humored him. “Nope. Was just a real sick kid.”

You nodded, pursing your lips and eyeing his admirable handiwork. “I see. Well, thanks anyway.”

He tossed everything back into the box before clicking it shut and rising to his feet. “Whatever.”

Lifting your feet over the couch, you laid down and placed your hands above your head. “You sure you don’t want to let me sleep in your bed and you take the couch?”

He was already half-way to his bedroom. “Night.” 

[lockheed-martin-unofficial]

Buckle up, folks, and prepare yourself for spoilers!

Because we’re going to be analyzing this scene today. And I’m going to explain why Starscream could’ve won.

After D-16’s initial attack, Starscream falls back to recover, and quickly counters with some skilled aerial maneuvers. Here’s a post so you can appreciate it better. Starscream is taking full advantage of his flight ability here. He’s leading the high guard, of course he’s going to be good at flying.

Side note: we don’t know if Starscream is the official leader of the high guard, do we? Maybe he just claimed leadership after they went into exile. It would be fun to think about.

As an extra note: Starscream is using his thrusters to carry both of them, holding D-16 up by the neck.

Extra extra note: D-16 kicks Starscream between the legs.

Now look at this. Here’s when D-16 transforms his foot to kick starscream off.

It all happens in a split second, but I tried my best to get screenshots.

Do you get what I’m trying to show?

Starscream angles his body forward, with the thrusters still on, before D-16 makes contact with him. He sees the kick coming, and he moves to counter it. When he realises he’s not fast enough to counter, he lets go of right D-16 before the impact in order to make sure he’s flung backwards instead of being injured. If he was still holding on, the damage would’ve been far more severe.

Sure, I find it a little surprising that a guy who can fly would fall in his butt, but I think I can explain it away. The thrusters are turned off when he’s kicked, but they return while he’s flying away. I think that may have been accidental. Maybe he intended to right himself midair and fly away but was unsuccessful, maybe he didn’t mean to activate them.

Either way, it contributes to him landing rougher than he would’ve intended. While I’m here, I want to point out D-16’s little swing off the wall to land next to Starscream. Very graceful.

Right before and right after getting punched in the face. There is momentary surprise, but no fear. He doesn’t flinch, he doesn’t take time to recover. One second of scowling, and then “HIT ME!” He doesn’t even need to catch his breath.

Slowing the scene you can see the punches have Starscream’s neck bent at an over 90 degree angle. Not only does he not react to the pain at all, but he also KEEPS ENCOURAGING HIS OPPONENT.

His body language and behavior is confident while he’s being punched. Only when D-16 turns his attention to the crowd does Starscream attempt to free himself.

He’s intentionally antagonizing his opponent, making D-16 drop his guard and focus on giving the crowd a show, he takes the punches like they’re nothing and only tries to break free when D-16 looks away.

Focus on Starscream’s hands here. D-16 loses his focus, Starscream is very clearly trying to pry him off.

And here, just a few seconds later. First his hand is just… sitting there, not making any attempt to pry off the guy squeezing his throat (presumably very painful) and instead continuing to yell (presumably very painful). And then he Grabs and Pulls Him Closer. This isn’t the body language of a person who’s afraid, Starscream was biding his time and waiting for the opportunity to catch D-16 off guard, use a sudden moment of distraction to his advantage.

We only see fear from him at the very end. Only when he sees the arm cannon which is something nobody expected. Not even D-16 himself. From Starscream’s perspective he was waiting for the perfect moment to strike, to overpower an enemy who is stronger but less skilled and experienced than him, all the while giving the troops a good show. And then the guy pulls out THAT THING to his face.

You can see the moment he knew he fucked up. There’s nothing he can do after that except ask for mercy.

It’s my personal belief that had the battle lasted longer, and had D-16 not discovered his Murder Arm, Starscream would’ve won.

And although I’m not disappointed in this outcome, I would’ve also loved if D-16 had the upper hand physically but still got defeated due to Starscream’s cunning and experience. We would’ve seen Starscream show his talent, and seen that D-16 still has a long way to go.

[faestunna]

what do you think about Oliver taking readers virginity? Like obviously Connie fucked people before so with her he didn’t have to hold back too much but there’s poor little innocent reader basically begging him to fuck her and he has to be gentle. He won’t allow himself to be rough. Not that reader would mind because yeah they’re inexperienced but have you seen him? Virgins can be horny too, Oliver!

first of many

oliver mellors x innocent!f!reader

WARNINGS: mention of parental death, secret relationship, smut (18+), making out, p in v, oral (f receiving), fingering, belly bulge, creampie, almost corruption kink?, innocence, dirty talk, oliver is so sweet

WC: 2.1k

A/N: this ask just made my entire week, i will NEVER stop thinking about oliver mellors. this ending feels rushed but gawdddd i need that man

masterlist

likes, reblogs, and comments are always and greatly appreciated! this post is 18+ only. minors do not interact.

It was your third night at the gamekeeper’s cottage when you quietly let out, “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

Oliver was nearly completely taken by surprise. His frame already hovered over you, his fingers digging into your hips like no man had before. Sure, you’d kissed one before—one. He was a young boy from Tevershall who gave you a quick peck and nothing else.

You were older now, and Oliver wasn’t like the other boy at all. Whenever he kissed you, he did it with a fire that roared like the hearth of his cottage. It was warm and strong and powerful. He wasn’t afraid. You liked it. It’s why you almost pouted when he pulled away from you at the sound of your words.

He sat on his knees, his chest bare for you to place your hands on it, something you’d come to learn he liked. But you didn’t move to touch him, instead pulling his sheets up to your frame, suddenly cold without him. He looked away in thought. You mistook it for regret. “Oliver?” You blinked up at him.

After the war, it was crucial that you find a well-paying job to support your mother who’d been left lifeless in the absence of your father. The Chatterley’s had owned the mines in your town for your entire life, and Lady Chatterley was incredibly gracious hiring you as another maid. But the best part of your job wasn’t shopping for groceries or scrubbing linens in the wash room—it was the man you met while running your fingers in the creek one warm afternoon.

“Got himself in a predicament, I’d say,” one of the maids had said in the kitchen. “What, with Bertha Coutts running around with other men while he’s out at war?” The other women murmured and shook their heads in disapproval.

You knew he carried a great weight on his shoulders from his previous marriage—current marriage since she still hadn’t given Oliver the divorce he deserved. But whenever he was with you, that weight seemed to lift itself. He’d managed to sneak you around the Chatterley grounds, hidden in the woods and lost in his sheets.

“Oliver?” You said again, reaching for his hand and covering it with your palm.

He blinked at you with an expression you couldn’t read—lust, restraint, or confusion. Then, he looked down at your hand over his. When he turned it over, returning the gesture, you noticed his touch was softer than it had been on your hips just moments ago.

You leaned forward and sat up close to him so his nose brushed yours, guiding his hand to your waist just to feel something from him. You weren’t stupid just because you were a young woman—you knew that sex was more than a transaction of wealth like your mother and friends made it out to be. You wanted Oliver, you needed him in a depth of yourself that you didn’t know existed.

“It’s okay, Oliver,” you said sweetly. Oliver didn’t know there were still women in the world as sweet as you, and you were the only one he needed. His other hand cupped your cheek almost instinctively. ��You don’t have to be afraid.”

A darkness overcame his eyes, but it wasn’t necessarily frightening. If anything, it consumed you with comfort. “Oh, I’m not afraid, love.”

Without a moment to waste—because he only got you for so long before you ran back to the manor—Oliver pressed your lips to his again. He immediately pushed you back onto the bed, but not roughly or sharply. It was a gentle nudge and he went down with you, the weight of him pressing against your chest and core. His hand moved from your hips to your belly to your chest.

He squeezed the flesh of your tit, eliciting a quiet gasp from your lips that disappeared into his. Other than the soft sounds of the sheets moving, the birds singing outside, and the occasional moan from you, the air was pleasantly silent. The moment was for the two of you and no one else.

With your eyes closed in ecstasy, you felt his lips leave yours only to feel them again your neck, trailing across your collar bone to where his hand kneaded your breast. “I’ve barely touched you,” he said against your skin. You writhed under his touch with desperation.

You’d never been one to be desperate.

“Oliver,” you breathed his name like a song. He didn’t care about anything else then.

“You need me, love?” Oliver didn’t look up at you. He replaces his hands with his lips and latches onto the small bud on your breast, rolling the other one between his fingers. Your back arches into him, only feeling his warmth even more, as you nod with a whine. “Where?”

Oliver, a married man aged by the war, had experience. He knew exactly where you needed him, and the fucker was teasing you for it. “You know where.” You said, cut off by a moan as he presses himself close to your core. Just the simple pressure on your brag that was aching for him was enough to practically feel your skin blooming.

“Right here?” He asked cheekily. Curse the small grin he gave you.

The air was cold on the spot where his mouth was as he moved further down your body. He didn’t waste a single space of you without placing a kiss so that his touch is never gone for too long. He didn’t stop lowering himself until his head hangs above your mound, and when he saw your most vulnerable spot, he moaned.

“You’re beautiful, (y/n),” Oliver praises you like you’re a painting in the Louvre or a flower in the field outside his cottage.

“What’re you doing?” You asked suddenly.

His hands rubbed over your soft thighs, falling a little bit in love with how they felt in his hands. He knew right there and then that this was one of his favorite places in the world. “Don’t think about it, darling,” Oliver said tenderly. “I can love you in more ways than one.”

Once you nod and lay yourself back down, he exhales a warm breath against you. You shudder. “Easy, lass,” he called you. You didn’t know what to expect, but it definitely wasn’t the feeling of his tongue flat against your folds. They didn’t necessarily need the wetness, but it was oh so beautiful to feel against you.

You could feel his tongue sharpen and soften against the right spots. Your hips and legs squirmed at the feeling of Oliver’s mouth essentially feeding off of you. His tongue moved mercilessly against the most important part of you.

Then, you suddenly felt something tracing the outline of your opening before slowly plunging itself inside of you. You’d never known what it’s like to be opened. To be spread apart and picked open like a ripened fruit.

“Oh,” you let out softly as if there was anyone nearby to hear you.

He pulled his finger away before sliding it in again, soon creating a gentle rhythm that leaves your pulse racing. “Feel nice?” He whispered, slightly muffled from leaning his head into your leg. You nodded rapidly, unable to form words. “Breathe, darling.” Oliver told you before he slowly added another finger.

Two of them now stretched you open. His arms wrapped themselves around your thighs to still your ragged movements. Your knuckles turned white as you clenched the sheets in your hand.

And despite the uncontrollable fever rising in your core, you thought to yourself, I could stay here for the rest of my life.

But the moment is cut short when Oliver pulled himself away. You let out an unexpected cry at the loss of contact, mainly because you felt like you were on fire. Oliver moved towards you and kissed you again, but this time, there was a strange taste on his lips.

“What is that?” You pulled away to ask.

His brows furrowed. “What?” But he could smell it from his own breath. The man fucking laughs, “It’s you.”

It isn’t the most pleasant thing in the world to you, though it was also the first time you experienced it. “And you enjoy it?”

Oliver’s fingers fumbled the slide off his trousers, leaving himself in nothing but his trunks. You’d never seen a man so exposed like this. Your eyes lingered over his frame, taking in the image of him like it would make it last longer.

“It’s the best fuckin’ thing I’ve ever tasted.” He took your hand and guided it to the last piece of clothing on his body. He nodded when you looked up at him, and you slowly pulled them down. You stopped at his knees from the sight of his length.

He was hard and smooth, apart from the small bump of a swollen vein on the side. Oliver watched as you gazed at him. He would’ve been lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it. He slowly moved himself over you, and placed your hand over him. It was heavy in your palm. “Oliver, I- I don’t think it’ll fit.” You said almost in exasperation.

A gentle hand rested the back of your head on his pillows as he took his own length and slid it through your slick. The tip rubbed against your already sensitive pearl, and you moaned from the pleasure shooting up your spine directly to your heart.

“It will, darling,” he pressed a kiss against your forehead before you felt that same stretch from earlier, only it was stronger.

A shiver racked through your spine as your eyes fluttered shut, gulping down a small, “Oh, my god.” Your hands flew to his shoulders, sliding down his back to feel the way his body flexed and released with every movement he made. He entered you so slowly but so perfectly.

“Atta girl,” he whispered into your ear with only the slightest bit of restraint in his voice. “Take it just like that, (y/n), that’s it.” He could’ve fucked you to sleep right there. He could’ve twisted your hair in his fist and pulled your hips to his so you felt him right in the center of you, but he didn’t.

Because, unlike most men and many of the gentleman you’d encountered, Oliver had a heart.

You could feel it beating against your own, two unsteady rhythms somehow matching to create melody only you could hear. He continued to push himself inside until you could feel the base flat against you, allowing for the perfect amount of pressure on your most sensitive spot.

“Feel alright, love?” He asked, gently brushing loose strands of hair stuck to your face from the thin sheet of sweat on your skin. Oliver took your hand from his shoulder and placed it over your lower belly.

With one swift move, he retracted his hips so you felt nearly entirely empty before pushing himself into you again. Your mouth parted open, followed shortly by a delayed gasp at how euphoric something could feel. “Feel me right there,” he practically instructed you. And you could feel him. Just the slightest bulge with every thrust he gave you.

He didn’t quicken his movements any more, though if you could scramble to form words, you’d be begging for it. You only nodded in response, small whimpers falling from your mouth as Oliver’s hips began staggering. “Don’t stop,” you managed to say.

You could feel him shake his head against you. His chest rose with heavy breaths. “I won’t stop,” he said, partially to you and to himself. Feeling you clench around him everytime he fully covered himself again in your warmth was maybe the best thing he’d ever known.

And he didn’t stop. Not even when you felt his release shooting inside you, moaning into his hair as that euphoric feeling coursed through your body again. He felt it coat him in a hot slick.

Once he pulled himself away, the mixture from both of your climaxes dripped out of you. You sat up curiously and looked down only to feel a slight burn around where he’d stretched you. You gave a small wince and nothing else; it was slowly becoming a pleasurable pain.

“Now here, love,” he said. You looked up to see him leaning back on his arm, and in between his legs, his cock was still a solid weight in his lap. He stroked it lazily as if he was waiting for something better. “We’re not finished yet.”

© faestunna 2025.

[hoshifighting]

lyla….. i gotta know what car sex with svt would be like 🫦

seungcheol likes it on the backseat, your legs splayed across the leather, windows fogged up. he grinds into you, seats squeaking underneath. he’s relentless, fucking you hard against the door, his hands gripping your thighs like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. the music’s soft in the background, but all you can hear is his groaning, breathless curses tumbling from his lips. he loves it when you moan loud, one hand tangled in your hair as he takes you to the edge over and over again. his size? barely fits in the car, but he makes it work, leaning in close to whisper filthy things in your ear between thrusts.

jeonghan parks somewhere dark, secluded, with the windows cracked just enough for the cool air to sneak in so his blood pressure doesn't fall. or has you bent over the hood of the car, your hands gripping the cold metal as he kisses down your spine. the way he fucks you is almost leisurely, like he’s got all the time in the world, but it drives you insane. he chuckles every time you whimper his name, pushing back into him for more. he’ll whisper sweet nothings into your ear after, like he didn’t just ruin you on the side of the road.

joshua likes it on the front seat, hands firm as he pulls you into his lap, your knees digging into the dashboard while you ride him. the windows are rolled down, and the night air cools the heat between you. he’s not wild with his movements, but god, the way he looks at you while you move together is everything. his lips are constantly on you—your neck, your chest, your lips—soft whispers of your name mingled with his breathy moans.

junhui’s energy is through the roof, and it’s no different when things get nasty in the car. you’re in the backseat, straddling him while the music’s blasting through the speakers. the windows are cracked open, enough for the outside world to hear the way he moans your name, unashamed, unapologetic. he’s got you bouncing on his lap, his hands gripping your waist, guiding your movements like he’s choreographing your entire night. there’s no slowing down with him—it’s fast, intense, almost overwhelming, but exactly what you crave. he loves watching the way your face twists with pleasure, his lips tugging into a grin every time you get louder.

hoshi takes over the second you suggest anything risky. he’s the kind who wants to fuck you outside the car, no matter how reckless it is. he’ll have you pinned up against the side of the car, your legs wrapped around his waist while his hips snap forward relentlessly. the music's thumping from inside the car, but the only thing you’re focused on is the way he fills you up, him constantly whispering dirty things in your ear, loving the way your breath catches when he moves just right. the sounds he makes are loud and needy, almost like he can’t get enough. and honestly, he never can.

wonwoo’s the quiet type, but in the car, he’s something else. you’re in the backseat, seats reclined just enough for him to slide between your legs. the windows up, keeping everything intimate, the heat trapped inside the car. he’s not one to moan loudly, but the little sounds he makes are everything—soft, breathy grunts that makes u wet. his hand finds its way to your throat, not rough, just enough pressure to make you feel grounded, connected. you can feel the tension in his body, the way he tries to hold back but eventually lets go, his forehead pressed against yours.

woozi doesn’t do anything halfway. both of you in the front seat, the chair reclined as far back as it can go, but it’s still a tight fit. he’s hovering over you, thrusting into you at a brutal pace, his breath hot against your neck. the music’s off—he doesn’t need it—preferring the sound of your moans, the way your body responds to him. he’s not much of a talker during sex, but the way his grip tightens on your hips, the way he buries his face in your neck, says everything. his stamina is unreal, and he won’t stop until he’s sure you’re completely wrecked.

minghao + sex + you + front seat, straddling him as he sits back, his hands lazily resting on your hips. he loves watching the way you react, afraid that someone can see you through the window, but also too horny to care. the windows are cracked, and there’s soft music playing, but the real soundtrack is the way he breathes out your name every time you roll your hips just right. he’s quiet, focused, but the tension in his body says everything—he’s holding back, making sure you come undone before he even thinks about finishing.

mingyu and car sex? it’s wild, messy, and absolutely addictive. the backseat suffers on fitting with his size, but he makes it work. windows are fogged up, the car rocking slightly with the force of his thrusts. the way he moans is loud, unfiltered, mixing with your cries, you can be as loud as you want, you know the car 'walls' are going to muffle it. he would often eat you out inside the car too, before an event, before a family dinner.

seokmin is the type of funny that makes you laugh and then, on the next second, you are naked for him, laughing between gasps as he tickles your sides before pulling you into his lap. he’s vocal—really vocal—moaning and laughing all at once, telling you how good you feel, how much he loves being with you. he’s got this playful energy, even when he’s fucking you hard, every time you gasp, he grins wider, loving the way you react to him. he’ll pull you in for sloppy kisses, his breath mixing with yours as the car shakes with the force of your movements. when you both finish, he’s still giggling, pulling you close and telling you how much fun that was, like it wasn’t the most intense thing you’ve ever experienced.

seungkwan likes it because it ends up being messier than in bed. you get sweat faster, you get tired faster, the lungs burn, and the windows start to drip from being humid. he would hit his head on the car's roof zillions times, would laugh, but keep fucking you, when you're on top, he put a hand on the top of your head to prevent you to hit your head as the other circles your clit.

vernon loves it the most. love how the sex smells way faster inside the car. would have a playlist just for car sex, and would draw on the foggy windows of your car after. the quietness of the car insides, makes your moans more prominent so he can appreciate it.

chan would love to finger you while he drives. the radio is turned off, so he can hear the wetness of your pussy enveloping his fingers, the silence in the car makes him focus on it. when you two decided to make a stop, he want to fuck you outside, bent over the closed trunk leaving a stamp of your tits on it.

[wendichester]

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ voicemail²,

summary.you and dean broke up, he tries to call you a couple of hours after.

pairing. dean winchester x reader  genre. fluff with a cutesy bit of smut

wordcount. 1140

notes / warnings. yall can never leave my sad endings alone, can you? 😳// heavy angst turns soft. crying. unprotected shower sex. possessive language.

ᯓ★ read part 1

You don't sleep after that voicemail.

You can't.

You just lie there, crumpled around your pillow, chest aching in that hollow, unbearable way that feels a lot like missing a piece of yourself you didn’t realize you needed until it was gone.

His voice plays over and over in your head. The toothbrush. The broken apologies. The please.

And something inside you just snaps.

You’re out of bed before you even know what you’re doing—pulling on jeans, shoving your arms into a hoodie, grabbing your keys with shaking hands. It’s raining outside. Cold, needling rain that soaks you the second you step off the porch. You don't care. You drive anyway, windshield wipers screeching, heart hammering so loud you can hear it over the storm.

The closer you get, the worse the ache gets.

You don’t even remember pulling into the motel lot. You just see the Impala parked there, black and gleaming under the shitty streetlamp, and your throat closes up so tight you can barely breathe.

His room is on the ground floor.

Light on.

You walk up to the door like it might blow away if you don't move fast enough. Fist raised, knuckles trembling. You almost don't knock.

You almost turn around.

And then the door yanks open like he’s been standing on the other side the whole time, holding his breath, waiting.

Dean looks like hell.

Grey t-shirt. Sweatpants. Sleep-rumpled hair. Red-rimmed eyes that go wide and shattered when they land on you. For one terrible second, neither of you says anything. You just look.

And then—

He surges forward, grabbing your face in his hands like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. His forehead presses to yours, breathing you in, arms coming around you so tight it almost hurts.

“God,” he chokes out. “God, you’re here.”

You’re crying again. You don’t even try to stop it. Big, messy, gasping sobs into his chest while he holds you like he’s piecing you back together with nothing but touch.

“I’m sorry,” you manage between broken breaths. “Dean—I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean it—”

“Hey, hey, shh, it’s okay.” His hands smooth over your back, your hair, like he can fix it if he just touches enough of you. His voice is thick, raw. “You’re here. That’s all I care about. You’re here, baby.”

He kisses the top of your head, your forehead, your temple, frantic, desperate little presses of his mouth like prayers.

You bury your face in his neck and just breathe him in. Leather and rain and salt and him.

He pulls you inside without letting go. The door swings shut behind you with a soft click, locking the two of you away from the whole fucked-up world outside.

You don’t know how long you stand there.

Minutes. Hours. Lifetimes.

Eventually, he pulls back just enough to cup your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispers.

“You didn’t,” you whisper back. “You never could.”

His mouth crashes into yours, all teeth and tongue and aching forgiveness. It's not slow. It's not soft. It’s desperate and wild, the kind of kiss you give when you know you almost lost everything.

You cling to him, hands fisting in his t-shirt, trying to climb into his skin, trying to make up for every second you were apart.

When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathless, trembling.

“You’re soaked,” he says, running a hand down your wet hoodie.

“You gonna fix it?” you challenge, voice still shaky.

Dean’s mouth twitches like he’s trying to smirk, but his eyes—they’re nothing but wide-open devastation. He steps in closer, hands slipping under the hem of your soaked hoodie, fingertips skating along your cold, damp skin.

“Gonna fix everything, sweetheart,” he rasps. “Gonna make you feel so good you forget why you ever left.”

And God, you believe him.

Because when Dean Winchester loves, he loves like he’s on fire. Like there’s no tomorrow.

The clothes come off fast and clumsy—both of you half-laughing, half-breathless as he backs you toward the bathroom. The door bangs open, the shitty fluorescent light flickering overhead. Dean kicks it shut with his foot, eyes devouring you like you’re the only thing keeping him alive.

The shower hisses to life, steam curling into the air.

Dean lifts you up like you weigh nothing—your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist—and presses you back against the tile. His mouth is everywhere—jaw, neck, collarbone—biting and kissing and gasping against your skin.

“Missed you so goddamn much,” he pants, voice breaking open. “Missed this. Missed you.”

You tug his face up, kiss him like you’re trying to climb inside his soul.

“I’m here,” you whisper against his mouth. “I’m not going anywhere.”

That’s all he needs.

He’s inside you a second later, hot and thick and perfect, stretching you open with one desperate thrust. You both cry out—half pain, half god, yes, full-body relief.

The water pounds against your back, but you barely notice—too busy clawing at his shoulders, too busy moaning into his mouth, too busy feeling.

Dean fucks you like it’s the last twenty minutes of the world ending. Hard, fast, deep—savoring you, worshiping you, hands everywhere, mouth filthy against your ear.

“You’re mine,” he growls, each thrust slamming the words deeper into your bones. “You’re my girl—you hear me? Always been my girl.”

“Yes,” you sob, nails raking down his back. “Yours. Always.”

Your body shudders around him, pleasure crashing over you so hard you see stars. Dean follows with a broken, wrecked groan, spilling into you with his face buried in your neck, arms trembling from how hard he’s holding you.

Neither of you moves for a long time.

Just the shower hissing, your hearts pounding, your bodies clinging together like drowning people in a shipwreck.

Dean finally pulls back to look at you—hair dripping, lashes wet, cheeks flushed—and presses his forehead to yours.

“I love you,” he murmurs. “Love you more than anything.”

You kiss him—slow and deep and aching—like sealing a vow.

Later, you’re curled up in bed, wearing one of Dean’s soft, worn t-shirts. It swamps you, smelling like him, like leather and soap and salvation.

Dean slips in beside you, still damp from the shower, and tugs you into his side without hesitation. His bare chest is warm under your cheek; his hand settles on your back, thumb rubbing slow, sleepy circles.

The motel room hums with cheap neon light bleeding in through the curtains.

Dean leans down, mouth brushing your temple so soft it barely counts as a kiss.

“I love you,” he whispers again, voice rough and raw, like he’s praying it into your skin. “Always.”

You smile against his chest, eyes fluttering closed, heart finally, finally quiet. “I love you.”

Home. Not the place. Not the motel.

Him.

It was always him.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles; compatibility readings; support my work .ᐟ

[callsigns-haze]

Lost that mothering feeling

Summary: The more your kids grew up the more you've lost that mother feeling and Bob, being your perfect husband, brought it back for more than one night.

Warning: feeling worn out, feeling overwhelmed, pregnancy, pregnancy test.

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x reader

The living room is alive with the hum of laughter and conversation, your four kids seated around a makeshift studio of microphones and cameras. Alex and Max, your eighteen-year-old twins, are debating something enthusiastically—most likely their usual heated discourse about the latest sci-fi show they’ve been obsessed with. Theo, your fifteen-year-old, leans back in his chair, effortlessly tossing in sarcastic comments that make his brothers groan. And then there’s Matilda or also known as Tilly. At eleven, your youngest is sprawled on the couch, mic in hand, her big eyes sparkling with mischief as she waits for her moment to steal the show.

You’re in the kitchen, fingers flying over your laptop keyboard as you work on the latest chapter of your romantasy series, the one that’s catapulted you to stardom. The scent of fresh coffee lingers in the air, a half-full mug sitting forgotten beside you. The click-clack of keys is soothing, grounding—until Tilly’s voice pierces the air.

“I nearly died today.”

The boys freeze mid-conversation, their attention snapping to her. “What?” Theo demands, his voice pitched higher than usual.

“How?” Max asks, leaning forward, concern creeping into his tone.

“Good.” Came from Alex.

Tilly waves a hand nonchalantly, twirling the cord of her mic. “I don’t know. I just got bored of that topic.”

Alex groans, dropping his head into his hands while Theo mutters something about needing a refund on her drama classes. Max, ever the patient one, shakes his head, muttering, “You can’t just drop that and move on, Tilly.”

A smile tugs at your lips as you listen, the corner of your heart warmed by their camaraderie. You glance toward the living room, watching as Tilly shrugs and dives into a completely unrelated story, her brothers laughing and rolling their eyes.

The sound of the front door opening is soft—practically silent—but you catch it. Bob’s always been like that, moving quietly as if afraid to disrupt the calm. It’s something you adore about him, even if it sometimes works a little too well.

“Hey,” you say without looking up, sensing his presence before you see him.

“Hey,” he replies, his voice low and warm.

You’re about to turn around when his hands brush your waist, making you jump slightly. “Bobby!” you exclaim, laughing as your fingers hover over the keyboard.

He chuckles softly, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, and finally your lips. It’s brief but tender, and it makes your heart flutter the way it has since you were sixteen.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, though the small smile playing at his lips tells you he’s anything but.

You turn in your chair to face him, meeting his soft blue eyes. His gaze lingers on you for a moment, his brow furrowing just slightly. “What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice laced with quiet concern.

You hesitate, feeling the weight of his attention, the way he can see through you even when you try to hide. “Nothing,” you say quickly, forcing a smile. “I just—I’m going to go shower. Be right back.”

Before he can protest, you stand and kiss him on the cheek, retreating upstairs. The sound of your kids’ laughter follows you, a comforting reminder of the life you’ve built together. But as you step into the bathroom and close the door, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Bob leans into the living room doorway, still clad in his flight suit, his nametag and patches catching the warm glow of the lamps. His usually calm demeanour is replaced with a firmness that immediately commands attention.

“Alright, guys,” he says, his tone sharper than usual, “wrap it up. You’ve got five minutes.”

The twins groan in unison, Max throwing his hands up dramatically. “Dad, we’re live!”

Theo adds, “Yeah, you can’t just barge in like that. It’s a podcast, not a family meeting.”

But Bob doesn’t budge, his blue eyes steady as he crosses his arms. “Five minutes,” he repeats, leaving no room for argument.

The chat on their live stream explodes.

“OMG, who is THAT?!” “Is their dad a PILOT???” “The FLIGHT SUIT? Hello???” “Dad just alpha’d the room, I’m crying.” “Wait, that's their dad, Robert? I thought he was supposed to be shy???”

Bob’s presence, authoritative yet quiet, always had that effect, and even now.

Tilly, unfazed by the shift in tone, bounds over to Bob and throws her arms around his waist, burying her face in his flight suit. “You’re home!” she says brightly, looking up at him with adoration.

Bob’s expression softens immediately, his hand coming to rest gently on the back of her head. “Yeah, sweetheart. I’m home.”

Theo, still seated on the couch, smirks and mutters just loud enough to be heard, “Favouritism much?”

The chat picks up on it instantly.

“Theo called it lmao.” “Tilly’s the favourite CONFIRMED.” “Theo and his middle-child energy, I can’t.” “FAVORITISM??? Dad’s girl for sure.”

Bob sighs, glancing at Theo with a small shake of his head. “You’ve all got five minutes,” he says again, but this time his voice is quieter, more measured.

Tilly beams at him, sticking her tongue out at Theo before turning back to Bob. “Are you staying for dinner?” she asks, completely ignoring the chaos in the living room and the chat still lighting up with messages.

Bob leans down slightly to meet her gaze. “Of course, Tills. Go finish up with your brothers.”

Satisfied, she scampers back to her spot, and Bob steps into the kitchen to give them space, though his presence lingers like a steadying anchor in the house.

Bob stands in the kitchen for a moment, his arms crossed as he listens to the faint hum of voices from the living room. The kids are finishing up, just as he’d instructed, but his focus isn’t on them. It’s on you—how you seemed distant, how you avoided his question and slipped away upstairs.

His jaw tightens, a flicker of worry sparking in his chest. He knows you too well; something’s not right. Without hesitation, he pushes off the counter and heads for the stairs, taking them two at a time.

The house is quieter as he approaches the bathroom door, the sound of the shower running faint but steady. He knocks lightly, his knuckles brushing the wood.

“Sweetheart?” he calls, his voice low but firm enough to carry through the door.

There’s no immediate response, just the continued rush of water. Bob’s brow furrows as he leans closer, his hand resting on the doorknob. “You okay in there?” he asks again, concern threading through his words.

This time, your voice answers, muffled but audible. “I’m fine, Bob. I’ll be out in a minute.”

But he doesn’t buy it. Bob’s always been patient, the kind of man who gives space when it’s needed, but not tonight. Tonight, something feels off, and he’s not about to let it fester.

He cracks the door open just enough to speak without shouting. The warm steam drifts out, curling around him. “I’m coming in,” he says gently, giving you enough time to protest. When you don’t, he steps inside, careful not to startle you.

Through the frosted glass, he can see your silhouette, your head bowed under the stream of water. His heart tightens at the sight—it’s not like you to look so small, so defeated.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice soft as he crouches slightly to your level, even though there’s a door between you. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

You sigh, your voice barely audible over the water. “I just needed a minute, Bob. I’m okay, really.”

But he stays put, his hand resting lightly on the edge of the shower door. “You sure? Because you didn’t seem okay downstairs.”

For a moment, there’s only silence, and then you turn off the water. Grabbing a towel, you wrap it around yourself and open the door, your eyes meeting his. They’re glassy, unsure, and his stomach twists at the sight.

“I’ll be fine,” you say softly, but Bob doesn’t look convinced. He reaches out, his fingers brushing your damp hair back from your face.

“Angel,” he says, his voice steady and grounding, “you don’t have to carry it alone. Whatever it is, I’m here.”

You sigh, clutching the towel tighter around you as you sit on the closed toilet lid, Bob crouched in front of you. His hands rest on your knees, his touch warm and grounding, but you struggle to meet his gaze. The lump in your throat feels almost too big to speak around, but his quiet presence gives you the courage to finally let the words out.

“I don’t feel like… like a mom anymore,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I mean, I am, obviously. But I feel like I’ve lost that mother feeling, you know?”

Bob’s brow furrows, concern deepening in his blue eyes. He doesn’t say anything yet, just lets you keep going.

“They’re so independent now, Robert. Alex and Max are practically adults. Theo doesn’t need me for much anymore. Even Tilly… she’s off doing her own thing, and she’s only eleven. And I—” Your voice catches, and you shake your head, tears welling up despite your best efforts to hold them back. “I just feel like I’ve been replaced. By their friends, by their hobbies, even by each other. They don’t need me the way they used to.”

Bob’s hands tighten gently on your knees, his touch a silent reminder that he’s right here. “Angel…”

“And it’s not just that,” you continue, the words spilling out like a confession. “I’ve been so wrapped up in my work lately. The deadlines, the tours, the next book… it’s like I’ve traded being their mom for being… well, me and if I can do it again. And now, I don’t know if I’m doing enough for them. Or if they even see me the same way anymore.”

Bob leans closer, his voice soft but firm. “Hey, stop that. You’re not giving yourself enough credit.”

You finally meet his eyes, and the depth of understanding there nearly undoes you.

“You’ve been their mom every second of every day since the moment they were born,” he says. “And just because they’re growing up and finding their own way doesn’t mean they don’t need you. They do. More than you realize. And as for your work…” He pauses, brushing a tear from your cheek with the pad of his thumb. “You’re showing them what it means to chase your dreams and still be there for the people you love. That’s not losing anything—that’s giving them something incredible to look up to.”

You let out a shaky breath, his words sinking in even as the doubts linger. “What if it’s not enough, Bob?”

He smiles softly, his gaze steady and unwavering. “It is. It always has been. And it always will be.”

His reassurance washes over you like a balm, soothing the ache in your chest. You lean forward, resting your forehead against his, and his arms come around you.

You pull back slightly, still wrapped in Bob’s steady embrace, and let out a heavy sigh. “I just… I feel so old and used up, Bob.”

His brow furrows, his hands resting on your shoulders now as he studies your face with that quiet, unwavering focus that has always made you feel both seen and understood. “What are you talking about? You’re only thirty-six,” he says softly, like he’s trying to remind you of something you’ve forgotten.

“Exactly,” you reply, your voice tinged with frustration, “I’m only thirty-six, but I feel like I’ve lived three lifetimes already. Everything happened so quickly. We got married young, had the twins before we even had a chance to figure out who we were as adults, and then… it was just one thing after another. Kids, work, responsibilities—it never stopped. And now I look in the mirror, and I don’t even recognize myself anymore.”

Bob’s face softens, his hands sliding down your arms to hold yours. “Sweetheart…”

“I love our life,” you continue, your voice breaking. “I wouldn’t trade it for anything. But sometimes, I just feel… worn out. Like I gave everything I had to everyone else, and now there’s nothing left for me. Not even enough to feel like me anymore.”

He’s quiet for a moment, but not in a way that feels dismissive. He’s absorbing your words, weighing them carefully before responding. “You’ve been through so much, and you’ve carried so much,” he says finally, his voice thick with emotion. “But you’re not used up. You’re… you’re still you. The same woman I fell in love with when we were kids, the same woman who raised four amazing kids with me, and the same woman who inspires people all over the world with her stories. You haven’t lost anything, baby. You’ve grown. And yeah, life’s been fast, but you’re not finished. You’ve still got so much ahead of you.”

Tears spill over, and you laugh softly through them. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not easy,” he admits, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “But you don’t have to do it alone. You’ve got me, always. And maybe… maybe it’s time we figured out how to make a little more room for you in all of this.”

You bite your lip, a fresh wave of emotion surging at his words. He reaches up, brushing your damp hair away from your face as he continues.

“Let me take some of the weight,” he says gently. “You’ve done so much for all of us. It’s okay to let yourself rest, to figure out what you need to feel like yourself again.”

A playful glint sparking in his blue eyes as a small smile tugs at his lips. “You know,” he starts, his voice light but teasing, “if you feel like you’ve lost the ‘mother’ feeling… we are still young. We could always have another.”

Your eyes widen, and you let out a startled laugh, swatting his arm. “Bobby...”

He chuckles, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just saying. You’re only thirty-six, and I’m thirty-seven. We’ve still got plenty of energy left. And let’s face it—our kids turned out pretty great.”

“Bob,” you say, narrowing your eyes at him, though you can’t help the smile creeping across your face. “We have four kids. Four. And two of them are adults...you're comfortable with it? Seriously? You really want to start over?”

He grins, that soft, boyish charm you fell in love with shining through. “With you? Always.”

You roll your eyes, but his words warm your heart in a way that makes it hard to argue. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” he says, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “But you’re smiling, so I must be doing something right.”

You shake your head, laughing softly as you lean against him. “You’re lucky I love you, you know that?”

“Luckiest guy in the world,” he replies, wrapping his arms around you again. And for the first time that day, the weight on your shoulders feels just a little lighter.

His hands still resting on your arms, and his expression softens with a mix of determination and affection. “Alright, here’s what we’re going to do,” he says, his voice steady but laced with that quiet warmth that always makes you feel safe. “You’re going to go to our room, get dressed—something warm and comfy—and don’t ask where we’re going because I’m not telling you.”

You blink at him, caught off guard. “Bob—”

“Nope,” he interrupts gently, shaking his head. “No arguments. I’ll handle the kids. I’ll make sure they’re dressed and ready too. You just focus on yourself for once, okay?”

The confidence in his words falters for a brief moment as a hint of shyness creeps in. He rubs the back of his neck, glancing to the side before meeting your eyes again. “I mean, I—I just thought… maybe it’d be good to get everyone out of the house for a bit. Something different. Together.”

A soft smile tugs at your lips as you watch him, his nervousness only making you love him more. “You’re planning a surprise?”

His cheeks flush slightly, and he shrugs, trying to play it cool. “Maybe. Just… trust me on this one, alright?”

You nod, feeling a flicker of excitement despite the heaviness that’s lingered in your chest all day. “Alright. Warm and comfy, huh?”

“Warm and comfy,” he confirms, his lips quirking into a small smile. “I’ll go tell the kids to get ready too.”

As he turns to head back downstairs, you catch the way his ears turn a little pink, a clear sign of how out of his comfort zone this is for him. It’s endearing, and for the first time in a while, you feel a spark of anticipation. Whatever he’s planning, you know it’s coming from his heart—and that makes all the difference.

Bob heads downstairs, his flight suit still slightly damp from the steam of the bathroom. As he steps into the living room, his expression tightens at the sight of the twins and Theo still sitting on the couch, chatting animatedly with the live-stream chat, and Tilly sprawled across an armchair, giggling at the screen.

“Guys,” he says, his tone firm, “I thought I told you to wrap this up.”

Alex glances up, one hand still fiddling with a microphone. “We did, kinda. We’re just saying goodbye to the chat.”

Bob exhales through his nose, his patience wearing thin. “It’s been more than five minutes.”

Max smirks, clearly unfazed. “Dad, it’s live. You can’t just drop off without a proper sign-off. It’s bad for engagement.”

“Engagement?” Bob repeats, his voice sharpening slightly. “What about engaging with the rules I gave you? I said wrap it up—not drag it out for another ten minutes.”

Theo mutters something under his breath, but Bob’s sharp gaze flicks to him, silencing whatever snarky comment was about to come out.

The twins exchange a look, and Max finally sighs. “Alright, alright. We’re logging off. Jeez.”

“Thank you,” Bob says curtly, crossing his arms.

The chat, of course, explodes.

“Omg Dad’s mad 😳” “Dad Mode: Activated” “Who’s braver? Alex and Max or the dad in the flight suit?” “Theo’s about to get grounded, y’all watch.” “Bob deserves a medal for dealing with them, lmao.”

Before the kids can start dragging their feet again, Bob gestures toward Tilly, who’s still watching the chaos unfold with wide eyes. “Tilly, go upstairs and start getting ready. Warm and comfy clothes. We’re heading out soon.”

Tilly hops up, skipping past him and giving him a quick hug on her way. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll find out,” Bob replies, his voice softening just slightly for her.

As she disappears up the stairs, Theo mutters under his breath, “Favouritism strikes again.”

Bob shoots him a look, raising an eyebrow. “Keep pushing, and I’ll make you sit in the middle seat when we go.”

The twins snicker, finally logging off the stream with a half-hearted apology to their audience. The chat’s parting messages are a mixture of humour and sympathy.

“Dad’s the boss, y’all better listen 😅” “Theo, blink twice if you need saving.” “We’re gonna need a podcast on this later 😂.”

Once the equipment is off and the kids are reluctantly shuffling upstairs to follow his instructions, Bob exhales deeply, running a hand through his hair. They were good kids, but sometimes they tested his patience like no one else could.

Still, as he hears their footsteps above and the faint sound of their chatter, a small smile tugs at his lips. They might drive him crazy, but they were his—and tonight, he was determined to make it a special one for all of you.

“Alright,” he says, clapping his hands once to get their attention. “Everyone upstairs. Get dressed—warm and cozy. Layers. We’re heading out, and I don’t want to hear any complaints about being cold later.”

The twins groan in unison, clearly not thrilled about being told what to do again so soon.

“Warm and cozy? What, are we going to the North Pole?” Max quips, earning a laugh from Theo.

Bob raises an eyebrow, giving them a pointed look. “Do you want to spend the night figuring out if you’re funny, or do you want to actually go somewhere fun?”

That shuts them up, and they start heading toward the stairs, grumbling under their breath. Tilly bounces past them, already halfway up. “I’m gonna wear my fuzzy socks!” she calls over her shoulder.

“Good idea,” Bob mutters, more to himself than anyone else.

Once they’re all upstairs, he lets out a slow breath and heads to the hall closet, pulling out a jacket for himself before retreating to your shared bedroom. He makes quick work of changing out of his flight suit, swapping it for a thick sweater, jeans, and a pair of sturdy boots.

As he ties his laces, he pauses for a moment, glancing at the dresser where a photo of your family from years ago sits. The twins were barely out of diapers, Theo just a toddler, and you were holding Tilly, who had only been a few weeks old at the time. He smiles softly, shaking his head.

“Warm and cozy,” he mutters to himself with a chuckle. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

He grabs his coat and heads downstairs, ready to corral the kids and make sure everyone’s dressed and prepped for the night ahead.

When Bob comes back downstairs, the sound of laughter and mock indignation greets him from the living room. He steps into the room to find you standing in front of the twins, arms crossed, while they grin at you like they’ve won some invisible battle.

“I’m just saying,” Alex argues, hands up in a gesture of defence, “it’s not our fault we’re objectively the coolest kids in the family.”

“Coolest?” you repeat, feigning outrage. “You two barely survived kindergarten without trying to convince your teacher to let you start a podcast about dinosaurs. Theo and Tilly are way cooler than you ever were.”

“Hey!” Max jumps in, pointing dramatically. “That podcast idea was ahead of its time.”

“And,” Alex adds, “Theo’s cool, sure. But Tilly? She’s biased.”

Tilly, sitting proudly on the couch with her fuzzy socks pulled up to her knees, narrows her eyes at Alex. “I am not biased. Mom’s right—you two aren’t even in the top three coolest people in this house.”

Bob leans against the doorway, watching the playful back-and-forth with a small smile. He doesn’t interrupt at first, letting the warmth of the moment wash over him. You’re laughing, Tilly’s defending you like a tiny warrior, and even Theo, sitting nearby, is smirking at his older brothers’ expense.

Finally, Bob clears his throat, drawing everyone’s attention. “Are we ready to go, or is this turning into a full-blown trial?”

You glance over at him, a playful glint in your eye. “Bob, tell them they’ve lost all their cool points for arguing with me.”

Bob chuckles, stepping further into the room. “I’m not getting in the middle of this. But,” he adds, looking pointedly at Alex and Max, “if you don’t get your coats and boots on, I’m going to start deducting more points. And I don’t think you can afford that.”

The twins groan dramatically, but they head toward the door to grab their things. Tilly hops off the couch and skips over to Bob, hugging his waist. “I’m ready! And I’m still the coolest, right, Dad?”

Bob smiles down at her, resting a hand on her head. “Of course you are, sweetheart.”

Theo mutters from his spot on the couch, “Favoritism strikes again.”

Bob gives him a look, raising an eyebrow. “Careful, or you’ll be riding in the boot.”

Theo snorts but gets up, heading off to get dressed without further complaint.

“Alright,” Bob says, glancing back at you with a small smile.

Once everyone is dressed and bundled up, the family gathers by the front door. Bob grabs his keys from the hook while you zip up Tilly’s jacket, her fuzzy socks peeking out over the tops of her boots.

“Do we at least get a hint about where we’re going?” Alex asks, pulling on his gloves.

“Nope,” Bob says simply, shrugging into his own coat.

Max groans, dramatically dragging his feet toward the door. “This better be good. I could be streaming right now, you know.”

“You’ll survive,” you say, nudging him lightly as you grab your own scarf. “Besides, it’s family time. Be grateful.”

Theo grins as he slings a bag over his shoulder. “Bet it’s just a trip to the grocery store, and Dad’s hyping it up for no reason.”

Bob raises an eyebrow but doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he reaches for the door, holding it open for everyone. “Alright, let’s go. Out the door. No stragglers.”

Tilly skips ahead, her energy as boundless as ever. “If we’re going somewhere fun, I call dibs on sitting by Mom!”

“Not fair!” Max protests, but Alex grabs his arm, shaking his head.

“Let her have it. She’s the favorite right now anyway.”

Bob smirks at their bickering but doesn’t comment as he ushers everyone out into the crisp evening air. You pause for a moment on the doorstep, pulling your coat tighter around you as Bob locks the door behind you.

When he glances over, you catch the glimmer of quiet satisfaction in his eyes. Whatever he’s planned, you can tell he’s put thought into it—and for the first time all day, you feel a spark of anticipation.

He steps beside you, slipping his hand into yours. “Ready?”

“Ready,” you reply softly, giving his hand a small squeeze.

The drive is lively, the kids filling the car with chatter and guesses about where Bob is taking everyone. As the familiar sound of waves grows closer, you glance out the window, spotting the cliffs that overlook the beach.

When Bob finally parks the car, the confusion is palpable.

“The beach?” Max asks, raising an eyebrow as he steps out. “At night? In the middle of winter?”

Bob smirks as he rounds the car to join everyone, hands tucked into his coat pockets. “It’s not just the beach,” he says, his tone teasing. “It’s a competition.”

That gets their attention. The kids exchange glances, a mix of curiosity and scepticism, while you tilt your head at him. “A competition?” you echo.

Bob nods, gesturing toward the path leading down to the sand. “Here’s how it’s going to work. Max and Alex,” he points to the twins, “you’re on black shell duty. The more, the better. Theo and Tilly,” he continues, turning to your younger two, “you’re looking for big swirl shells. Anything that stands out.”

“What about you and Mom?” Theo asks, already intrigued.

Bob’s gaze softens as he glances at you, a small, playful smile tugging at his lips. “Your mom and I are on sea glass duty. The rarest pieces win bonus points.”

Tilly gasps in excitement, clapping her hands. “Yes! I’m gonna find the best shell ever and get to stomp all over Alex!”

Max rolls his eyes but grins despite himself. “This feels rigged. You and Mom are on the same team?”

“You’re lucky I didn’t make her the judge,” Bob retorts, his smirk widening. “Now, are we doing this, or are you all too scared to lose?”

The challenge is met with a chorus of “Game on!” and laughter as everyone grabs flashlights and heads down to the beach.

As the kids run ahead, their lights bouncing across the sand, you fall into step with Bob. “Sea glass, huh?” you ask, nudging his arm. “That’s what we’re hunting?”

He chuckles, his breath visible in the chilly night air. “Thought it’d give us a chance to stick together. Plus, you’ve always had an eye for the rare stuff.”

You smile, your earlier worries starting to melt away under the warmth of his thoughtfulness. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Yeah,” he replies, slipping his hand into yours as the sound of laughter and waves fills the air, “but you love me for it.”

As the two of you walk along the shoreline, your flashlight sweeping the sand for glimmers of sea glass, you glance at Bob with a curious smile. “Alright,” you say, breaking the quiet. “What’s the real plot behind all this, Bob? You don’t usually spring surprise competitions on us.”

He chuckles softly, his gaze fixed on the waves for a moment before turning back to you. “The plot, huh?” He pauses, his voice thoughtful. “I just… I remembered a few things. Thought maybe this would make tonight feel special.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “What things?”

Bob’s lips quirk in a small smile as he stops walking, turning to face you. “Like the first time you found sea glass,” he says quietly. “You were nine. Your friend lived on the coast and told you about it, and you spent hours combing the beach with her until you found that tiny green piece.”

Your mouth parts slightly in surprise, but he isn’t done.

“And your favourite swirl shell,” he continues, his voice soft but steady, “when you were fifteen, watching New Year’s fireworks on the beach with your family. You kept it in your pocket the whole night.”

Your chest tightens as the memories flood back, vivid and untouched, like they’d been pulled from a secret drawer in your mind.

“And the first black shell you found,” Bob adds, his blue eyes meeting yours, “on New Year’s when you were fourteen. You said it was like finding treasure because you didn’t think shells could look like that.”

You stare at him, speechless, the flashlight in your hand momentarily forgotten. “How… how do you remember all that?” you manage to ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bob shrugs, a faint blush colouring his cheeks as he looks down at the sand. “You told me about them. Years ago, when we first started dating. I guess I just… I listened.”

Your throat tightens, and you feel the familiar sting of tears threatening to rise. “Bob,” you say, your voice catching. “I didn’t even remember some of that until you just said it.”

He gives you a small, sheepish smile. “Well, I figured tonight would be a good time to bring it back. Thought maybe we could make some new memories while we’re at it.”

The weight of his thoughtfulness, his quiet way of always knowing exactly what you need, settles over you like a blanket. Without thinking, you reach up, cupping his face and pulling him into a kiss, the sound of the waves your only witness.

“Thank you,” you whisper against his lips, the words trembling with emotion.

Bob pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his smile soft and full of love. “Always.”

You and Bob stand hand in hand on the cool sand, your flashlights casting warm glows over the beach. The kids are scattered, their voices carrying on the breeze.

Suddenly, a burst of motion catches your eye. Tilly and Theo come sprinting past, their laughter echoing across the shore. In Tilly’s small hand is a black shell, and Theo is holding something you can’t quite see.

“Get back here!” Alex shouts, his voice full of mock outrage as he and Max charge after them. “That’s stealing!”

“It’s called strategy!” Theo yells over his shoulder, his grin wide as he picks up speed.

“Survival of the fittest!” Tilly adds, giggling so hard she nearly stumbles.

Max groans dramatically as he struggles to keep up. “You’re supposed to find your own stuff, not steal ours!”

Bob chuckles beside you, shaking his head as the twins put on a burst of speed, sand flying behind them. “I told you this was going to turn into chaos.”

You laugh, watching as Tilly veers toward the rocks, dodging Max’s outstretched hand with a squeal. “I think this is less about shells and more about who can outsmart who.”

“They definitely get that from you,” Bob teases, squeezing your hand.

“Oh, please,” you shoot back, nudging him playfully. “You’re the one who taught them how to ‘win at all costs.’”

Ahead of you, the chase continues, the twins gaining on Theo and Tilly as they dart through the moonlit sand. Despite the chaos, the sound of their laughter fills the air, blending perfectly with the rhythm of the waves.

As the kids' laughter echoes across the beach, you turn to Bob, your heart full and your chest tight with emotion. You squeeze his hand, drawing his attention away from the chaos in front of you.

“Thank you,” you say softly, your voice almost lost in the sound of the waves.

Bob tilts his head, his brows knitting together slightly. “For what?”

“For bringing that mother feeling back,” you reply, your eyes shining. “Even if it’s just for one night, I needed this. I needed to feel like this again.”

He smiles gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You’ve never stopped being an amazing mom, you know. I’m just glad I could remind you.”

You bite your lip, your heartbeat quickening as you reach into your coat pocket and pull out something small. “Actually… you might’ve brought it back for longer than just one night.”

Bob’s face shifts to confusion as he glances down at the object in your hand. When he realizes what it is—a pregnancy test—his blue eyes go wide, and his mouth opens slightly in surprise.

“Is that—?” he starts, his voice breaking off as his face flushes bright pink.

You nod, a smile breaking across your face. “It’s positive, Bob.”

For a moment, he’s completely frozen, his eyes flicking between your face and the test as he processes the news. Then his hand comes up to scratch the back of his neck, his signature move when he’s flustered.

“I—uh—wow,” he stammers, his voice soft and uneven. “I didn’t mean this in the bathroom… I mean, I wasn’t expecting…”

You watch as his shy smile grows, the joy slowly spreading across his face. “We’re—”

“Having another baby,” you finish for him, your voice trembling with equal parts nerves and excitement.

Bob lets out a breathless laugh, his hands coming up to frame your face. “You’re serious?”

You nod, your own smile widening as tears well in your eyes. “We’re serious.”

He pulls you into a hug, his arms wrapping tightly around you as he buries his face in your neck. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, just holds you close, his breath warm against your skin.

When he finally pulls back, his cheeks are still pink, and his shy, boyish grin hasn’t faded. “Guess I’d better start working on how to tell them,”

You laugh, brushing your fingers along his jaw. “You’re the one telling them. No way in the world am I dealing with that.”

“My angel traitor,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “no help at all.”

[kisakis-boyfriend]

Cosmic Experimentation

Author's Note: @angelesca 's post has been living rent free in my head ever since I read it. I've wanted to write something for Anaxagoras, but I couldn't figure out what to write. And now I have the best inspiration, thanks to her HCs 😚 (I'm thinking about writing a part 2 where we finger his chest hole too–)

Pairings: Anaxagoras x male reader

Warnings: Dom male!reader, sub!Anaxa, fingering unusual holes, slight thigh humping, dacryphilia

“Are you sure about this? You really don't have to you kn–”

“No — I… I'm certain that I want to do this.” Anaxagoras takes an unsteady breath before he adds, “I trust you. I trust that you will be gentle and cautious.”

You nod, taking a deep breath as well before giving Anaxa's waist a light squeeze. Then, you raise one hand up to his face, cupping his left cheek. The warmth from your palm seeps into his skin, bringing about a bit of comfort — enough to bring a small smile to his lips.

Anaxagoras' eye flutters shut at the gentleness of your touch. The ornate eye patch covering the left side of his face keeps your attention, it's chain swaying gently whenever Anaxa's head moves. Your other hand remains on his hip, holding him steady while he sits comfortably in your lap, straddling your thigh.

It's another full minute of staying as you are, lost in this peaceful moment, before you trace the underside of Anaxa's eye patch. Gently slipping a finger underneath and lifting it slightly, only to pause when your partner shudders. “Sweetie?” you prod, afraid that this area is more sensitive than he led you to believe.

“Keep going–” he reassures, holding onto your wrist now, almost as a guiding hand. You hesitate, but ultimately give in and continue reaching upwards until your fingers reach a new sensation. Anaxagoras' breath hitches, his lips pressing together tighter as you explore this new territory. It doesn't feel like skin anymore — it's damp to the touch, and somewhat cold.

Your eyes flick to your partner's gaze; he's watching you with bated breath, predicting that you'll penetrate this spot any second now. Proving him right, you apply pressure, dipping your finger into that cool, unseen space hidden under his eye patch. Anaxagoras catches a moan before it can fully exit his throat. He gulps, digging his nails into your wrist while his other hand flies to your shoulder for stability.

“‘Sensitive’, huh? It seems you were right about that.” you tease. Anaxa can't even muster a retort as you push in a little deeper, then begin to pull your finger back out, repeating the motion idly. “Do you think you can handle two fingers?”

At this, Anaxa's eye widens, and you can instantly see the blood rush to his soft cheeks. He glares at you, but makes no argument against your question. So, you decide to find out for yourself. And the result is instantaneous: an unrestrained moan forces its way out of your pretty boyfriend. All the while, his hips jut forward, dragging his clothed cock along your thigh. The action is not missed by either one of you; while it only causes him to flush an even deeper shade of red, it brings a smirk to your lips as you understand why your partner wanted to do this in a secluded area.

Several minutes pass, filled with Anaxagoras making all sorts of reserved breathy noises. The space where your fingers reside is still a mystery to you, though one thing is for sure: future experimentation is required in order to find out the best way to bring out all of Anaxa's beautiful moans and whimpers.

The sudden realization of a wet spot on your thigh brings you out of your thoughts, and you direct your gaze to where your partner has been humping you, apparently. His hips move of their own accord, spreading a wetness that has quickly soaked through his clothing. You're sure that Anaxa doesn't even realize that he's doing it, which makes it all the more adorable.

“It must feel incredible…” you murmur. Your gaze is fixed on the growing wet spot between his legs, highlighting the very obvious bulge nestled there as well. As you thrust your fingers in a bit deeper, and more forcefully, Anaxagoras clutches your shoulder tighter, letting his mouth hang open and spill every noise without restraint now. Tears fill his right eye, beginning to run down his cheek. You grip his waist a little tighter, pulling Anaxa closer and accidentally causing his dick to grind against your thigh. An action that has shivers crawling up your partner's spine.

Anaxagoras pleads in the sweetest voice, “Please…it's– hnngh!! It's warm…haaah…and hard to breathe…” Another moan escapes as you curl your fingers deeply, making your boyfriend arch his back. “C-can't…take much mo-ore…”

“Tell me what you need, my love. What do you need me to do?” you ask in a gentle tone.

Rolling his hips against your thigh, Anaxagoras shudders once more, crying “Don't stop moving them–”

Immediately, you understand what he means. You pump your fingers in and out of Anaxa's cosmic orifice, and it makes little squelching sounds as you do. His voice wavers, going up an octave as he draws closer to his release. All of Anaxa's clothing feels too tight, as if his collar is constricting around his throat, and the back of his shirt clings to his skin as a layer of sweat forms. His chest hurts with how heavily he's been breathing for the past few minutes.

Something in Anaxagoras' core burns with searing pleasure, and the tension that has been building finally snaps as you coo at your partner to “Let it all out~”. His vision is blinded by white static, and his hips thrust forward a few times before his entire body goes lax.

“Aahh…aah~” your boyfriend heaves, exhaling harshly as the aftermath of his orgasm shakes his body and mind. You're quick to kiss Anaxa's cheek where tears had previously run down, holding him tightly since you could tell how weak he was in his current state. Soaking in every last whimper from your ruined boyfriend, you rub the small of his back while you tell him how pretty he looks. Earning yourself a halfhearted glare as a result.

You slowly remove your fingers from underneath his eye patch, eyeing them curiously as they're coated in a viscous blue substance. Before you can stare at it for too long, Anaxa weakly grasps your wrist again, putting your fingers in his mouth and sucking on them in an uncharacteristically lewd display. With his eye still glazed over, Anaxa stares at you like you're his entire universe (and, let's be honest, you are). His tongue swirls around your digits, cleaning them of that blueish fluid until they're practically sparkling, releasing your fingers with a wet pop.

“Well aren't we thoughtful?” you tease, swiping some spit from the corner of your partner's mouth. A content grin plasters itself onto Anaxagoras' face, and he leans forward to rest his forehead against yours, taking in more of your warmth as it radiates off of your skin.

Absentmindedly, you rest your hand on his chest, rubbing it affectionately until something clicks in your head…

“Hey, Anaxagoras?”

“Hm?” he hums, not pulling away quite yet.

“This mark, is this what the one under there looks like?” you trace the outline of the cosmic design in the center of his chest, outlined with silver.

Without opening his eye or moving a muscle, Anaxagoras responds, “It is.”

You continue running your finger along the edges of this area. “Does it function the same way too?”

Now Anaxa does pull back, squinting at you cautiously. “It does…why?” And you know very well that the smirk playing on your lips has caught his attention.

No words are needed as you glance at the pattern on his chest, then up to your partner's gaze, then back to his chest, and to his gaze once more, raising your eyebrows knowingly.

The deepest blush spreads across the scholar's face, followed by a gasp. “You…!!”